Poem Found in My WordPress Feed

billions of WordPress.com posts…

9m ago, it was just a jellyfish.
12m ago, he took her right hand and continued but
21m ago,  where, in the end,
28m ago, in the future, trucks could run on poop.

32m ago, an IBM 7094 was the first computer to sing,
“42m ago, all the people that I tagged as friends and
52m ago, you made me feel safe, I never felt like I was alone!”
56m ago, a clutch unchaperoned.

57m ago, with most of the rich kids cowering in the airport…
1h ago, is this a painting?
1h ago, perhaps my perspective will change.
1h ago, die with glory!

 

With thankful eyes to:

tychogirl
Eyes + Words
Exponential Epigram
Engadget
Jason Weisberger
Frank Solanki
Man of many thoughts
Moly, The Hodge and The Podge or vice versa
Rob Beschizza
mopana, look around!
sarahylockwood, The Critiquing Chemist
TouchArcade

Poem Found in My WordPress Feed

The Waterwood Box, 32

Catch up!

The Admiral turned to another urchin on the bench. “Commander, instruct the pilots to bear us toward Tiskaloo. We shall inquire about the disturbance and return this lost creature to his miserable home.”  The Commander’s spikes shook and the urchin rolled off the bench to squeak the Admiral’s orders to a nearby urchin. This urchin then rolled a ways and squeaked orders to another urchin. This process continued until the orders found the pilots’ ears and the manta ray glided off in the direction of the water-folk city, Tiskaloo.

Adam tried to stay as quiet as possible and thankfully, the Admiral didn’t press him much. Other matters aboard the manta required Admiral Pinch’s attention, which meant that Adam sat alone, half-reclined on one of the benches. The manta’s slow, gliding movement through the water kept him pushed back into the bench. Had he the desire, Adam could have easily got up and swam around but for now he simply enjoyed a moment’s quiet. He was frightened and surrounded everywhere by urchins, but the lazy way the manta moved relaxed him enough that he fell asleep.

Adam dreamed he was home. It was a Saturday. He was in his bed. Outside, his father mowed the back lawn and something smelled delicious downstairs. He got out of bed and looked through one of his windows. Sure enough, there was Mr. Might pushing the mower and bobbing his head to the beat of whatever music played through the portable CD player that Adam always teased him about.  Adam paused, sniffed the air, then turned his head to get a stronger sense of the smell. Pancakes.

He bolted from his bedroom still in his pajamas, practically slid down the stairs and almost slipped on the last step. The smell of pancakes filled the air. Adam’s mouth watered.

The Waterwood Box, 32

The Plowman Shall Overtake the Reaper Yet Still The Heat Death Of The Universe Don’t Take Kindly to Organic Produce

We only find abdominal bliss
After we sign for the package
Left upon our crooked doorstep
By a maudlin brother grim

Our final results were sown tangentially
Once we spat brown, broken seeds
Into the cracked and wicked soil
That sat long waiting for revenge

In our distant, spacious futures
Most make love to ghostly figures
Instead, I peer toward between spaces
And sharply whisper your bright name

The Plowman Shall Overtake the Reaper Yet Still The Heat Death Of The Universe Don’t Take Kindly to Organic Produce

The Waterwood Box, 31

Catch up!

“So, Adam water-man. How did you wind up lost and stuck within that dreadful school of fish and, as long as you’re answering, however did you wind up without blue hair?” asked Admiral Pinch as he rolled along the manta’s spine. Adam followed close behind him. He remembered Spot’s advice: Don’t talk too much.

“I’m not sure,” he offered, more so confused by the question of the blue hair than anything else.

“Not sure?” the Admiral huffed. “You are either the most humble or the most ignorant water-man I’ve ever met.”

“I mean, I can’t remember. Anything.”

“Pity, pity. Well, maybe not all pity. If you were to remember everything I doubt we would be having this conversation.”

“Why is that?”

Admiral Pinch stopped rolling and said, “Because urchins hate water-folk.” He continued rolling, “And they hate us right back.” Adam didn’t say a word.

Adam and Admiral Pinch arrived at the middle of the manta’s back where the urchins had attached several, long benches shaped liked sofas. The furniture was pinned into the manta and it looked painful. The Admiral rolled up to one and hopped onto it. “It’s really King Altern who detests the water-folk. But, what the King detests we detest. The water-folk do not listen and they do not obey. They live in their little city and make up their own rules of civilization. Ahh…much like their forebears, the humans did, or so the old tales caution.”

At this, Adam wanted to cry out, Did?! Are there no more humans? What happened to them?

“But this is elementary. I gather you don’t recall Ocean history either?”

“No, sir.”

“Sir,” Admiral Pinch repeated. “That, water-man, is why I offered to take you home. You, unlike the rest of your kind, have respect for authority. Had you displayed the impudence typical of your kind…I would have fed you to the manta.”

The Waterwood Box, 31