Shooting stars

but it’s not their fault!
Animated droids
steeling the screen
with silver-tongued tales
rattle at minds…
To furnish the soul?

A hundred times and more a day
A thousand radio waves
are beamed
To a million open eyes
Each simply charmed by charming ways!

David says all information
is great for building a common nation.
So he’s pleased to see this fairy notion,
is backed by newsreel allegations:
That ministers’ – leading the restoration –
weigh heavy in fear
of mass publication!

So gleefully mass ignorance
is fed and bloated by conglomerates
Sealed with affection
by celebrity
and cooked – till black
then hid away!

On the streets,
on these sleepy streets
Chat is rife with the tales they tell
our TV’s, monitors, papers are full
of well written tales –
They tell them so well.

Part 23 (Teletart)

So he sits up
in the nights
to write?
He’s lying;
watches tele late
and early
sees nobody,
says
no
words…
Days roll on,
and on,
forever
– says he writes?
The liar never!
Always
with his square eyes
seeing others
living their lives:
He never sees
those real
people.
Stays indoors
and hides
from people –
it’s his lot!
But not his fault.
The writer’s
got no
real people,
but a frenzy
– pictured frenzy –
bending mind
and hold,
on real life…
So
there’s overflow
of telling
fancy tales
which should be told.

And next: Part 24.

Small Box

Small sweet screen
so dark,
so clean.
Poised, plastically,
for that magic touch.

Flicker
Screech

And around the world tonight …
pour the remaining cream
…as Cubs play, the pride leader relaxes …
Well, Jerry… My Girlfriend is A Big FAT ASS!
…could’ve been a Serious catastrophe –
could’ve been somebody…

Pouring beauty and dismay:
Sweet sorrow (old glory)
over aqueous eyes,
which leech the teaching
and lap at the glass!

This black, fantastic –
wondrous box!