“Plugged In” by Trevor Witt
Plugged in
To our own little world,
We sit, staring at screens,
Texting and typing and listening to tunes.
Connected with people three thousand miles away,
We cannot hear what people next to us say.
We have reports to write, programs to code,
Time to work and to waste as we grow old.
I have forgotten how to speak to you, Stranger,
Beautiful potential for friendship or danger.
You wonder what or who am I.
And I wonder why am I afraid to try.
Communication from behind a curtain
Has become commonplace.
It seems that it is easier to meet online
Than by reaching out to a human face.
The trend seems to be taking friendships for granted –
At least that is a fault I admit to.
We lose touch for years at a time.
We don’t call or write.
You were on my mind,
But far out of sight.
And we let the years slip by,
Thinking that an online “like” was enough to say “hi”.
It was as much your fault as it was mine,
But I should have unplugged and said what was on my mind.
“Coffee – The Intersection of Poetry and Politics” by Trevor Witt
Coffee is the intersection
of poetry and politics.
of math and the metaphysical.
of love and revolution.
Coffee is the building and the undoing
of societies,
the village mentality and the national consciousness.
of religion,
the sacred texts and holy rituals.
of human interaction,
stuck in our heads and spitting out unfinished thoughts.
Coffee is our calling and our demise,
the intersection of two paths,
an impetus for action,
a stimulant for decision,
the end of stillness.
Coffee is a necessary luxury,
like alcohol,
the freeing of the mind from itself.
the reformation of a spirit
under duress
in order to reach calm,
the intersection of poetry and politics,
pleasure and pain,
the desert heat and a deluge of rain.
Coffee wakes us up,
to our anxiety,
to our hopes and dreams,
and to our insecurities keeping us awake at night.
It is the intersection of stillness and action,
the poetry and politics of the universe.
Coffee is silence, surrounded by sonic booms.
Coffee is the intersection of pen and the blank page,
the fool and the sage,
a piece by Picasso and a doodled sketch by my three year old cousin on a napkin.
Coffee is the intersection of me and you,
waiting to be we,
the intersection of laughter and tears,
separation and union,
poetry and politics.
Coffee is my home.
“As I Look At Your Face” by Trevor Witt
My tears dried up long ago;
No longer do my eyes well up with water.
Your face in my mind reminds me
Of photographs of dead relatives,
Delightful and haunting,
A constant reminder of what once was.
“Not Quite A Haiku No. 1” by Trevor Witt
(We)
Broken minds,
Following broken hearts,
Led by faith.
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