PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

It squats in the corner of the room

Tireless, commanding, obscene.

Malevolently affixing us in it's glassy gaze,

And our minds are awash in the digital mush,  

Will they ever again come clean?



Teased and tantalised, hypnotised and brutalised

By the flickering fata Morgana.

Pandora's box, so long thought lost,

Spills out it's evils in every house.



It holds out to us our daily hopes,

To dash them again in the news hour,

Closely followed by the advert for St John's Wort

And other anti depressants.



But we'll all awake shouting "move that bus"

But that bus doesn't give a damn about us

And the very next day we'll slave away.

Looking forward to the evening program.



Cook shows and overhauls,  

Bad soaps and chat shows,  

Make everything seem possible,  

Acceptable, even palatable.



Even our own slavery.



I'm too old now to fight it.

So please; do show me once more  

How to fry an egg.



Please overhaul my house and car

And build for me that dream bike.

Teach me to knock those nails in,

(With never a hammer in sight).  



For my part, I promise that I'll phone in

If only to have a chance to win,

Your cheap Chinese tool chest,

Or the holiday in the old chateau,

On the hillside outside Brest.



But putting my sarcasm well aside,

I'll kill any man who pimps my bride!