On holidays, the texts will fly;
Good wishes will begin.
There is no need to wonder why;
That’s how it’s always been
At least since texting was a thing;
Before that, cards were sent.
The mailman was the one to bring
Somebody’s good intent.
It’s strange it takes a holiday
For people to connect,
But that’s become the common way
And what you would expect.
Yet still, it’s nice to hear that ding
And see upon the screen
A greeting that your phone does bring
From one you’ve hardly seen.
Creatures chirrup, chirp and tweet
Or warble in their way,
All so that in case they meet,
They’ll know just what to say.
It’s kind of like a human text
Or email or a call,
Preparing what to talk of next
If they connect at all.
Or maybe all this reaching out
Is just to hear expressed
The sounds that show what we’re about
To set our minds at rest.
No one calls me now
My children text
My friends text
Wait
I lie
I get five calls a day
From…..
Scam Likely
I do not answer any of them
Maybe if they texted me
I would reply
As I sit at home
Feeling so alone
I hear a ding
Come across my phone
Just a text message
Another text message
Broken record same song
It's probably just my mom
Wondering when I'm coming home
Or just my brother asking
What's been going on
Why do I need a phone
When I still feel so alone, I’m so alone
It's sad but true I must admit
The only relationship I have
Is with the alphabet
A bunch of letters in a text
Just rearranged a bit
Always the same stories same content
You could even call my phone my Juliet
I look around the room
It's just me and my silhouette
But even he leaves as soon as the sun sets
So then it's back to just me and my texts
My bed is next to me.
It’s not enough.
Carpeted floors tickle.
The fan is making me dizzy.
My parents are in their dreams.
I pretend to dream as well.
I suddenly jolt.
I could do it, I could walk into their room and start crying and screaming, out of control…
I take out my phone and text them.
They can check their messages in the morning.
And learn that I lost my mind.
But I don’t want to bug them for now.
“Hey I’m transcending reality, the fan is painful, my bed is crazy, I hate this room, it makes me remember,”
I hit send.
“Love you.”
I hit send.
A smiley face.
I hit send.
And feel a little better.
Today a baby winked at me
another hilariously giggled
Worth at least 10,000 texts
or - yesterday - a thousand squiggles
he texted his order to door dash
what do we want for dip?
hazelnuts or walnuts?
acorns
the usual please, honey
he nodded
barbeque sauce with a side of nutella
Maybe a day will come
That momma will be told
By the white coated men
We tried our best but failed
And on that day
You'll call and I won't answer
You'll text but there'll be no reply
Then you'll view a friend's status
My photos will be captioned gone
So soon, we'll forever miss you
And momma will be all tears
Papa will be sobbing silently
Then posters will come out
It's okay not to be okay
But it'll be too late
Once a poet is done psychically with his or her craft
With the vernacular of his or her masterpieces
It’s the role of the readers to add mentally missing pieces
Parts, ideas, images, a few words and a sophisticated shaft
To mechanize, modernize or upgrade the messages
A poem is, of course, a piece of writing in process
It’s a bubbling melting pot, where many things are amiss
For many logical or purposeful reasons and for excuses
Which are existentially beyond the scope of countless texts
Poets are generally perplexed and write under pretenses or pretexts.
Copyright © March 2020, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Head on pillow at last!
Breaking up is a right blast,
Texts do need a woman's touch,
Send my ex 'guns to head' emojis, much!
driving home to you
“I luv u. b home in 5”
head-on collision
driving and texting
new car for graduation
“hi guys guess what I'm …”
busy city streets
need to text spouse I'll be late
pedestrian hit
“can't wait to see you”
crashed into car stopped ahead
text never sent
7/4/2020
Click image to take you to stoptextsstopwrecks.org
"Has technology changed our attitude,
By silencing our platitudes
When we go online,
Surfing the net with accounts to mine
So easy to be mean or criticize,
Hiding behind a name not recognized
Feelings expressed,
You’d certainly regret
If face,
To face
The internet has changed the way we live,
With every answer it can give
An amazing resource and tool,
Just don’t use it to look like a fool
When frustration guides your fingers,
Hold the thought and let it linger
Letting your words cool off,
So there not received too hot
Pausing to rethink can save a friendship,
For life is all about kinship
And the gratitude of friends,
That our happiness depends
So next time something’s not right,
Pick up the phone and settle the strife
As a picture is a thousand words,
Let your voice be a soothing cure"
Why would you waste my time
My effort poured on you
I give you all my energy,
But you dont follow through
You stop sending me messages,
leaving me without a clue
How am I supposed to know
That your feelings are not true
I like you more then a friend
But I won’t go tell my mum
As soon as she knows of you then
she thinks that your the one
If you go trippin out on me
then that’s it now your gone
If your planning on ghosting me
Then just leave now we’re done.
The texts were horrible, vile, and mean.
They were from the kind of person none of us had ever seen.
They were graphic, and horrible, a picture came that was crude.
We all could guess who sent photos of themselves in the nude.
We had suspicions, and we had them for quite a while
About these texts, so horribly awful and vile.
We began to congregate, and we whispered about him and his sad little life.
Determined to make sorry and horrible his weirdness, we were mean to his wife.
We shunned them unmercifully and put our noses way up high.
We wished them an awful future, one hoped they would die.
We were horrible, and angry, and we became bullies.
Our minds threw them in dungeons, stocks, locks, jail cells and gullies.
We were angry and awful for a year and a day.
Confident it was him, not caring what he had to say.
We were the avid, upright accusers, and we did not play.
Many of us were shamed to our core, when we found out today
That it was not him at all, but one of the accusers, a man quiet and meek,
A silent monster, who had riled us, whose forgiveness we did not have to seek.
In western skies, an eagle soars, at ease.
Below, the curving Colorado flows,
Winding its way through deep and dusty seas
Carving canyon walls steep, through tracts of time.
Twilight to twilight, its myriad moods
Are freshly painted on those ancient walls
Like rich frescos of reds and tans and mauves
In syncopated colors, all sublime.
The eons are borne by water and wind
From sea to land to sea and back again.
Their passage scribed on texts of sand and lime
Layer on layer like pages of time
Forming holy testaments neatly stored
In earthen temples and archives of stone,
With tales to read, as silent oceans roar,
For those with eyes to see and ears to hear.
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