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Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 221

Categories: Poetry Prompts, Robert Lee Brewer's Poetic Asides Blog, What's New.

Over the past weekend, I took Friday off work and “unplugged” myself from nearly all my electronics (except my phone, which I barely used) until Monday night. So four days and four nights (if including Thursday night) without e-mail, social media, blogging, websites, etc. As a person constantly immersed in media, it felt liberating to pull the plug.

For this week’s prompt, write an unplugged poem. The plug could be attached to computers, but maybe it’s a metaphor for relationships that need the plug pulled. Or a phase of your life. Or a way of thinking. Or a toaster. Just a toaster.

Here’s my attempt at an unplugged poem:

“connected”

smaller world more connected
& separated by screens
dashboard avatar updates
tweet the world electronic
i sit with wife & children
eat cookies n cream ice cream
on chocolate waffle cone
covered in rainbow sprinkles
we feed goats watch the sun set

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170 Responses to Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 221

  1. elizwisman says:

    Sitting, talking, joking:
    It’s easy to be here,
    here with you.

    Swimming, cooking, listening,
    fun, nothing, TV,
    Tickling, “fighting”, anything.

    Sitting, talking, serious:
    You bare your heart,
    heart to heart.

    Some people,
    People can make you feel,
    At home, at ease.

    Why do we choose,
    Choose those that
    Don’t work.

    Sitting, forced talking, “joking”:
    It should be easy,
    easy with you.

    Kissing, licking, biting,
    Bored, TV, nothing,
    Touching, fighting, anything.

    Sitting, talking, never serious:
    Thought I had you,
    You are unplugged.

  2. cstewart says:

    Unplugged and Twinkling

    Let me fly among the stars as I used to -
    Floating and swaying side to side -
    Like Peter Pan and Wendy aloft
    Never worrying of a fall or a pirate,
    Come to take away gravity’s gift
    Of transgression.

  3. PressOn says:

    REALIZATION

    In truth,
    this must be so:
    if opposites attract,
    then love and hate can never be
    disjoined.

  4. Lindy says:

    Divinity

    Unplugged from your mind,
    let your heart unwind
    and relax into
    the infinity of time.

    There is no revolution,
    no resolution,
    just the evolution
    of one kind.

    The human experience
    can leave you blind
    or open your eyes
    to the confusion of mother nature’s rhyme.

    The rhythm of life,

    all life,

    is thine -
    is divine.

  5. Amy says:

    I am fizzy bottled water,
    floating in the disconnect
    between what I thought
    and what I said. These
    effervescent bubbles come
    between me and my
    intentions.
    My cognizance is
    unplugged.

  6. Nancy Posey says:

    Road Trip Unplugged

    The bag with the CDs, iPad, the flash drive
    and cell phone was left behind in the rush to pack the car,
    discovered only when the station turned to static
    and we stopped to search. No one took the blame.

    The ride was silent for miles. Then someone hummed,
    just a few notes before another joined in. The lyrics
    were volunteered from the backseat, with shotgun
    drumming on the glove box. The repertoire shared
    among the riders spanned the decades from the fifties
    until now, show tunes, gospel, rock and roll.

    Old road games—alphabet signs, license plate states—
    felt brand new after years thumbing digital devices.
    Stories retold found a fresh audience and tag team
    tales ensued of ghosts and snakes and pranks. No one
    even thought to ask, “Are we there yet? How much farther?”

  7. Bruce Niedt says:

    I’m reading Andrew Hudgins’ new poetry collection “A Clown at Midnight”, and thought I’d “borrow” a loose form of verse that he employs frequently in the book:

    Ultimatum

    Disconnect the modem,
    electron stream, your opium.
    Silence the router’s hum,
    the glowing diadems
    that signal power thrum.
    No longer numb
    from screen time, thumb
    through magazines, vacuum
    your house, skim the scum
    of ennui off your brain. Come,
    have a coke with rum,
    relax, then plumb
    the depths of creativity. Circum-
    vent the keyboard; write some
    poems with a pen. Strum
    a guitar, free of mp3s. Drum
    on your desktop. Play euphonium.
    Make a dessert. (Yum.)
    Browse a family photo album.
    In this continuum
    of machines that dumb
    us down, we need to move from
    the information slum,
    foreswear the pablum
    handed out in tandem
    with online hokum.
    Make the ether an addendum,
    not a gospel, not a dictum.
    Walk out into the atrium
    of your world, now unencumbered.

  8. stepstep says:

    BRAIN OUT

    Like a sponge our brain performs
    Absorbing data hour by hour, day by day,
    Dispensing information whenever necessary
    Collecting all, storing much.

    Like a diamond in the rough
    Awaiting to be polished, cherished,
    Connected dot by dot
    Until the time comes
    To be dislodged, thrown out
    Or no longer
    Can perform to its highest capacity.

    LaSteph

  9. tonijoell says:

    Call it Already

    Every Monday I go to work
    voiceless from the weekend screaming matches.
    We can’t get along for two days.
    You don’t know how I made it without you, you say—
    It’s becoming crystal clear.
    You tell me I have no common sense
    and that I’m lucky to have you.
    You tell me I’ve got nowhere else to go.
    Wanna bet?
    I chop onions and stare out the window.
    You’ve got something on your mind, you say.
    Spill it.
    I take a breath:

    “I’ve been thinking that this isn’t working for me.
    We’ve been on life support for years.
    You have a month to get your things together
    before our lease is up.
    I’m pulling the plug.”

    But we’re so happy, you say.

    Just goes to show
    we never did see
    eye to eye.

  10. CARPE SIJO

    It lives within you. You have the power to sustain your life.
    Seize each moment, wresting it with both hands clutching at life’s throat;
    squeezing to the very last, your umbilical has been cut.

  11. CRUSOE UNFETTERED

    Man is an island when stranded in
    desolate thought. He ought release;
    become untethered
    for all feather-brained ideas will
    become urgent pleas for solitude.
    A singular dude fending
    for the unending quest,
    to keep his chest beating
    and enjoying every fleeting moment
    in this solitary life.
    No troubles.
    No strife.
    Just an existence rife
    with every good thing
    it will bring to you.
    Sustaining the gift
    to lift a muse skyward,
    a fervent S.O.S. left unsent,
    and hell bent on making it to Friday.

  12. Michelle Hed says:

    Uncharted

    Invisible boundaries -
    crossed.
    No signals -
    received.
    Moving blind
    but free.

    Camping on an island
    with you.

  13. PKP says:

    Unplugged

    Unplugged their faces
    Float
    Like disengaged
    birthday balloons
    over a tearful child
    Or rose petals
    Drying on a white bed
    Or chestnut blossoms
    Drifting down an
    Empty Street

    Or poems

    Unplugged
    Their
    Faces
    Fade
    From cold vacuum void
    From deepest darkness
    Her own solitary words
    Scream softly
    Rattling against each other
    Like loosed teeth
    From a hundred spit
    Night terrors

    Unplugged
    She starved searching
    soul -reaches
    to touch

    the black screen
    Blazing to
    Resurrection

    Virtual life
    Returned

  14. Misky says:

    The Fragrance of Silence

    The fragrance of silence, a license
    to inhale the song of a breeze. Detach,
    unplug, and breathe these small wonders
    of nature that please the ear and enrich
    the soul, endearing orchestral woodwinds
    through branches and flutes that tease
    blossoms to nod their agreement –
    that life without silence, is no life at all.

  15. Linda Hatton says:

    I’ll Charge it in the Morning

    At bedtime my darlings wake
    up to the world, show off pictures
    of multiple litters of mice, point
    out cars with facial features
    for front ends, raid refrigerator,
    cupboards, and secret sleep stashes,
    run laps around sitting-room furnishings
    with flapping eyelashes as though
    they had stolen the coffee from table.
    At bedtime, when rest of the planet unplugs,
    my darlings recharge with hyper-
    speed energy, renewed and refreshed for the day
    we’ve not yet said hello to.

    Unplug, my darlings, unplug. Let mother rest.

  16. bxpoetlover says:

    Grandmother’s Wisdom

    When I was a little girl I had to spend one night
    at my Nana and Pop Pop’s house. When she put me to bed
    she told me to take off my panties. I always kept them on
    but I did what she said. Felt so naked and that she was so wrong.

    As a grown woman I read that the first thing a woman should do upon arriving home
    is to whip off her panties. She, like all other creatures, needs air, sunshine, love.

  17. LouiseBilborough says:

    unplug me
    disconnect me from these
    relationships in binary code
    all the faceless people
    whose company I share
    all the words exchanged and
    secrets shared
    all the tap-tap-tapped out
    conversations

    you frown
    because I’m disconnected
    but maybe I’m at home
    with people I have more
    in common with
    than geography

    but you ask it so I do
    I power down
    close the screen
    flick the switch

    and all I am
    is lonely

    000000000001

  18. Sara McNulty says:

    Please, Let Me Go

    Please, her eyes beseeched
    him, let me go in dignity.
    He knew the extent
    of her pain, and wondered
    if she could do the same
    for him, if the situation
    was reversed. He kissed
    his wife of sixty years,
    and pulled the plug.

  19. Julieann says:

    Dis-connect

    Really, it seems,
    I need to dis-connect,
    I have the phone, the
    Computer, both desktop and
    Laptop, no not a notebook,
    Maybe that’s the
    Problem

    I listen to talk TV,
    Watch the news and weather
    And cheer on the sports
    Somehow, it all becomes
    A blur and I don’t
    Seem to know what in the dickens
    Is going on

    Too much input, too
    Much to digest, peace
    And quiet is what I need
    Time to relax and unwind
    To sip tea on the porch in the
    Cool of the evening and watch
    The lightening bugs light up

    No wait, I live in the country,
    I live the quiet life, and yet
    I’ve never fully dis-connected
    It’s not the world that
    Has the problem
    It is myself – I need to
    Dis-connect

  20. PowerUnit says:

    One little corrupted bit
    Is all it takes
    To unplug you
    From what’s important and serialized

    One little hug
    Is all it takes
    To make you realize
    That what’s important cannot be digitalized.

  21. seingraham says:

    IN PRAISE OF PLUGS…

    It’s true, becoming unplugged
    is a challenge; we are so accustomed
    to having everything at the ready–
    music, news, updates on everything
    from the trivial to the semi-important
    to the crucial…

    But never did I realize just how addicted
    I had become to my personal plugs
    than the night after our daughter’s
    wedding when we were trying to sleep
    in the camp-ground adjacent
    to the reception lodge where the festivities
    were still going strong, even as the sky
    was lightening towards dawn.

    We had a super-deluxe motor-home
    on loan, air-conditioned and outfitted
    better than some homes we’ve owned
    However, I need silence for sleeping
    and so usually travel with earplugs
    but on this night of nights, in all the chaos
    surrounding our daughter getting married
    and me being the mother-of-the-bride,
    somehow I’d neglected to pack my plugs.

    Oh well, I thought, I’d been up
    over twenty-four hours…
    surely it wouldn’t matter.
    And the A/C was loud…it was a sweltering
    summer night, one of the hottest on record;
    no doubt that noise would drown out any others.
    I was so exhausted, I was sure I would drift right off.
    Wrong. I don’t know how long I tossed and turned.

    It was thundering off in the distance
    and I could here every rumble;
    and one of the groomsmen,
    presumably passed out early
    from a bit too much of the bubbly,
    or so I was told when I suggested
    I might go roll him over to try
    and staunch the noises issuing from this lad;
    I had been warned about this guy,
    but if I hadn’t heard him—and I could hear him
    as if he was inside our motor-home–
    I might not have believed the barnyard noises
    emitting from the man…
    Needless to say, there was no ignoring this sound,
    even by putting my head under my pillow,
    or rolling tissues into thin sticks
    and manoeuvring them into my ears,
    still, I could hear the discordant droning
    of the snorer and other unidentifiable noises…

    Frustrated beyond belief,
    I finally had an inspiration
    and dug out a couple of flaxseed capsules…
    They’re huge, shaped like missiles and on a hunch,
    I figured they just might fit into my ears
    without going all the way in…
    Sure enough, they were big enough
    to actually jam into my ear-holes
    and stick out a bit so I could grab them
    out when I needed to; the perfect makeshift earplug,
    I have to say, ingenious.
    Of course, I never did live down that I slept
    with bright shiny gold supplement
    tablets stuck in my ears the night
    my daughter got married…
    Ah, but I slept…

  22. De Jackson says:

    A Coo Stick

    We leave the phones
    at home
    and just walk. Talk
    about nothing and
    everything, and all
    the in between whispers
    we’ve been holding deep.
    Keep in time with the trees
    and the breeze, listen only
    to the doves and the bees.
    Grab a branch from a hum
    -bled stream-soaked vein
    of ground; hold it high, a divining
    rod. Find ourselves
    both lost
    and found.

    .

  23. EfrainThePoetK1n9 says:

    Don’t pop the bubble, don’t rock the boat, and don’t cross the street
    until the little white-man glows:
    Searing in my frontal lobe
    Electricity flows
    And explodes in images vivid
    Hues of crimson blues
    Like an aurora borealis.

    We are dwarves on the shoulders of giants
    Found in wonderland with Alice.
    Through the looking glass: the poem with the Carpenter and the Walrus.

    To dupe the oyster is to eat.
    Each follows each
    Into the following,
    The old will teach the young into the hollowing
    And towering at the surface is…

    Chirping, chirping
    The little glowing white man says walk,
    Forward,
    Coffee,
    Fat lady move over I’m late for work.

  24. Erin Kay Hope says:

    Camping Trip (a Shadorma)

    By Erin Kay Hope

    Dispensed with
    Creature comforts for
    Several days,
    While camping;
    I unplugged, let loose, learned to
    Be one with nature.

  25. elishevasmom says:

    Unplugged

    As a carpenter’s daughter,
    I have uncountable
    fond memories
    of standing at
    my dad’s elbow,

    watching him work his
    magic—reanimating wood
    with dreams of the trees
    from which they came.
    He could take a piece

    of wood, and transform it
    into just about anything.
    Once, he even helped me
    “build” a bird house.
    I think I must have been

    about ten or so.
    As befitting a project for
    someone my age, it was
    just a simple craft. The front
    side was open—no hole

    to slip in through, no perch
    outside. And although
    no birds used it for nesting,
    it did become
    a dandy store-house for twigs.

    But what I liked the most,
    was watching when he
    re-furbished antiques.
    Sometimes, it would mean
    taking antique wood

    from something that had
    surrendered it’s service
    to time, and up-cycling it
    (though that word
    hadn’t been invented yet)

    into a period reproduction.
    But other times,
    it would mean taking
    a chair, or side board
    that was well worn,

    yet in which
    his skilled eye could
    detect an ability
    of something
    much more to give.

    He would carefully
    take them apart, clean
    them up and lovingly
    put them back together
    (for him, this endeavor

    was always a gift.)
    And in watching him work,
    I came to understand
    one of the most
    important lessons I ever

    learned from him.
    “If you are not going
    to do something the right way,
    don’t waste your time to start.”
    You see, as any good

    wood-worker will tell you,
    after assembling the furniture,
    there are holes
    at the joints where the
    screws are inserted.

    And there are little plugs of
    wood that are used to
    cap off the holes, thus giving a
    professional finish to the piece.
    And I learned from my dad, to
    never leave anything “unplugged”.

    Ellen Knight
    5.29.13 (write an “unplugged” poem)

  26. hcfbutton says:

    unplug

    constantly fed
    a fountain of information
    words and images
    a steady stream
    synchronising sentiment,
    emotion, thoughts and feelings
    until we sound the same.

    embracing the unknown
    walk away to wrestle
    with wantonness,
    find solace in stepping
    sideways,
    self-doubt starts the slide
    to fulfilling our souls
    as we finally think for ourselves.

    as posted on http://hcfitzpatrick.com/2013/05/29/unplug/

  27. julie e. says:

    i think maybe the flow of the poem is better without the 2 lines i removed, this way:

    MEXICO.

    Those words he’s sayin’

    she don’t even hear

    Her brain’s in Mexico

    Bright colors dance around her,

    skirts and a mariachi band

    ’cause her brain’s in Mexico.

    That look’s on his face–

    gritted teeth, narrowed eyes–

    but her brain’s in Mexico

    the heat bathing her womb-like

    she laughs at her drink

    ‘cause her brain’s in Mexico,

    her brain’s gone to Mexico.

  28. julie e. says:

    Those words he’s sayin’
    she don’t even hear
    Her brain’s in Mexico
    Bright colors dance around her,
    skirts and a mariachi band
    she smiles from ear to ear

    That look’s on his face
    gritted teeth, narrowed eyes,
    but her brain’s in Mexico
    the heat bathing her womb-like
    she laughs at her drink
    and at the night sky
    ‘cause her brain’s in Mexico.

  29. dextrousdigits says:

    Vacation Redefined

    In the dilemmas-work-family-house-hurricane,
    two week vacations are almost non existent.

    Yet 1 hour of:
    solitude with my current favorite book
    luxuriating in lavished bubble bath
    watching Cirque du Soleil
    walking any scenic path
    listening to Concierto de Aranjuez

    Or 15 to 30 min of:
    clouds changing shapes before glued eyes
    massage deep or gentle over turbulentfurious muscles
    observing visiting humming birds, butterflies, bees in my garden
    lying in a hammock rocking
    tai chi rhythmic soothing dance

    Also 5 min of:
    enjoying a hot cup of coffee with cookies or cake
    closing my eyes to watch my breath
    counting each blessing
    smelling a Mr. Lincoln burgundyred to be kissed fragrance
    giving someone a complement

    Or 1 minute of:
    cat purring in my lap
    seeing an 83 year old couple holding hands
    being surprised hubby made dinner or washed the dishes
    a long never let me go hug
    spontaneous laughter

    Can me transport temporarily out of the storm
    long enough to make a difference.

  30. UNTOUCHED

    Polar lights shimmer fleur-de-lis pink,
    unearthly green reflecting off snow at the end
    of our ski tracks from highway to

    nowhere – our ride-home parked unplugged
    in a scum of dark
    treadmarks miles behind us;

    and here – where are we on the map? –
    we pitch our tent above frozen
    creek, white cheekbones of a country

    we’ll never recognize in summer; trusting
    the Grizzly sleeps till then; spirit
    of this unplugged wonderland that lures us.

  31. ACOUSTIC

    Strum your life au natural,
    and call on your memories
    upon which to draw your power.
    Unmic’d and unscripted
    lifted from the pages
    of some Amish hand bill,
    killing time while you
    fine tune your instrument.
    If man were meant to be electric
    he’d have shorted out by now..
    How else could you get it into your head?
    Unplugged does not necessarily mean dead.

  32. Unplug

    U nclog this pipe and please fix the drain. I feel like old
    N oah after one month of rain. The toilet’s
    P lugged up, the kitchen sink, too. And
    L ook at the bathtub. Why is it blue? The basement is
    U nder three inches of water. What’s that going by? It could be an otter.
    G ee, I couldn’t feel dumber. I should have known not marry a plumber.

  33. priyajane says:

    REBOOTING
    When things get slurpy
    and belch and froth
    And our automation is
    gulping with wrath
    Or frozen , half dead and
    blocking our thoughts

    It may be best to
    unplug all the wires
    Let silence
    work its magic
    Before rebooting
    As we plug along
    Refreshed—-

  34. JWLaviguer says:

    Let’s Plug Away

    Plugged into the world
    part of a larger society
    globally connected to each other

    So why all the hatred
    and death rampant
    over ancient gods unseen

    Famine and disease
    we close our eyes to
    and Google happier times

    All this technology at hand
    and we cannot find a solution
    to live in peace as one

    Virtually

  35. dford says:

    Just make it stop!

    I’ve thought of you on a daily basis now, for what seems an eternity. My mind, heart and soul once filled with gratitude, expectation and love. Now, it’s as if I’ve been cursed. Thoughts of you flow as readily as the blood through my veins. They will not cease. Life provides little distraction from this. Previously I’d only known of failed love in theory. Actually, love didn’t fail me, it still exists. I failed it. I failed you. I failed to be what you needed.

    Your intentions, were however, less than noble. Yours was not an affair of the heart. Your yearning was that of the flesh. I could not sacrifice my standards to adhere to your needs. Though distance has provided a disconnect between you and I, I can no longer continue to hold onto something unreciprocated. I can no longer hold out hope you will return my love. My beliefs are too great a price to pay. In short, no more love songs will my heart, mind or soul display, you can have them all, as I no longer wish to play.

  36. JRSimmang says:

    Bouncing off my shadorma:

    It’s been more than a year
    since he laid it down here
    and the silence in the strings
    had been what sadness brings.

    The polished wood and enameled pearls
    no longer were worn around his neck,
    and the dust that had gathered at his flag unfurled
    went unnoticed, a vacant sea-shipped wreck.

    He sits and stares at the loosened bridges
    and sighs upon the creaking hinges.
    His callouses have lost their troubled ridges,
    his memories becoming hints and inches.

    He thinks aloud about the bass understood,
    shaking, breaking, raking his chest,
    and begins to wonder if it was good
    for his health to be bleeding sound from the breast.

    And it’s lonely here.
    It’s lonely in his head.
    It’s lonely in the clear,
    soundless dread.

    For where there is no sound,
    there is no noise;
    only the pristine sound abounds
    of silence .

  37. Alexander Gray says:

    Unplugged from the system,
    I create the wrong impression,
    As I seek a new perception,
    But my Optical Drive’s a little loose,
    My Internal Hard Drive
    Finds it hard to compute,
    Memory reaches full capacity,
    Flashes too fast it’s too hard to see,
    Through the lens of the eye of a broken screen,
    I monitor what I can but I don’t understand it,
    Even if I fill out my HD Bandwidth,
    Process my progress wait for the sound,
    It alarms me to feel like I am Shutting Down…

    Need to Log Off, step away from the glare,
    Defragment my system, put the files over there,
    Clear out my desktop, battery on charge,
    A chance to reboot so I can remind me who I was,
    Damn the virus within in me! I troubleshoot for the cause,
    Results come up empty,
    Time to close those windows,
    It’s getting a little drafty, the fan extracts dust,
    And life feels hard, generating more rust,
    Should put myself in for repair, except it costs too much,
    Programs become confused and switch themselves off,
    Software only updates when I cut a few wires,
    Modem corrupted and I wish to expire,

    Shutting Down… frozen on pixelated landscape,
    Rejected, I gave myself a good firm handshake,
    And pulled the plug out of my own mainframe.

  38. The Outgoing Message I’d love To (But Probably Shouldn’t) Leave On My Answering Machine
    By Madeleine Begun Kane

    Your party can’t come to the phone.
    She’s at lunch or home sick. Please don’t moan.
    Leave a message, or not.
    I don’t care — I’m a bot.
    But my owner says, “Leave me alone!”
    Madeleine Begun Kane

  39. identity says:

    So hard to do.

  40. PoM says:

    None to do
    Just sit and wait
    Grab pad paper an pen
    Doodle or draw

    Write A short story
    long hand form
    compose a poem
    the old fashion way
    News paper magazine
    read a book

    Visit a neighbor,
    hang with friends
    Converse and laugh
    Have some fun

    Maybe some house work
    Dirty dishes in sink, laundry
    Or chores need be done

    Confess with sadness and tear
    A whoa you done
    Them you hold near and dear

    Maybe play cards
    Tic Tack toe
    Hang a little stick man
    Before the letters were guessed
    This is how I remember it
    Years ago

    Or maybe go out
    And run and have fun
    Play in the rain
    Snow or sun
    It made no difference
    when I was young

    This was the life I once knew
    Before the gadgets had come
    Computers, I phones laptops and more

    Now the world’s stuck in a web
    Social media the internet
    We’ve all become cybernaughts
    How can this be

    A text I see
    As phone beeps to me
    A message from son
    after he’s read
    It’s shut it off with smile
    I will not reply
    He’s just upstairs
    Less thirty feet away

    Someone please
    Pull the plug
    I do not like
    What the worlds become

  41. identity says:

    Well said.

  42. foodpoet says:

    am still working on a more hopeful version this one came out more like what happens if we don’t unplug ourselfves

    Electric Fiddling

    Riding the miles of boredom
    Where the vines of nothing
    Crawl up snake like
    To crush every burst of joy
    From our bodies. Only empty garments
    Are left that protect only the bosses
    Who snapper like consume what
    The time snake left.

    There is no electric restitution
    When sequester fills pockets and takes jobs.
    Gadgets have more value to the boss
    As they play computer gods with pay
    Irradiate the workers make them take less
    Work more
    Obey.

  43. Domino says:

    unplugged

    in the best
    sense of the wor(l)d
    possibly means
    dis
    -con
    -nec(k)
    -tion
    from everything
    but
    to me it means
    a sense of
    lazy
    freedom from
    what people think
    or say
    or do
    to make me
    re
    -act
    -or
    re
    -bel(l)

  44. Yolee says:

    Happy Birthday, My Girl

    We were attached at the start of your being
    in one accord. I can’t help but think after
    forming under the opened windows of my
    spirit and soul, after discomfort scratched
    on my nerve endings like a visited diary
    where pain is disclosed, after the cord
    was cut and morning wandered into that cool
    afternoon in May, and then whirled in the tea
    of early evening, you, separate from my
    internal wilderness entered a hidden room
    in my heart with big and comfy furnishings.
    You brought the paint of your soft fingers
    and unframed self-portraits to display
    them on my walls. The mystery of it is
    it took you to be outside of me to find
    that secret place. All those years ago,
    you found my maternal highland
    meant for you to crouch in its caves
    and climb its highest peak.

  45. identity says:

    The ties that bound him tightened
    in a chokehold ‘round his neck
    so he cut them and broke free,
    confined no more.
    Still,
    a wire that passed a current
    that connected him with them
    seemed steel-encased, plugged in
    forevermore.

  46. directrj says:

    Firm to fill some hollow space
    For fear of dark cold boredom
    Or to be alone in some place
    An electric glow can’t follow
    For without the light and noise
    The mind is free to wander
    Through lonesome thoughts few enjoy
    But all should sit and ponder
    ‘Cause within the web there’s lies
    Hidden among the truths
    To discern what is disquised
    Unplug and find solid roots

  47. JWLaviguer says:

    Pulling the Plug

    Bathed in restitution
    scrubbed with forgiveness
    yet sitting here in this tub of deceit
    I am immersed in the waters of futility
    pull this plug of stubbornness
    so I may rinse away the sins of yesterday

  48. Alexander Gray says:

    First time entry, I hope this is alright. Any advice would be gladly appreciated.

    Pull it out,
    I am no longer feeling,
    This connection we have,
    Is no longer healing,

    I need something,
    That I can believe in,
    And all you can give,
    Is words you deceive in,

    Pull it out,
    We lost our way,
    You can no longer see,
    What I used to be,

    We once sparked,
    When we came together,
    But now time burns
    Our Incandescence,

    Get it out,
    Before you blow a fuse,
    I will no longer be the
    Subject to your abuse,

    Draw a neutral line,
    Within the earth,
    Live for life,
    After our rebirth,

    New beginnings,
    Alone we part,
    Back we go,
    Towards the Start.

    • PressOn says:

      I wouldn’t presume to advise you; I think this is good. Your 5th stanza is the hinge on which the poem turns, in my opinion.

    • identity says:

      Welcome to P.A. What we post here is often not the final product. You have conveyed what you are trying to say. That’s the first and most important step. Hope to see more of your work.

  49. Jane Shlensky says:

    Old Plugs

    His muzzle whitened with his eyes.
    He didn’t gallop any more;
    a saunter was the best he had
    and taciturn the face he wore.

    Sometimes he bit a friendly hand
    for fun, his nicker wheezing, rugged,
    but when Old Plug stayed on the ground,
    we mourned him, for we’d come unPlugged.

  50. Jane Shlensky says:

    Pluggage

    Currency leaks from outlets
    where a plug is plugged in
    Everywhere.

    He says to look around and count
    to see we’re hemorrhaging
    Power,

    But to un- and re-plug each
    appliance before and after
    Use, means

    no ease of flow, but pain in the
    back, frustration. Knowledge is
    Power,

    for now I feel the pinch of wattage
    run amuck, the snap and pop of
    Electricity

    in the air, escaped and surging,
    charging through the house’s
    Quiet space,

    angry as rival gangs, purse-
    snatching for fun, to give me
    Static.

  51. JRSimmang says:

    Fingers at
    ev’ry possible
    angle, he
    realizes,
    for the first time, that he won’t
    have his autotune.

  52. Never2L8 says:

    This may seem a strange unplugged but describes my relationship, such as it is, to my spiritual life – unplugged somewhat from “church or churchiness”.

    There was a time when I knew what I knew
    was sure of it, confident, happy, smug.
    Then, a puny, piddling, gnat-sized nudge
    set me slightly off balance with its gentle tug
    of what if.

    I couldn’t even put it into sensible words
    It was a discontent, a sigh soft and long,
    something not quite right
    worse, what if we have it all wrong
    cued the nudge.

    Since that day for some years now
    I seem to live with spiritual vertigo
    my feet no longer planted firm
    in certainty – it’s been a blow to my ego
    of know it all.

    Somehow, I’ve learned to live this way
    sure as anyone can be with the Divine
    and hoping He will fill in the gaps
    take the doubt, the faith and define
    an acceptable belief.

  53. JWLaviguer says:

    Unplugged

    Some say a man must have hair
    his head his back and yes everywhere
    though the hair plugs they gave
    could not quite his head save
    but the rest of him looked like a bear.

  54. PressOn says:

    THE RAG MAN

    For forty years he drove the streets,
    calling for our old clothes and rags;
    neighbors were glad to give their sheets
    and old torn shirts and shopping bags,

    and all those years his old grey mare
    walked slowly, pulling on his cart;
    she never flinched when he would swear
    at cars or trucks, or some upstart.

    But nowadays he comes no more:
    no more his wheezes; no more his shrug;
    no more his rolling little store.
    The old plug horse has pulled the plug.

  55. RJ Clarken says:

    It’s Time to Unplug

    “I went to a gentleman’s cybercafe — and they offered me a ‘laptop dance’.” – Unknown

    I switch from Facebook to a page
    about some dude that’s all the rage.
    I just don’t get it, so I shrug.
    I think it’s time: I must unplug.

    A video on YouTube shows
    a duck face and a stupid pose
    inside a loo. She looks so smug.
    I think it’s time: I must unplug.

    There’s Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram
    and emails filled with tons of spam.
    which vie for notice, like a drug.
    I think it’s time: I must unplug.

    And never mind the cookie bots
    which sneak around and take pot shots
    which lead to issues, like a bug.
    I think it’s time: I must unplug.

    ###

  56. RobHalpin says:

    Which Pill?

    Red or blue?
    Given such a choice,
    I’ll always
    opt for red.
    Pull the plug, lower the veil,
    and see the real world.

  57. PressOn says:

    FACE LIFT

    I’ve traded wrinkles
    for fine new twinkles;
    I’ve lopped off sags;
    dispensed with bags;
    dispatched crows’ feet
    across the street
    and gave my nose
    an upturned pose.
    In sum, I’ve changed
    a face deranged:
    I’ve pulled the plug
    on my old mug.

  58. RobHalpin says:

    Getting Away From It All

    He woke to the sound
    of the servers in alarm
    before the brain fog
    lifted and he realized
    he was hearing cricket song.

  59. ewdupler says:

    Finding Your Life

    Utterly exhausted,
    No wind beneath these wings.
    Poisoned soul – fading.
    Life can be found away from it all -
    Umbilical cords severed;
    Grandiose dreams ahead;
    Glowing with new freedom;
    Ecstasy realized – with one simple action:
    Dare to unplug.

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