Friday, April 26, 2024

Bad Poetry: The Death of Social Media?

"Anyone can talk to anyone,"
We said, when Twitter used to flourish.
"Each one decides what to welcome or to shun."
Such rules could nourish
Conversations lively, conversations lame,
Mere vulgarisms,
The comfort of greetings every day the same,
Loyalties or schisms,
Insults exchanged with giggles or with tears
By children learning
The rules of conversation with their peers,
Effect discerning,
And messages from distant friends,
Soldier or student,
Flirtations, or friendships, or quarrels, too,
Foolish or prudent.
People were free to be themselves,
And for a writer,
Hundreds of people being themselves--
What prospect's brighter?
Much could be learned of politics
By politicians;
Of marketing, and even public health,
By statisticians.

But censorship threw up its ugly head;
Foreigners, greedy
For profits gained from the worst kind of fraud,
Claimed they were needy
Of censorship to pamper feelings of 
Snowflakes so special
That they were hurt by any word or none
Of all things racial.
Now no one talks to anyone
On censored Twitter;
For only the corporations' speech,
Strident and bitter,
Has opportunities to reach
Those who would follow
Friends, kin, writers or politicians,
The deep, the shallow.
And corporate messages are nothing new;
With scorn, derision,
We note that we had heard them all before
On television.
The corporations pay to own the airwaves,
Drool on lips glistening;
How long before they notice that
Nobody's listening?


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