Overshare

Overshare

Hey hey let me overshare with you.
Let me tell you too much please do.
Yeah like me enough, be a friend,
I’ll bare my all to you.
I’ll bare my all to you!

Let me tell you what I ate today.
I’ll share a recipe.
Watch the video of me chewing food.
I’m going to tell you about my indigestion.
Cause’ I want you to know that too.
I want you to know everything about me, ooo!

No question is a transgression.
Ask me about my irritable bowl,
or the red spots on my derriere, see?
And ask me about my
iron poor blood yeah
I’m feeling kind of blue.
Aren’t you feeling kind of blue too?

Hey hey let me overshare with you.
Let me tell you too much please do.
Yeah like me enough, be a friend,
and I’ll bare my all to you.
I’ll bare my all to you!

Ask me once even twice
about my behavior disorder
making me act not quite right….
Ask me about my medications.
Cause’ I know enough to give you
a pharmacological education whooo!

Ask me about my love making.
Ask me the ways I do it.
I’ll share pictures just to prove it.
Or ask me about my erectile dysfunction,
and just how long it’s been.
Let me tell you about the sad shape I’m in.

See? You cannot ask a wrong question.
I hope I’m perfectly clear.
Let me show my soul to you.
Let me expose my fragile mind.
Let me expose my fragile face.
What else can I possibly do?

Hey hey let me overshare with you.
Let me tell you too much please do.
Yeah like me enough, be a friend,
and I’ll bare my all to you.
And I’ll never even ask your name.
Cause’ I don’t need to know your name.
I just want to overshare with you…

Gregory Zeorlin 7/2/2017 @ 9:52pm

So…A sarcastic poem about modern society and our use of social media sites…Yep, look at me poking fun at all of US…Although the details revealed in this poem are of a fictional character and never of this writer. (Nice disclaimer, no?).

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Two Buckets of Dirt

Two Buckets of Dirt

We tossed and we turned.
We shredded and dreaded.
We traded and threatened.
“It’s yours! You have to take it.”
“It wasn’t mine. It was yours.”
“It was mine, but I don’t want it.”
“It was mine, but you can take it.”

As we sorted, we talked,
made up stories too.
Made up lies when we needed to.
Just to get on through the getting through
after our parents had dropped dead.

We cleaned out the attic.
We cleared the storage shed.
We searched under each and every bed.
We piled things in a dumpster,
burned documents on the grill.
We drank all dad’s old booze,
it didn’t make us ill.

We redistributed a lifetime of things.
Double-barreled shotgun,
gold pocket-watch on a chain.
Silver trolling motor,
bushel baskets of notes and cards.
Photographs stuffed in trash bags like leaves.
Nothing’s left behind.

What about those two buckets of dirt?
Buckets of dirt from an open-pit diamond mine.
Back when dad seemed to lose his mind
taking us to Arkansas for a get rich vacation.
We sorted dirt and rock all day
searching for the perfect diamond.
Even filled two buckets and hauled them home
so mom and dad could keep searching.

My oldest sister took those buckets to her home,
dumped the diamond dirt on a flower bed.
She never said if that dirt sparkled.
But somehow I just found 7 diamonds.
They’re sparkling now inside my mind.
Yeah, sparkling bright inside my head.
Can you see them? Can you see them?

Gregory Zeorlin 10/2/2017 @ 11:15pm

The End of History

The End of History

Let us remove all history.
Let us erase all tradition.
Let us purge ourselves of every story
until we arrive at this moment…
Adrift, but free of ancient ties.

Let us round all edges.
Let us soften the contrast between us.
Let us muddle all hues.
Let us blend in, fit in and slide in.
Let’s let everything go until
each and everything about us is
going, going…gone.

Nameless Historically Ambiguous Art

Historically Ambiguous Art

 

Let us forget the names of every bridge.
Let us forget the names of every street.
Let us forget the names of every building.
Let us forget the names of every river, stream and creek.
Let’s not rename but un-name everything.

Let us void anything referencing any moment
from any past anywhere at any time.
Then we’ll meld together and hum.

Let us make music into a single note…
A buzzing droning sound without words.
It’s what we’ll hear in our heads
after we’ve freed ourselves from history.

Let’s unburden ourselves of words by severing their roots.
Let’s excuse ourselves from all languages.
Let’s build another tower of babble and hum.
But then, what is that?

Aldkfji ierjddl adlfkd oeirue
oeiruei sldkfjv aodif, alsdkf.
Eoridk lsdfkjdk aldkfdk irkrp,
oeik oaidfd ldkfdjdk.

111000111000111000
00011100110011001100
110011001100110011001100
000011110000111100011100

Gregory Zeorlin 5/11/2017 @ 7:33am

Reading a Poem

Blue Spot

Blue Spot

 

Reading a Poem

There’s never a delay
in reading a poem.
The words don’t spoil.
The spaces between the words
don’t split open or compress.
And the periods
still make you stop.
See?

 
Gregory Zeorlin 12/10/2016 @ 8:14am
This was my email reply to a friend who said
he was sorry for the “delay” in reading a poem
I had recently sent him.

SHARE THIS POEM IF YOU WISH.

Christmas Circus

Christmas Circus

There’s quite a show happening
on our Advent Wreath.
An Advent Wreath arranged on a white oval plate
with a cushion of evergreen leaves
and twigs with red-orange berries.
An Advent Wreath sitting
in the middle of the kitchen table.

There are two black specks rappelling
down the candle sticks!
And another speck of spider stringing
tiny silky lines from the pink one
to the three purple ones.
Three trapeze artists rehearsing,
with the greatest of ease,
for the annual Christmas circus.

Gregory Zeorlin 12/5/2016 @3:28pm

(SHARE this odd poem if you wish).

 

Out There

Out There

There’s frost sparkling on the lawn chair.
I do not dare go out there,
in my boxer shorts.

Picture me, or you, turning blue.
Puffs of steam float out our mouths.
Most birds up North have gone South
or just now pass overhead wondering…

“What are those humans doing down there?”
Well, we’re sipping coffee
in our underwear.

But of course not!
There’s frost sparkling on the lawn chair.
But in the spring, I’ll be there, half-bare,
coffee steam rising to boost you home.

Gregory Zeorlin 12/1/2016 @ 7:45am

SHARE this poem if you wish….

Island-Spaceship-Mall Planet

I recently entered a colossal glass roofed shopping mall spreading over acres of land. The structure seemed like something in between an island and spaceship or a mall planet closely orbiting earth. I generally avoid these environments as my spacesuit isn’t equipped to endure the atmosphere.  The gasses generated from such places suit the aliens who look like me but require another type of atmosphere to exist. Prolonged exposure to the mall planet’s atmosphere causes both people and aliens to succumb to impulse buying behaviors.

While walking on the surface of mall planet the sensors on my spacesuit detected fumes gassing from $800 dollar leather purses.  I notice many aliens carry credit cards and other charging devices in these show bags to continue generating high pressured debt.  But carefully designed exoskeletons allow these aliens to carry the debt burden while maintaining an expressionless look. Their deadpan faces are similar to the photographs displayed in the mall of fashion models wearing designer clothes while carrying highly coveted and priced handbags. But who noticed these trophy bags since most aliens walk with heads titled down to gaze at communication devices? Some aliens carry the trophy purses to the mall planet while wearing pajamas just to sit and drink caffeine.

Magical Purses

Magical Purses

As I venture deep into this unfamiliar planet I realize it is filled with millions of pieces of designer space debris. The openings on each side of the tarmac grant access to vast showy warehouses where pulsing music, shimmering homing devices and blinking beacons guide aliens to boots, polished metal trinkets, gilded suits and more.  It’s all available and acquisition requires only a credit card.  I’m relieved as warehouse workers evaluate my spacesuit and decide I am not one of the aliens.  These semi-robots sharply reduce their pre-purchase dialog with me (which gets modified depending on what exoskeleton an alien wears).

Gilded Suits

Gilded Suits

The island-spaceship-mall planet defies common sense. I see palm trees nearly hovering in space inside glowing blue glass boxes.  White flags hang above these full-sized artificial trees and serve as antennas guiding shoppers to the correct designer space debris depots.  Some consider these flags as displays of public art. The flags are without color or content and fill the void above the fake palm trees. The trees and the flag mean absolutely nothing.  Perhaps this is to remind us we are nothing until we buy something? Buy something, put the exoskeleton on, and fit in. To be an alien means we’ll learn to bear crushing debt and even feel normal racing around frantically in automobiles costing as much as some homes after departing from the mall planet.

Hovering Fake Palm Trees

Hovering Fake Palm Trees

I did see a pair of $215 dollar shoes I liked. I’m not sure, but my spacesuit may have temporarily malfunctioned allowing me to detect leather scent which weakened my logic. Or, the flag-antenna system successfully signaled “BUY ME” data into my brain. Fortunately a defense system in my brain will override it and guide me to a thrift store. I will eventually find those shoes in a thrift store where out of fashion space debris gets reacquisitioned by people living down on earth.

As Black Friday approaches (and all variations and renditions released by the alien mother ship), I wish all fellow humans  good luck and good shopping. Let’s buy stuff to cram into our closets and rented storage units! Buy even more stuff to leave in our automobile trunks until we remember to carry it into our cluttered lives. Or…RAISE YOUR SPACE DEBRIS SHIELDS! But…eventually we will succumb to the aliens vast marketing power.

…..High on my gift wish list this year….. the before you “go” toilet spray gift-set that cloaks my stink before I let it go. And all imaginary readers who made it to this point wish I used that toilet spray before I posted this c#%p. Too late.

Now get out and buy something you didn’t need! And if all else fails remember…Things Sell Better With Jesus (Yes you can buy this sticker/note-card…See! The aliens on the Mall Planet got me to make a sales pitch before Black Friday).

Things Sell Better With Jesus

Things Sell Better With Jesus

 

So….Peace, love and happiness to those who celebrate for many reasons between mid-November and January 1st.