Psychological Seuss

I did not like it
in the dark
without someone
to share my heart;
I did not like
the callous grin
that subverted smile
above my chin;
I did not like
my heavy thoughts
and hurtful, silent,
sharp retorts;
I did not like
the cloud I cast
on innocents
who just walked, passed;
and I could kill
a room stone dead
with sunken eyes and
words unsaid;
and so I found myself alone
cast adrift to the undertow
posting words
on the internet
slowly drowning
in regret
until my head
above the waterline
the lighthouse caught me
just in time
and so a new direction
slow I swam
to be the man
I Know I can;
Now I am me,
me I am
I quite like this me I am,
I do not like
the me I was
in fact I’m glad
that me is gone.

© D Archer March 2012

One Way Traffic

Would you meet me
if I told you
I would sell my rare
Coltrane records
for one minute
just to hold you?

The next flight to Miami
leaves these shores on the sixteenth
I’ve never kissed an American woman
or climbed a real palm tree.

© Copyright D. Archer November 2011

Computer Lover

Defragging my disk
my thoughts turn to you;
did you clean up your life
when you deleted me in June?

Did I analyse too much?
Leave a bad sector in your mouth?
Was I nothing more than
an unused extension?
a temporary file you knew nothing about?

We used to be so contiguous
never more than one percent apart;
my heart mirrors my heart now,
forever fragmented and hard.

© Copyright D. Archer October 2011

I used to think De-fragmenting my computer hard drive was a waste of time but it’s funny how close the inspiration to write can sometimes be.

He owns a Thesaurus and a knife

He clicks “Like”
before he reads it
just so he can be
the first;

He commits his crimes behind
skin crawling comments
he likes your profile picture
not your verse;

many like him are
clicking “like” just
because you have
two breasts;
he only reads
the first three lines
not educated enough
to read the rest;

He showers you
with platitudes,
he panders to your needs;
this vampire and his vagary
is insidious in his deceit.

© Copyright D. Archer October 2011

I have been blogging for just over two weeks now and I am very worried about certain comments I see in fellow bloggers comment boxes.

I am a man, I like poetry, some men are men and they do not. They comment in such sugary sycophantic terms it makes my teeth rot and my blood boil; “comments” so vague that you could drive a bus through them, they speak of Knowing your pain and empathising beyond belief, this is the language of the predator, the stalker, those who seek to groom.

I can not, I will not sit back and do nothing. I am warning anyone male or female who is listening to read “comments” in broad daylight both metaphorically and physically speaking.

Poetry is the most cathartic of all art forms, we tag our work with words like “Lust, desire, sex, violence” thinking these innocent adjectives are describing our written work, there are “people” who tag surf these very specific words and then zone in for the feast.

You may call me an alarmist; if I am an alarmist then let the bells ring loud, the Internet is a dangerous, anonymous hiding place.

Do not think me naive enough to think this is a woman specific crime, I know men have been victims and targets, I refer to the danger as a “man” because statistically it is.

If he claims to share your pain ask him what his last menstrual period was physically like.

This is not a victimless crime, these “people” are cutting and pasting long, winding thesaurus thumbed words from their pre-prepared Text files and posting them into your comment box within seconds, seconds! of you publishing your post. Many of them will not contain your name or their signature. Ask yourself how the hell did they type a short story competiton length reply within 0.2 seconds of you posting and publishing?

I am shortly to remove the “Like” option from my blog and will only accept comments that quote lines / phrases of my work back to me. It is my blog and my life. I intend to stay safe and I urge you to do the same. I am beginning to question whether those who “like” just for the sake of it are using this in an unofficial way, a coded way of communicating with the cohorts.

This post will soon be a page on my blog, I intend to list support agencies and their contact details. I am in the process of gathering this information.

If you feel in danger tell someone, ask for a second opinion on the “comments” let someone know you have concerns. Consider the personal details you chose to provide. Re-read the comments, treat it as a study in language, ask yourself questions, consider implementing a “comment” policy where all comments are moderated before being posted. You have a Delete and a SPAM filter please use them more often.

David Archer

 

 

Four Foot Snakes!

Bugger!
Chuff!
Good Grief!
Oh my Giddy Aunt!
Four Foot Snakes!

There is no need
to buy my printed
anthologeeeee
of poetreeeeee;
i’ve just realised
it’s all on the internet
for free!

© Copyright D. Archer October 2011

The girl who garotted Google

You typed,
in italic capital letters;
“I AM LOOKING FOR PICTURES
OF GINGER COLOURED CATS
RIDING HATLESS ON MOTORBIKES;
DRAWN BY A KITE FLYING
MANIC DEPRESSIVE STRANGER
WHO TRAVELS ABOUT BY TRAIN
AND WHO DOES NOTHING
BUT COMPLAIN”;

Google broke;
it never got to my page.

With this simple sentence
you brought a worldwide gaggle of googlers
apoplectic to their knees;
wondering why their small bar
was not downloading
every sex related JPEG
in the history of the P.C.

If they all knew where you lived
they would kill you every Jack to a man;
fortunate then they were rendered useless
by their ankle warming trousers
and lubricated left hands.

Google cowers in its monolithic tower
it has never really been the same;
waiting, shaking, praying and calculating
you never type your name in again.

© Copyright D. Archer October 2011

Irony is not a metal

“THE WHOLE INTERNET IS BROKEN!”
sent shockwaves
around the earth;
ironically (Americans)*
tried to log on
to see if it really was
the end of the world.

* Xenophobes please pick
the country you hate most
from the drop down menu;

* Xylophones please play
happy, dancing skeleton music
like they use in
old cartoons.

© Copyright D. Archer October 2011

Let me sleep. Please.

If there is a God
let me go to bed,
stop making bloody words
rhyme in my bloody head.

It’s half past four
in the bloody morning
and I’m writing poetry
depressing and maudlin
to a woman I met
on the internet
who doesn’t even care
that in love with her
I’m falling.

© Copyright D. Archer October 2011