My dog yelps in his sleep.
Can a canine weep?
And what thoughts of joy or pain
Pass through his sleeping brain?
In an exstasy of sound and smell
You dwell.
The freshly roasted chicken, just out of reach is sheer hell
To my friend
Who’s end
Is food and play.
Your day
Will not be so long as mine,
Yet we humans whine
While you in the moment live
And give such love
To your god above
Who sits envying you your state of grace.
Would that I could change place
With you
My friend true.
He feared he would drown
In his words profound.
But the water barely wet his toes.
One day the poet knows
The river will run dry
And try
Though he will,
His muse shall be, forever still
The Gulag.
The present like the past is mad.
Black clad figures
Their fingers on triggers.
Russian or Prussian?
An interesting discussion.
Jews and Kulaks their lives lose.
Who to choose?
A man drowning in his country’s blood,
Or one who would destroy Jewry if he could?
What a choice.
History’s voice
is cold and level,
“We allied with the devil,
To destroy his twin,
the mirror image of him.
The world is a better place
But a nasty taste
Still lingers.
Man has burned his fingers,
To often,
History’s lessons are easily forgotten”.
“The Blackbird on the wing, so sweetly sings
And brings
Joy to we two
Who
Through
These wild flowers
Walk and talk,
Whiling away many an hour”.
But she put no store
In my words
Nor in the singing of the birds,
Which went unheard,
For the ring
She wore
Was connected to the Internet of Things.
A thought provoking post on an important issue. Kevin
This article is about e-addiction. Don’t reach for your dictionaries, I just made that up. The addiction, however, is very real and I’ve experienced it myself, both as a gamer and as a netizen.
According to this article in the Washington Post :
‘[internet] Addicts lose interest in other hobbies or, sometimes, never develop any. When not allowed to go online, they experience withdrawal symptoms such as irritability, depression or even physical shaking. They retreat into corners of the Internet where they can find quick success — a dominant ranking in a game or a well-liked Facebook post — that they don’t have in the real world, experts say.’
The emphasis on ‘success’ is mine, and I believe it is the foundation of this psychological addiction. If real life sucks, go online and become a ‘god’ who is respected and adored by everyone. Or words to that effect.That kind of…
View original post 135 more words
The pious wag their fingers
While love’s perfume
Lingers
In a darkened room,
Where mere mortals enjoy
That which the saint would destroy.
A man all his efforts bent
To the exclusion of all else,
On the construction of a tower called self.
The higher it went
The less content
He grew.
Breaking through
the clouds
And feeling proud
He saw
A boy soar,
Then fall, seaward bound.
Icarus was the boy’s name
And from his fall nothing profound
Came
For man continues his building just the same.
Will the click of a mouse
In the virtual house
Of the brain
Replace
Nature’s sweet face?
Or can man restrain
The genie who, perhaps already half woken,
His words as yet unspoken,
Holds out visions of heaven and hell.
Will men dwell
In the half light
Where day and night
Lose all meaning
And seeming
And fact become as one?
Has man gone
So far
That we lose who we are?
Can rich variety be reduced
And man seduced
By the girl made up of data?
Sooner or later
These things may come
To pass, but history does run
In strange ways, and the historian shakes his head
At the futurologist, now long since dead
Who said
“It is inevitable, For X must lead to Y”.
Ideas live and die.
The historian sighs
And thinks on why
Man tries to make the world conform to some abstract law.
He has seen it all before
And puts but little store
On those enamoured by neat little rows.
The futurologist may into the future stare
While history’s winding track leads heaven knows where.
Sometimes the air is so pure
And beauty’s store
Becomes too much.
At such
Moments the heart is full
And a dull
Ache
Will not me forsake.
Tears fall on the tranquil lake.
The sun awakes.
I will go
And see the rainbow
Shine
And ponder on what some call nature
And others the divine.
K Morris - Poet 