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Tag Archives: surfing

A Wildly Webbed World

11 Saturday Apr 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, creativity, poetry, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

activity, computer, fun, Internet, knowledge, learning, poem, poetry, recreation, surfing, web

black cat holding persons arm

Photo by Ruca Souza on Pexels.com

I type —
Hey! Clatter-clatter keyboard of ascii: 
Chatter chatter; chat me up and down the great grey scales of my
Wide webbed world!
Hey clatter, clatter keyboard of ask me: 
Look at me and truly see I’m rainbow-swirled.
Share my image morphed; visualize my visage;
Stay and portray me; play me; slay me.
Vibrate my thought through the slick copper wire
Send my second self through the tiny fibers of fine desire
Do deadly dragons and flagons and flames and fire!

10F4B83C-DD20-4A6F-A6D4-B36DE04871FF

I think —
Hey! Let me find and remind our larger mind
Of who we may yet — build to become:
A race of not so numb and not so dumb,
Plumbing instead to the very depths of distant stars,
And no less, the innermost realms of mirth and Mars,
Till the mystic magic oneness of math and rhyme
Manifests so patently, so patiently, so perfectly in mime.
Find the micro-time to sweep my musical spheres and spears
The tears and cares of play and work no longer clash;
Till micro-cash flows like water through all the all-time
Help-hungry waiting wings of the world-wide watersplash;
Till ripples trip tugboats of data, mined from far fields,
Crash breaker-wave upon analyses and syntheses and shields.

B371D710-826A-4E82-A9D3-369A53649234

I see —
Strangely dreaming wrecks of old preconceptions shatter,
Clatter to the floor, rearrange, derange themselves re-making,
Tattered by the shreds of cyberworlds waking, shaking
Our millenial group-sleep of not seeing all the wide over-tried
Over-tired, over-mired, over in the four-leaf field of clover spied
World around surround of miracle of sight and sound
From air to ground, and sea to land, and rainbow band and bound.

FDC90856-D493-4828-80DE-853D923627CF_1_105_c

I hear —
Instruments that sing as they soar, tinkle, roar and storm;
Slap each other silly, go dancing willy-nilly; form and reform
Glancing blows and prancing foes and smiling awhile,
Rising for a virtual ever-upward sky-high mile,
Suspended, then — falling for eternity below the lowest low,
Dropping stone-like into so slow, slow, no-go flow.

C8A2A9CB-5065-4347-AE76-A43A0FC721E4

Reloaded and rebooted, I readily roam —
Freely through city and pity and pious and pi,
Splash through wavelets and warrants and warriors and why,
Surf terrier and harrier and hairless and house
Matrices of miracles, at the merest touch of my magic mouse!

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Author Page on Amazon

Essays on America: The Temperature Gauge 

Essays on America: A Once-Baked Potato

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Myths of the Veritas: The Forgotten Fields

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