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SparkLife Poetry Club: Technology

SparkLife Poetry Club: Technology

Where have I been, you ask? Well, instead of accomplishing anything or doing something useful, I have been spending all my time on the Internets. There's just so much on here! Why go outside when I could be watching John Krasinski being his perfect self? It may sound like I've been wasting time, but it turns out that my obsessive procrastination has inspired this week's poetry club!

This Week's Topic: Technology
Keep in mind, you don't have to write a negative poem. It can be positive, goofy, whatever you want! But if you want to go on an anti- or pro-tech rampage, then go for it.

Poet of the Week: Marshall Jones
His lyrics are fantastic, but what I actually love more is his movement. Seriously, is he part robot?!

Honorable Sparklers: AutumnMooncakes, harleygirl2648, Katniss-Everdeen, LiteratureLover387, MuffinsWillRuleTheWorld, and a poem that was really short and incredibly sweet.


In order to contribute and to possibly get your poem featured here, leave your title and original poem in the comment section below. You can also submit a Sparkler Post instead of a comment—just make sure to use the tag SPC so I can find it! Email is also an option: if you want, you can send your poem to

Nature Finds a Way—AutumnMooncakes
The concrete is slippery
With the morning’s rain.
Everything is boring;
The city is always plain.

But in the cracks of tiles,
There is a hint of green;
Even in the dead cement,
A bit of life can be seen.

Grass springs up in fissures,
Shoots creep from under walls,
Stairs are home to clumps of moss
And leaves grow in the halls.

We tried to push plants aside,
But they have stayed to play;
The dull city turns beautiful
When nature finds a way.

Beauty is Pain—harleygirl2648
I've put holes in my ears
I use razors on my legs
I rip hair out of my eyebrows
Why do I do it?

I own fifteen hair products
I comb my hair until it hurts
I soak it in chemicals for curls
Why do I do it?

I use paint on my face and nails
I cover myself in a fruity scent
I wear shoes that pinch and squeeze
Why do I do it?

No white after Labor Day until Memorial Day!
No mixing stripes with plaid!

Those colors are different shades!
That's a different pattern!

Wear a sweater!
Wear pantyhose!

Get contacts!
Go on a diet!

Too much skin, you slut!
Covering your body, loser?


I just want to wear comfortable clothes
And no shoes
And uncombed hair.

I don't want this
But I can't stop.

As we sat on the hill
The grass tickles our spines and the breeze our noses
The sun slanting in yellow shadows across the lonely moor
Our smiles as if to reach a mile wide
Light in beauty

The darkness is now close
Purple ink spreading across a blue-orange sky
And the twinkles and mysteries of night
To make the mind wander far alone
Dark in beauty

The pain. Hot white pain
Searing like a broken heart, a broken leg, a broken promise
A life lost, a dream shattered
What has been lost and can be born anew, the stitches
Pain in beauty

Our lips meet for a second
Hands entwined
Eyes wandering to you
To see the one I hold above all
Beauty in love

Beauty is raw, human, real
So much more than a pretty face.

We cannot see beauty, and we cannot see grace,
Just as we cannot see single threads in soft embroidered lace.
To pick apart the pieces,
To see the picture true,
We only know the ugliness that drives us through and through.

The curse that's laid upon us,
That's filled our hearts with dread,
Has forced us all to see the worst
As best is driven from our heads.
But what if we saw beauty? And what if we knew grace?
Would it change the way we look at things,
And put us in our place?

For we are naught but tiny leaves,
Drifting helpless through our fear.
And we are nothing to the World,
Who doesn't know we're here.
She tries to show us beauty,
She tries to show us grace.
And we ignore it like the fools we are,
Focused only on the human face.

Am I pretty? she asks.
Sparkly tiara and fairy wand,
Brown eyes, big and round.
Her mother pats her head
Kisses her cheek,
and says,
You're the prettiest thing I've seen.

Am I pretty? she asks.
Chunky bracelets and hot pink nails,
Brown eyes, wide and young.
Her best friend nudges her shoulder,
Gives her a smile,
and says,
Yeah, that color looks good on you.

Am I pretty? she asks.
Straightened hair and bright lips,
Brown eyes, covered by shades.
Her friend winks at her,
Puts out her hand,
and says,
Can I have some of that mascara?

Am I pretty? she asks.
Red high heels and pulled back hair,
Brown eyes, rimmed with black.
The woman eyes her head-to-toe,
Shrugs her bony shoulders,
and says,
Wouldn't hurt to lose some pounds.

Slowly, voices start to chime.
One by one.
Your nose is too pointy.
I think you need a bigger size.
Don't show your teeth, they're crooked.
Your face is too pale.
I think you need more make-up.
Don't frown, you're wrinkles will show.

Down and deep they drown her.
Until all she can do is lift her legs,
Run out the door,
And try to catch her breath.

But it doesn't come.

Am I pretty? she shouts.
The rain outside is wetting her skin,
dissolving each layer,
soaking her hair,
but she shouts at the sky,

Am I pretty? she yells.
It just rumbles and grunts,
Sends a shower of droplets,
That mix her lipstick and mascara,
And fresh, salty tears,
Streaming down her face.

Am I pretty? she screams, one last time,
Staring into the black river below her.
She knows no one will answer.
Not many do.

So she straightens her jacket,
Tucks her soaked hair back,
Wipes the mascara and lipstick and fresh, salty tears,
Closes her big, round, wide, young, lost and lonely brown eyes,

And jumps.

What's your favorite poem from last week? Are you inspired by this week's theme?

Topics: Life
Tags: poetry, sparklers, writing, sparklife poetry club, sparkler poetry

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