Email Scams, to a spoken word rhythm

As the title suggests, the rhythm to this poem is not steady and regular like a general one. Instead, read it in your head as though you are speaking it aloud, and let the words naturally steer you to the right rhythm. It changes throughout, but once you’ve got the hang of it, it’s quite infectious (I think). But then, spam does tend to get around.

I did try to keep the theme of misspelling but I couldn’t do it. I just could not. So it’s just that first verse, with a couple of consistent errors I tend to see when I get this stuff.

 

Hello, New massage for our

Valued costumer

Dear sir/madam

(For we know not what you are)

There has been suspicious goings on

In your online accoutn

With apple/paypal/spotify/facebook/whatever we’re toutin’

 

Oh valued human person we are also alive

And we would like to help you sort this out if you have the drive

Here is a PDF to download or a link to select

Please do not be alarmed the URL will redirect

 

All we need is confirmation of your name or your login

Or maybe just confirm your bank details we promise no robbin’

Will occur

Oh honestly, we assure you we are fully legit

We’re in your junk folder because your mail provider is shit

 

Ok, never mind, you clearly are unconcerned

With these unverified purchases of which you have learned

As have we

And so let us move on we will contact you soon

To check if you are open to receiving a boon.

 

Dear Mr/Ms (name linked to this address)

We would like to inform you that you are heir or heiress

Of an estate quite massive – and based overseas

The owner a distant relative who succumbed to disease

 

We would like to transfer to you a cool few mil

But first we have to issue you a transfer bill

You see it costs us to take these numbers from our screen to yours

It seems like a lot I know, but we are on different  shores

And besides you know the inheritance is significantly more?

 

No? Well as it happens I’m a Nigerian Royal

And somebody’s being ransomed in exchange for my spoils

But for reasons convoluted I cannot give them cash

I first need to send it to you and have you send it back

 

Of course you’ll get a cut I mean it only seems fair

As you’d be doing me a favour and I’m a billionaire

There is a fee for transfer and the currency switch

But you’ll be saving a life and I’ll be making you rich

 

I’ve given you my word but it seems it isn’t enough

As I’ve received no reply I guess you think I’m making it up

It’s true, you’re very clever, you have seen through my ruse

But that’s okay I’ve sent five thousand just like the one I sent you

And many more with scripts that cover every other purview

 

Your octogenarian grandma got one just the other day

Thought she’d somehow committed tax fraud so replied straight away

She says she doesn’t get much more in a week than the fee

But senior pension sure stacks up when you’re as active as me

 

**As a side note, please do remember that all scam emails that you laugh at do manage to ensnare the easily confused, be they seniors, the mentally impaired, and other vulnerable people without support networks or people close to them who they can ask about suspicious emails. Instead of laughing when you see a scam post on Facebook, or in your inbox, perhaps share it with why it is a scam, and help your fellow humans. After all, these sorts of scams tend to take advantage of the most vulnerable people in our society.

 

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A poem from my MySpace heyday

Been doing some more in-depth file organisation, and found a poem I’d saved from my MySpace account, written in 2006. It doesn’t wrap up, just ends, because I apparently was writing it while waiting for a bus. Anyway, have a newly 18-year-old me ruminating on herself.

 

A Spontaneous poem 6.04.2006

I feel you breezing past me

walking with an air of superiority

rushing off to talk to people that you know

confidently avoiding those that you don’t.

 

I feel you because we are the same;

A quiet person inside, screaming with frustration at the nervous chatter

battering our heads.

 

It seems to be coming from our very own mouths

pouring out in sickening torrents

in the futile attempt to quash the hurtful words from within us.

What else is there in life but relishing our own company

privacy, security,

when surrounded by so many people who just don’t care what you do?

 

There is a certain peace in anonymity

knowing that you alone can sense your own unease

smiling at the screen as you analyse your own pitiful state of existence

realising, with a sigh of relief

that there is nothing more to it;

you’re bloody starving and the only way to fix it is to cease all assignments and blogging

and get your ass down to the bus shelter before you miss the next one too!!

 

Okay, crappy poem, but I don’t really have time anymore!!!

Another Old Poem

Found another oldie, written for Batoto poetry competition (it was a manga / webcomic reading site). It had a theme of seasons and love, if I recall, and there was a limit on the lines / words allowed. I won $10 for it, officially making it the only time I’ve been paid to write, lol.

Has some tense issues, and although I think they were purposeful changes in tense, I guess the reasoning is lost in the reading. Still, the mood of it is conveyed pretty well, so I’d say it’s a success. 🙂

 

10.05.2014

I had a love
once
when I was young.

It came on slowly,
like threads of spring
disentangling from winter.

Suddenly

it bursts out in colour
the world is beautiful
and you realise
‘Ah, this is love’.

I felt alive and warm
renewed
as I marvelled at every smile
took delight in every conversation
cherished every moment spent.

It was spring for years.

But spring gives way to autumn;

Unreciprocated, love grows mellow;
until the cold, creeping in
wins out.

The colours flare then fade;
everything you’d built up slowly falls.

But it is still beautiful
and you can pick up the pieces
preserved in warm and enduring tones
and keep them wrapped up in your heart.

Yes, I had a love once;
but that
was many summers ago.

 

Nice Guy

Been cleaning up years of accrued computer files, organising and deleting and such. Came across this gem from 2014, fixed some spelling errors, am posting it as is. Because around this time I was still travelling out on public transport a lot, and as we all know, being  a woman in public comes with a ‘no, please, just fucking badger me, gents, I’m so ready to listen to everything you have to say every damn time I step out’.

Nice Guy (22.09.2014)

Don’t be that creep on the train
You wanna tell me to smile more?
For god’s sakes, refrain
I can’t take any more

Talkin’ at me for the whole damn trip
Not noticing my glare
Or more likely knowing I want you to split
But you just don’t effing care

Don’t be

The kinda guy who says ‘sexism’s just your opinion’
Asks for it and promptly refuses to listen
Tells his mates women belong in the kitchen
Then you catch him online bitchin’
How he’s such a ‘nice guy’ so why can’t he get a date?

Mate. -_-

 

 

The Muse, On Extended Leave

The Muse, On Extended Leave. (29.10.2017)

The writer sat before the screen
and stared into its light;
And thought and thought
(and thought some more)
though no ideas took flight.

Another day went by, a week
still not a word was written;
The days were dull,
the sleep near null
and the butt was sore from sittin’.

The weeks grew long and longer still
and turned into a year;
Fed up with blues the writer
grabbed their skull
and shouted “Listen here!”

“I beg you, now, you temperamental
fleeting mess of (lack of) inspiration –
I’ve been waiting years
all full of fears
so please return from your vacation!

“I’ve tapped into my unfinished works
I’ve delved deep into my foggy mind;
I’ve fought my block
with food and prompts
and now I’m begging you IN RHYME.

“Give me something here, anything
to work with, just a spark!
A character,
a tired trope
just some small light in the dark.”

The writer then sat back, and huffed
and sighed and jittered in the chair;
Such stagnation’s a crime –
it was about bloody time
there were some new ideas to share!

But, as before, nothing came
excepting this futile internal conversation;
Which isn’t less
than nothing, I guess
but it hardly helps ease the vexation.

The rhythm was a rambling, inconsistent mess
and honestly, the writer was as well;
Sat hunched over a desk
alone with the rest
in the blandest corner of hell.