Caretaker
Caretaker
Those who take care of us
They are our breathing mates
Absorbing our filth
Without complaining a thing
Can there be anything more good than trees?
Hour 14
@varenyas
Hour 17: The 80’s Tech
The 80’s Tech
I remember as a teenager having my finger at the ready
To push the button on my boombox, I’d have to hold it steady.
I’d wait and wait some more, just waiting for a song
To record at the right time, sometimes I’d have to wait so long.
I’d finally get the song, and in the summers heat
My cassette would frustratingly melt, I would feel defeat.
Other times it would unravel, a pencil I would grab
I would have to wind it carefully, be careful not to stab.
When I finally got my mixtape perfected I would place
It in my Walkman happily, turn it up and hear that bass.
I still have so many cassette tapes, a holdover from my youth
To get rid of them would break my heart, and that is the truth.
(Hour 16) 12.30pm-13.30pm. PROMPT: love poem without the word
opposites
1.
She never listens to me
His ideas are always dumb
She talks so fast
He never finishes a sentence
She won’t face the truth about Rueben
If only he spoke as fast as he drives
She never wants to take a risk
He thinks this is all some sort of game
2.
She smells delicious despite it all
His chest is pleasingly curved
She is passionate about everything
He thinks deeply about everything
She won’t face the truth about Rueben
If only he knew how his smile thrills
She is so determinedly strong willed
He is braver than anyone I’ve ever met
I’m so glad I found him
I’m so lucky she found me
H17: Tech Check
This is tech?
What the heck,
Time to do a reality check…
Testing, 1, 2, 3.
Is it just me?
Or does thing seem obsolete…
Wires and whistles,
Worse than thistles,
Ready to give it a final dismissal…
Back to basics,
And skip this matrix…
Unplug and kick it to the curb?
Absurd!
Prompt – write poem about love without using the word love #4
it’s not coincidental
to feel so sentimental
it’s a feeling that is pure
yet at times isn’t sure
the heart seems to be on fire
and feels so much desire
it’s a feeling of temptation
and a heart full of passion
Typewritten
Click
Clack
No distractions
Paper, a ding
Return it back
When I was eight I was given a typewriter
Told it was Santa Claus’s
That I was chosen
I typed every word I knew
Even the ones I wasn’t supposed to say
I felt dignified
An eight-year-old Roald Dahl
Writing the next book that would change the world
The ribbon broke a few days later
Nowhere to get it fixed
Twelve years later I yearn for one again
A sense of importance that lies beneath
Taking me back to when typing was a privilege
Not a necessity
Breathless
When you’re not here, I can barely breathe –
And that’s the trouble, because:
When you’re right beside me, I can barely breathe,
Yet, I wish you were all there was.
The scent of your hair is intoxicating,
The sound of your laugh makes me giddy with joy,
But it’s your mind, when you’re working
And your creative sparks that make me a child at Christmas with toys.
The taste of your lips on mine is all that it takes to bring me to my knees;
The caress of your fingers upon my cheek just sets my mind at ease.
I swear, if it was possible, I’d kiss you all the time;
And anywhere that we could go, I’d have your hand with mine.
The others could make fun of us; I just don’t give a damn,
Because, if you would trust in me, I’d give you all I am.
There’s not a second I could spend without a thought of you,
Because there’s nothing that you are and nothing you could do
That isn’t bliss and magical to an active mind like mine –
And all I’d ask is your kiss to rule my heart and time.
Just one more thing that I would ask, and not a trifle more:
With deep respect and utter passion, please pin me to the door –
Or find, with me, a breathless gasp while I lay upon the bed,
Remind me of your heart, I plead, ’til I cannot doubt this watershed.
Distance Learning
I told the eight year-old to save the document using the square in the corner.
She asked, “The camera?”
I said no.
It was once called a floppy disk, but don’t worry about that now.
Now, it is just a square.
She asked again: the camera?
I said no.
The yellow rectangle up in the corner.
The camera?
No.
No.
You have no idea what it is, but it is a floppy disk.
Please trust me. I am a teacher.
Prompt 17. Hour 17.
My Radio
Carved box
Undervalued box
Closely pushed off the walls of relevance,
Over to the side of extinction.
Man has find several sources of
News report, & the radio is at the bottom
Of the list. A very long list, candidly.
Soon, no more ‘radio reports’.
Should I say I’m sick of evolution?
Whatever happens, you’ll forever be in the history books.
Except someone decides to tear that page out.