stonepoem : 365

I know the way.
Every inch and mile
each turn and blur
every waypost sigh,
I know the way.
Yes, I do.
And I know you.
And we both know
it’s time to move.
Lay the landscape bare
unbutton roads -
each lane and every track
open to the journeys
never coming back.
I know the way.
Turn left, turn right
straight over keeping on.
We will have miles
beneath our wheels,
like every breath
that ever was -
like every glancing move
like each wilful lover lost
we will travel on.
I know the way
I really do -
don’t stop, don’t stop
until I say.

Destination.

Just one
more friend
and I am done
and I’ll have more
than you
a compound me
just recently
and heard to say
how good it is
to have such friends
and I’ll be done
and I’ll have more
and I’ll thank all.
Just one more friend,
and they’ll be done -
just like
the other
ones.

Press ‘1′ for feeling
Press ‘2′ for imagination
Press ‘3′ for respect
Press ‘#’ to start again.
Insert this, in that
then key it in.
Forget ink and pen
but remember your PIN
And check everything
you’ve entered…
I must be stupid
(or something)?
The system says
I’m overdue -
cannot continue,
but I know different.
Send me down the chute,
where fall self-serve damned
with fingers trapped and bruised,
digit-split, but humanity intact.
And someone tell those automated folks;
‘Guess what, we are people too’
before all the royal operatives,
become otherwise engaged.
Go on - supposedly they
really value our calls.
I could do it myself
but today, I’m indisposed.
So please, feel free
to leave a message
after the tone.

Here, we are ghosts in the armature
rattling cage and tugging tight the lines.
Like puppets hung in trapeze swing,
with harness pull from wind and spool.
And we are neon birds on tangled toes
with careful steps over charged cathode.
We move from A to B, then on to Z
with plug and play perfundity.
But pull away the wires and
we’ll find the real you and me.

Bless these guys.
It’s almost like
reality is not enough.
Like glass lensed auteurs,
whose life just has to be seen
through mechanical eyes -
selecting and zooming
then editing the view.
No margin for error or surprise
in captured moments held
in satisfied frame,
in control of all they feel.
Neatly filing happiness
with f-stop calibration,
they can’t tell you
how wonderful something is
but they can show you
the photograph.

For the man who pushed my daughter out of the way
with his pumped up lens…

Where are you chickjesus?
Not washed away I hope
by flood of life
and death like dust
on surly breath
over unkind seas.
You once awakened me,
turned driftwood
into useful thoughts
took clay of you and I
and sculpted we.
I hope for you
in the swell
of the cosmos -
are you still looking
for butterfly wings
on the shore?

Wiring crossed and timing slow
Confused and dumb with protocols
Of socketblocks and battery slack
One inch forward - ten feet back.
An odd-sock day of coffee stains
And soapy eyes and missing calls
From breakfast spills on muddy shoes
To milk that turns through needled toes.
A scrabble round for peace of mind
From late return of bills unpaid
To black night search for blue-ink books
And here now lost in overflow
Running, from my worried looks.

I must admit
to an obsession.
24 feels like 72 without you.
You are illuminated gold
for unkempt souls like I.

I’m here, every night.
Hunched like a fortress archer
stooping down to spy
on the blinking hearts
that stumble by.

You are skeleton wish-skin,
like crisp white parchment
blown through the stillness
of damp alleyways waiting
for elegant replies.

I don’t wish to tear
the twin suede binds you bring;
habit and urge - the addictions
you have become. I love you,
in another guise.

I’m your hot-fix #1
Moving round the world
From point to point
And peer to peer
From here to there
Through protocols
Of packet ping
And patch plug-ins
From screen to screen
And transfering
Extensions to our
progress tracking
Completion pending.
Just don’t stop!
Click me again!
Oh click me good.

Hello blue screen friend
Facing me beyond the glass
With eyes like tent peg holes
Hammered but not holding
The molten spent-wax bowls
Capturing final glow of
Night and time deferred
Poised like patient ornaments
That stare into the firmament
And wait for shooting stars
But sleep before they come.

Don’t blink or shiver, but I am with you now.
Right at this moment - beamed through the wires,
soft-breathing across the bones of you.
Relax, feel my curious spirit near - go on!
Concentrate; let your shoulders fall
and the worries roll - be conscious of
the tensions sloping down.
Here, let me help. I’m raising my arms,
waving spectral palms your way,
circling with unseen fingertips -
willing you on as you read,
sensing the electricity and flow
of who you really are,
and want to be.

You have infected the system of me.
Blocking the corridors of normal operation
like a smouldering fire in the ever green
insidious in the deciduous.

I didn’t know you were in me to start.
Waving for attention like a drowning fool
just waiting to see me waving back
oblivious to your litmus.

Your transmission was beamed deep.
Triggering a change in the process of myself
like a rogue signal without permission
moving the dial to denial.

So here you now are, resident in my veins.
Rocking my steadiness and surety
like a sleepless night-sweat child
harkening through the dark.

What do you want from me?

The teenage interface.
Neon bright, electrified,
click happy, button savvy,
always on-demand.

Instant downloadable culture,
ergonomically designed,
anything and everything,
- just press go.

Navigated by impatient hands,
left and right - now zero and one.
Hypertrophied digits,
mutating.

Be aware,
the game called real life,
may not run
on this device.

Hell, we can drag this out.
today’s pleasure.
You play and I watch,
self effacement good,
found in the restraint.
To have and see the changes within,
just start doing out of the blue.
:)

(a semi-random sample of lines from SU forums)

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It blinks, it waits - it taunts.
The box that must be filled.
White chalk bared on a hill of thought,
words waiting, to be milled.

It thinks, debates and then, it haunts.
An intersection for the skilled.
Against the clock, no shortcut taught,
nor booklet for the build.

It links, it states - it always wants.
A battle for my will.
This puzzle for the soul unsought,
left open, never stilled.

Hey you.
I give good word.
Be my laptop dancer -
make me tilt.

I’m intermittently indeterminate,
anonymously public.
I touch -
type.

What are you wearing?
I’m wearing thin.