The Poetry Marathon

Hour 5-Technology

TECHNOLOGY

I awaken

My clock radio singing

About bringing booty back

Meghan Trainor

is all about the bass

The ear-worm is planted

I check Facebook

A long conversation

Politics as usual

My nephew is losing it again

Updates from everyone

Right on my phone.

The cat wants in,

he and I have a conversation

I open his cat-food with no can opener

An amazing feat

I microwave myself coffee

yes I am too lazy to brew

I sit down to write

My computer is dead

I pull out the plug

Pull off the back

Pull out the battery

Replace it

Screw it back together

Turn it on, it comes on

A moment later it goes blank

Flipping technology

The smell of cane burning wafts through the air

Old technology

The computer comes up

I start my poem

Meghan Trainor still singing in my ear

She’s bringing booty back

I think about how technology

Got me here

From sleep to poem in fifteen minutes.

 

Hour Two: Miha Part III

I guess a certain man will be my go to inspiration throughout this next 24 hours. And as I’m kinda hungover right now, I am going to be using what’s available in my messy mind, haha. Anyway, here is the poem:

 

Sat beside and let the electric blue wash me in agony,

I let the silence build the room,

I let you build the silence.

I open up in the backpocket of your fragile mind,

Where excess met distress and bones,

and harmony,

We sat with the fury and let brown eyes consume all thought.

I will rot in the disaster, if you pull me closer and faster into what love was, is,

Never was, never is, I still see you painting the universe, in your curse.

How did I get here – Poem 3

The sun rises , yet the day has no light for me,

I can hear the sound of life , yet I can not see,

Blindness is foreign to me, I crave the light,

I want to know when the darkness will bring the night.

 

How did I get here , why are my hands tide?

I want to scream, but there is no noise, I tried,

Last thing I remember is being out having fun,

This has to be a dream, or something ,I want to run.

 

Some one must have pulled a blind fold off while I was asleep,

I am locked in my room, at my desk ,feeling cheap,

The darkness is settling in, in more ways than one,

Looks like the life of the old me died, now I must start a new one.

In the Morning I Found Myself in the Right Place in the Wrong Time

In the Morning I Found Myself in the Right Place in the Wrong Time

 

last night i dreamed of earthspin

in different time zones. in raw pool

of black pupil i know

we are one air.

i sleep during a london lover’s clock in to work.

i want to get spring sick with you & aim

weak eyes at dependence.

tread naked the shoulder blades of appalachian

cloud muscle,

your turbulent stare from beneath. we

are ants & specks & dots to each other.

i would change the alarm clock

to your time zone

so we could be in the same place.

i look at pictures everyday; you move

in none of them. i carve my name & another

into my winter, snow bank page. we

melt overnight. time forgets

itself.

Device

Handheld

Control at your finger tips

Everyplace

Any time

#PoemNo5

5 // synthetic leaves

today we make synthetic leaves   become gods
make life out of notlife and it works

–you think we can change the world

coat cities in chlorophyll like paint?–

I tell you I’m happy with what we’ve made
twist together flowers for you but you want the moon

to be green   climb into a rocket made of thorns and stems
propel yourself on mown grass but lose speed

your rocket can’t fuel itself as much as you
would have liked   you change course for the sun

and you have everything you need
but will get nothing you want

SCRO 10 am

Truckin’ along. Fifth panel.

Sun’s starting to come in the south window and hit the photocopier.

#5 Technology

Technology
My how you have evolved
From simple cotton jenny
To planes that hang in the sky
And phones that replace PCs
You started out helping humanity
But do you enslave us now?

Friday Night

Carrie shivered  her chilled skin untouched by the piles of blankets on her bed.

Her pale face bleached by the waxing moon that shone in through the thin cotton curtains.

Mum had made them from a tablecloth bought from a charity shop. They didn’t quite fit.

The front door slammed, she shuddered in anticipation and wriggled further under the blankets.

‘Is mum downstairs? Whose turn is it tonight?’ Her thoughts tumbled through her fear.

 

Malcolm peered round the door fear scored sharp across his narrow head.

He grinned, pyjama bottoms reached down to his calve the buttons gone on the jacket. A small hole in the cuff where his Dad had torn the fabric.

His exposed scrawny chest showed off ribs which bounced to match his shallow rapid breath.

Wide mouthed grimace hid his true feelings.

His unkempt tufts of hair told of the disturbed hours spent awake in bed.

 

”Shove over, I’ll warm you up.” He wrapped long arms around his sister’s freezing frame.

”Do you think it’ll be OK tonight?”

”Depends if Mum’s cooked his dinner properly.”

They heard him whistling and tones of feminine softness from their Mum floated up the dark stairwell.

SMASH!. They gripped each others bodies. ”You stupid fucking woman can’t you do anything right!”