The Incredible Machine

A dawn of advance
The world was ready,
The people weren't
And their children heaved through years of framework,
It was progress...


Alas the good deeds
People found new needs,
They set out to reach
The things they would teach...


A night to recall
The battle was won,
The war neverending
Upon it they weaved a special network,
It was useless...


A spun web of fate
Of gaiety and hate,
Forgotten the days,
Of the mortal ways...


An eclipse of minds
Oiled engines and souls,
Young, riotous rage
And they wanted blood for joy and fireworks,

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I can't dance and I can't sing.

I can't dance and I can't sing.
I will teach you anything.
From fix a flat, to hula hoop.
To sewing hats and how to shoot.
I will teach you all these things.
It's better than searching on Bing.
I can teach you anything.
In your home, or down the road.
Learn how to taxidermy a toad.
All of these things that you can learn.
Like skipping rocks or growing ferns.
All of these lessons in just one spot.
Sell any skill you think you've got.
Yes, I will teach you anything.
So take a look, come on in.
I can even teach you how to swim.
There are no limits, yes it's true.
All of these things, I will teach you.

The Wild Web


It's amusing to watch people of all ages jaw like ornery old men. It doesn't seem to be of any concern how unlikely the theme of discussion. I've seen the sexes square off about feminism. I've seen gear heads debate the nature of their displacement. I've seen the attack ads on adolescents that aren't ready for the spotlight. The salesman in the side bar has even given me hankerings for a Hot Pocket. If unchecked these colorful cabinets of information and arguments will start to create an illusion of life. But the pixels on a TV are different than the lights in Times Square. That's why every week I pick out moments to unplug. I sit under a tree. I study its lines and limbs. For all it's age of weathered seasons, not a single bicker is heard among its branches.


Poem: Today's Great Undead Poets

Today’s great undead poets,
awash in the internet sea,
seek to fill the void of sensible emptiness
of our cyberspace world.
Following the heroic tradition of Man,
these daring individuals look to gain acceptance
through the expression of concepts.
Mirroring the virility and vitality of Life,
in defiance of critical naysayers,
the blankness of virtual paper
is scribbled upon with hurt, hope and ideals.
Writing styles and topics,
whether expressed in romanticized language
or the coarseness of profanity,
are brilliantly reflected in individualized glory
and authors bask in the personal satisfaction of achievement.
In the ever continuing flow of poetic thought,
today’s great undead poets
find treasures in the discovery of self.

Author's Notes/Comments: 


Learn more about me and my poetry at:


By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.


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This morning when I woke up…let me take a second to reminisce

I had an uneasy feeling as if something was amiss.


I walked around the cabin trying not to make a peep

Since it was still so early and Deborah was asleep.


But the electricity was working and the clock showed the correct time

So I sat down at my computer to post my daily rhyme.


I found the folder and opened the best poem I’ve written yet

But then I realized to my disbelief we had no internet.


I unplugged, I rebooted, I reset, I touched every key

And when all else failed at 6 A.M. I called A T & T.


I spoke to a man in India(?) who said the cause of our mayhem

Was a power outage in the area that would be fixed by 5 P. M.


5 P.M. Oh My God! There was nothing more to say.

That meant our cherished internet would be out the entire day.


5 P.M. this left me surprised, saddened, and confused

What am I going to tell Deborah? How will she take the news?


But Deborah took it like a pro, she’s a trooper through and through

So we sat down together and decided what to do.


“It’s really not so bad”, I said, “Sure it’s a huge blow.

But look, it’s already 8 o’clock…only 9 more hours to go”.


“But where will we get our news and entertainment Deborah exclaimed

And I have no idea who won last night World Series game.


Before we started to panic…an idea came to me

“Deborah!” I said picking up the remote control….” we still have our TV.”


But after watching endless videos of Miley Cyrus twerking

We switched over to Netflix to see if it was working.


It wasn’t! And I will omit our unprintable interjections

When we realized that Netfilx needs an internet connection.


So we turned it off to play a game then Deborah tried to sew

And when we were through we realized…8 more hours still to go.


“Deborah”, I said, “For 6 hours our internet’s been restricted.

Do you think, perhaps, by our reaction, that we could be addicted?”


“Don’t be silly,” Deborah said, “As we ate lunch at some Wi-Fi restaurant

“My IPAD says you’re not addicted if you can quit any time you want.”


After lunch we returned home still a little stunned.

We sat around watching uncomfortably waiting for 5:01.


“The Internet’s back,” I stuttered, as it was hard for me to speak

But Deborah was already using her IPAD as a tear fell down her cheek.


So as you can see we don’t have a problem…we have nothing to admit.


It’s not that we’re addicted, it’s just that…we don’t want to quit.

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May our cell phone numbers live on long after we are dead!

may our facebook pages stand as graves among the world wide web


and our photos sit as pictures tagged to some dead end links

and myspace won't be erased until that ipod synchs


passwords will be locks in front of our inbox safes

captchas will be capturing machine-soul trolling wraiths  


and after we are lowered into an ethernet jack

they can surf our worth and see the sites that history brings back


and our voicemails will be the recording they'll continue to redial

to hear our voice as garbled noise and speak to their denial 


may our cell phone numbers live on long after we have passed!

may they qwertily check the txt of our timed-out future cached

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