A topical hypertext poem for #nationalpoetryday
I haven't blogged in a while but here is part of a heavily edited (& supplemented) version of a recent contribution of mine to a discussion among poets and writers here in Ireland & the UK.
Here's a first draft of a (normal) poem I wrote earlier today called Asymmetric Silence..
children holding hands
used to include smiles, wrists, and forearms
sons were not shredded bodies in plastic bags
a sacred rage arose in my soul at such attacks
as I wept at pitiful pixels
reduced value flatscreen inhumanity displayed
no profit there in
shouting unheard, about the slaughter of innocence
and schools of thought less human than before
some remote close friend
a part from this 21st century madness says
Another article I wrote for Headstuff a couple of weeks ago, this time on the subject of creative writing courses: “I wanna tell you a story”, catchphrase of deceased English comedian Max Bygraves, is it also the primary motivation for students of creative writing?
This image goes with some writing I did for Headstuff.org. Originally called "Was it him or Tim ? Growing up on a quarter century of internetness.." the text follows:
As we all know ‘Hypertext Servers’ were one of the new things Tim Berners Lee proposed twenty five years ago while at CERN; it was a modest proposal that relative to the rate of previous communications advances swiftly changed the global communications landscape. (You can read Tim’s full text Here)
Like so much of Ireland, there is a duplicity at work on Saint Patricks day, we have our own traditions which we learn in school or as children on our grandparents knees, such stuff as the sainthood for the expulsion of snakes, shamrock etc.. and irrespective of historical accuracy or otherwise those traditions assist us in forming some kind of self-identity. That other stuff the hi-jacking of our collective culture by corporate interests or just drunks in other countries toasting saint Patty.. well that’s all simply beyond our control..
A six foot surround won’t hold him down
for among such clay he found his way
of watching talk become sound
sculpting moulded mounds of say
nothing of his landscape found without
first a deep yet gentle excavation of a soul
he’ll now always be about.
I’ve witnessed a few friends take sabbaticals from social media in recent months, some of them originally swearing off the entire FB/Twitter thing forever and ever and ever and never again… only to see them sheepishly return a few months later. I’m not that naive to think that I could completely disavow all on-line activity connecting me with various individuals, groups and communities, connections for the most part for which I actually feel genuinely privileged in the first instance. Connections seemingly superficial often prove moving on occasion.