Online Poets


We are the synapses firing

In the obscurity of night

In the clarity of morning’s light

Firing thoughts we trigger on keyboards

Or mobile devices

Bouncing around the world and back

Where time is nothing

And everything

We weave a trading blanket

That covers us

To a degree

While we play with each other

In the dark warmth

We like our comforts


Like the thoughts we send out

Elegantly crafted

Metered rhymes

Form fitting testaments to creativity

Shocking thoughts of lust filled musings

Reinterpretations of perceptions

Random synchronicity


Outright lies

We take facts and deconstruct them

Reassembled into feelings

Or emotions

We paint pictures with words

We admonish and cajole

We hunger for feedback

And feed on the cornucopia

That keeps our tables filled

With thoughts and words and memes

We are the synapses

We versify

Our words sing the truth of creation

But it’s not always pretty

David Trudel  © 2012


Filed under Poetry

5 responses to “Online Poets

  1. This is not pretty, David. It is strong and wonderful!

    is a handful of daisies
    in a china vase
    or a little girl
    painting pale lipstick marks
    on her father’s cheek

    this poem is full-grown
    and wraps words
    tighter than arms
    & suggests shameless exploration
    under that blanket
    (unless it is lying
    about the blanket,
    which it could be)

  2. I love your response which deserves to be reposted itself! And what goes on under the blanket is indeed shameless and certainly not innocent.

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