Tag Archives: texting poem

Face Me on Twitbook

 

I still listen to cassettes on my Walkman —

so wake me up when the next big thing develops . . .

 

 

Cuneiform: Textual Intercourse

u text me dis
i text u dat
she dissed my dis
i sent last Sat.

u lol’ed
on down the list
i sexted six
(my 7th missed)

u banned my width
i book your face
u twittered on
she save my space

u scrolled me down
he tweeted smiles
we USB’ed
recharging miles . . .

u giga-bit
encrypted files;
i saved as mine
and cached denials

in digital
we re-erased
then skyped our souls
and interfaced.

 

PROMPT #17: write a poem that features forgotten technology

(You can download it for free.)

Hung on a Psychosociolinguistic Scaffold

Babel Tower

Oh Language, where hast thou hid thyself?
Thy once-bright spires decline to dust.
The calm, well-reasoned flow of wisdom
a bygone memory. I’ll not trust
these tween-to-twenty-something’s prattle;
endless babble of self-absorption
centered in pleasure-maximizing:
narcissistic thought-abortion.
Dude – they’re SO not app’ed for language
used by dad ten years ago.
I’m totally DONE with their, like, verbiage
They’re all: Smartphone Teenage Show.
It’s just, like, TALKING  – without words
in language ghettos; texting proud…
Their lack of precision offends my brain –
They ought to be ashamed (out loud).

Vygotsky’s vaunted Z.P.D,
and Bakhtin’s heteroglossic crack
along with Roland Barthe’s pet parrot
Are SO like totally talking smack.

Hung on a Psychosociolinguistic Scaffold

Babel Tower

Oh Language, where hast thou hid thyself?
Thy once-bright spires decline to dust.
The calm, well-reasoned flow of wisdom
a bygone memory. I’ll not trust
these tween-to-twenty-something’s prattle;
endless babble of self-absorption
centered in pleasure-maximizing:
narcissistic thought-abortion.
Dude – they’re SO not app’ed for language
used by dad ten years ago.
I’m totally DONE with their, like, verbiage
They’re all: Smartphone Teenage Show.
It’s just, like, TALKING  – without words
in language ghettos; texting proud…
Their lack of precision offends my brain –
They ought to be ashamed (out loud).

Vygotsky’s vaunted Z.P.D,
and Bakhtin’s heteroglossic crack
along with Roland Barthe’s pet parrot
Are SO like totally talking smack.