She asked me to kill the spider. • National Poetry Month

Enjoy this lovely poem by Rudy Francisco. Read more of his lovely work on Twitter.

She asked me to kill the spider.

Instead, I get the most

peaceful weapons I can find.

I take a cup & a napkin,

I catch the spider, put it outside

and allow it to walk away.

If I am ever caught in the wrong place

at the wrong time, just being alive

and not bothering anyone

I hope I am greeted 

with the same kind 

of mercy.

@rudyfrancisco

Twitter Haiku — National Poetry Month

I found this delicious little morsel on Twitter by Haiku Hare.

Embrace who you are. 
If you're learning who that is, 
embrace the journey.

Awesomeness in 5-7-5, indeed!

Follow @HaikuHare — and while you're at it, try a haiku.
A haiku consists of three lines, seventeen syllables, like this:

five syllables

seven syllables

five syllables

Give it a try. It's more fun, and more challenging, than you might think.

Poetry Wednesday: Cookie Monster, Poet

Cookie Monster, via Sesame Street, tweeted the following poem:

This is just to say
Me have eaten 
the cookies 
that were in the cookie jar

and which 
you were probably 
saving 
for snack time

Forgive me 
they were so delicious 
and om nom nom

Me love poetry... and cookies!


You may recognize its inspiration: "This is Just to Say" by William Carlos Williams.

I have eaten

 the plums

 that were in the icebox

 and which

you were probably

saving 

for breakfast 

 Forgive me 

they were delicious

 so sweet 

and so cold

Thanks, Cookie Monster!

Kittens, Bacon and Self-Control — or, Just Skip That Meme

I was perusing Facebook, minding my own business, when I saw it. I knew it would happen eventually. The hive mentality of social media made it inevitable: take a good idea, make it your own (usually with kittens) and post it. Our Seven Degrees of Bacon world will bring it around to me, eventually — and this morning, it did just that.

I didn't want to see it. It's not my cuppa. In fact, it's my anti-cuppa. I know that, and you know that — but you weren't thinking of me. I just got caught in the trolling net, pressed against your "clever" meme. I think I got a rash from it.

So I did what any self-respecting social media user would do under the circumstances: I hid it.

If all we did was agree to disagree, I could live with it. However, this was more than that: your meme disturbed me. I wasn't "uncomfortable," and you didn't just "push the boundaries." It's not the bacon, or the duct-taped nipples, the smart-ass comments about the bone-head politician you love to hate. It's more. I bet you knew that when you posted it — and that's why you posted it.

Because You Are Right — And If You Share That Information, I Will Come To My Senses.

I already have limited what I see, but, alas, that filter isn't perfect. I can't leave the social media conversation without leaving you — which I know would hurt you deeply. Intellectually, you'd think, "No big deal." But we both know your heart, and it would crack, just a little.

In a true social setting, you and I could have avoided the topic. Well, probably, depending on who else was in the room. If it was your brother-in-law or cousin, I'd be as successfully netted and dragged along. However, in conversation, I would have found a common ground. I would have deflected, or changed the subject, maybe even excused myself to pour bleach in my ears to wash out what I just heard.

However, on social media, you think you're sharing with only the people with whom you agree. We all do. In the thrill of the meme, we hit the "share" button instantly. We forget that social media is one big party where everyone wears their most obnoxious novelty t-shirts — and gnash their teeth at everyone else's t-shirts.

I love you. I love you deeply and with a fierceness that always surprises me. I will hold your hand in the parking lot to keep you safe, give you the plane ticket to get home, drive all night to rescue you if your car stops working. I'll be your safe house, your hiding place.

And yet, on social media, you'll push bacon memes in my face, and I'll push kittens in yours. You think yours are funny/inspiring/truthy, I think mine are harmless. And yet we both have hives.

So today, I showed a little self-restraint: I didn't tweet my smart aleck comment. Somehow, I knew you'd know it was about you, even if I made it vague. Even if I didn't mention the bacon. I knew you'd know. More importantly, I would know.

After that, I skipped something I was going to share. I like edgy from time to time, and so do you. However, this one... It was clever, direct and unflinching. So why did I flinch? I mentally went through my (admittedly modest) list of contacts and saw your name. I knew it would bother you, and I had to choose. I chose you.

This hard-won, late-to-the-game awareness exhausts me almost as much as the social media itself. It's only funny until someone gets hurt — then, depending on your meme, it's "freakin' hilarious" or it's over. I suppose time will tell which I choose.

On the Ill-Advised 'Social' in Social Media: Comments

I don't read Internet comments most of the time, but sometimes I can't help it: a word or phrase catches my eye ("Nazi whore") — and I can't help but screech to a stop.

Bad idea.

Sometimes — often — too often — with alarming regularity, people "show others the error of their ways" via "general population" comments on media stories on the Web or social media posts. Please, please resist the urge: no one on the Internet wants to be educated by your comment. Not once have I known anyone to "see the light" because of an inflammatory comment left by friend or foe, acquaintance or stranger.

Usually, when I see such a statement or argument, I just move along and think, "Moron." (Sorry, it's true: such attempts at education often backfire. They just prove what I have suspected all along: I'm smarter than "you," person with your too-personal-to-be-relevant-to-me moniker and edgy avatar.) (Oh, c'mon: like you haven't thought the exact same thing.)

And yet...  every once in a while, I get sucked in with a pithy (or even verbose) inflammatory comment. Just last week, "Victoria" hijacked a conversation by a self-defined feminist group with the phrase mentioned above. Suddenly, Coco Chanel's quote wasn't about women's empowerment or feminism, but Victoria's hatred of Hitler and stupid Chanel for falling for his claptrap in the 1930s.

Now, Hitler falls into the category of "all evil, all the time." He might have encouraged the development of the Volkswagen Beetle, but he single-handedly — well, read the history books. So, no, I won't "like" a quote by Hitler on Facebook.

But Coco Chanel? Henry Ford? Margaret Sanger? If they supported Hitler back in the day, are they pure evil, too? And what about —

Wait! My blog has been hijacked by Hitler! And Victoria!

No, I hijacked this conversation myself. I injected Hitler and Victoria into my blog. I am the architect of my own derailment.

General comments on the Web often devolve into diatribes peppered with arguments that are summarily dismissed or trounced by the "louder" keyboard. Distracting? More often than not. Inflammatory? Guaranteed. Clever, witty and fair? Rarely — although if they are, they're buried in the miasma of poorly-written knee-jerk reactions.

No matter how much we pretend, social media are not discourse. They are platforms on which we reaffirm our ideas and philosophies — and become angry and frustrated when people post opposing materials. Remember the civil exchange of ideas during the 2012 U.S. election? Yeah, me neither. We abandoned our "friends" in droves, hiding updates in news feeds, un-friending, un-following and un-liking in record numbers. Take a look at your follow or friend list on Facebook and Twitter: anything there with which you don't agree? Yeah, me neither.

The same goes for news articles: rarely does it take more than a few comments before the "conversation" spins off-topic to a subject of the hijacker's concern. Choose a flashpoint: current U.S. President, political party, Hitler... 

We use Facebook to share the perfect someecards. Twitter serves of our pithy, brilliant thoughts. ("People may laugh at me because I am different, but I laugh at them because they all are the same.") Metallica fans don't usually share Barry Manilow YouTube videos in the spirit of appreciation. Vegetarians: how about those pork barbecue recipes? The same with blogs — you would not have read this far had you not found yourself nodding in agreement with something in it. Social media is not the tools with which we seek opposing viewpoints.

Pinterest has it right: post/share/tweet/pin the stuff that you like and leave the rest to someone else.

I release Victoria and Hitler — and, while I'm at it, Coco. I'll spend my time pining a Despicable Me 2 trailer (or two, including the one with the cat because I think that's the Law of the Internet). Thanks for reading (and nodding). And if you disagree, just move along.

Seen on Twitter: Sign O' the Times

Chuckle courtesy of Twitter and award-winning author Alan Heathcock:

Sign O' The Times 

Flight attendant: "Sir, can you please power that down." 

Me: "This is a book."

(For the record: true story.)

Twitter Poetry

Valerie, whose birthday is today, inspired me. My brilliant and creative stepdaughter asked about Twitter, and it made me think: how about poetry on Twitter? The medium is ripe for it.

For those of you who haven't been completely overwhelmed by Technology, Twitter is a new service that allows users to send brief messages, called tweets. These tweets are limited to 140 characters, including spaces.

Writer Tom Watson, who has pondered this idea, illustrates that sometimes the poetry isn't intended. Sometimes it just is, like his friend Steve Bowbrick's tweet about driving to see his mother in Ireland:

Driving down to West Cork used to be a quiet pleasure.
Now it's a melancholy chore.
Still, the sky is absolutely full of stars.

Now, that is poetry.

If you haven't already done so, sign up for Twitter, which is free, and start following me (cfcohen).

Now, get to the fun work: write a short poem, as many lines as you want, but using no more than 140 characters (including spaces and symbols). Drop me a line and let me know, and I'll be sure to start following you — and enjoying your poetry.

Don't be discouraged and think you have nothing to say. I know the Internet is full of people showing us they really don't have anything to say, but this is different. Even the act of putting a frozen pizza in the oven is ripe for poetry. Watching the leaves blow about the parking lot? Poetry! (Well, it can be.)

So, go tweet me! I can't wait to see what you have to share.

And now, if you'll indulge me, this is a tweet for Valerie. Happy birthday, Val!

Though far away, she
is with me every
day

Her words —
a tweet,
a message, a call —
make me smile

I thank the Web, her
father, but
mostly,
always,
her