Media Circus: A Poem

I’ve written before about my distaste for a life lived online or even in front of a TV screen. Of course, I do both, but only when my friends and family are not around. I much prefer genuine conversation. Except sometimes, it has to be said, the more interesting and honest conversation does take place online, when we dare not voice our real thoughts or interests to those around us. The emphasis, however, is on the term conversation, rather than shouting over each other, jeering, trolling. I lived long enough in my childhood in a place where I was told what to think and saw the darker side of herd mentality. I now want to listen to all points of view and engage in informed, considerate debate, like proper grown-ups, instead of a media circus.

Bojangles hums but brazen sky

Listens to others and shuts him down

Next, please, next!

Rainbow juggling, brilliant flash,

Tongue-twisted fire-eaters swallow their words

A pack of blood trolls swoop and snarl

Dribble slogans like so much stray mud

Follow the leader

Lost in the crush

Chirping and tumbling

Booked for daring to face life

Raw, unrevised, with no updates

How you snap those fingers,

Bojangles the merry,

And the lighter side of like

Turns to toasty concern,

So easy to warm on demand.

From celebuzz.com

Unplugged Poetry

Over at the dVerse Poets site, we are fretting about the level to which families and individuals are plugged into devices as a surrogate for genuine desires.  A recent survey supposedly tells us that the family is coming together again in the living room, in front of the TV, but each armed with their smartphones, tablets, laptops and so on, tweeting and messaging away to the outside world instead of talking to each other.  Bodily togetherness, perhaps, but a zombification of the mind.  This is a poem I wrote a year or so ago, but which seems very relevant for this discussion, so I hope you don’t mind me reusing it.

 

Teletubbies

We only really come alive

in front of deadened roar of others,

canned laughs still rouse us to sardonic smiles,

while tortuous plots free up our sneers.

Looking carefully ahead, not at each other,

each lost in our singular, unshareable thoughts.

We gossip about them in a semblance of emotion

so trite we stop caring long before the sentence ends.

As unadventurous as last night’s dinner

no miracle can reheat.

 

Not facing or squaring the truth and the gape,

ever silent we cling to our sofa

and the myth of our togetherness.