In Which A Technology's Use Is Past Its Prime

Once quite a boon, they now cause teeth to clench
E'en though they now can play a fav'rite song
When interrupting us. Oh, how they wrench
Attention from important tasks is wrong,
And yes, it could be less so, what we do
When suddenly they chime or screech or ring.
The diff'rence 'twixt these states, one has no clue
When he's the caller. "Drop it, stop that thing
Right now" is what's conveyed when a phone call
Cuts in. And it's resented. Minutes flee
From both of us. We needn't be in thrall
In this way, not these days, oh, don't you see?
A chat or visit's one thing when we're far
Apart, but otherwise? Texting's the star.

In Which I Muse On Expanded Sensoria

A prayerful silence often seems the norm

'Mongst strangers gathered publicly, it seems.

To each his own has never taken form

So powerfully as now; we watch our dreams

Played out before us on our jeejahs, each

According to his fondest wishes. We

Ignore each other, all but eschew speech

Though still we're talking; we don't hear but see

What's being said by others far from us,

Communing with our private worlds; our god,

Now customized, sits on our laps and thus

Absorbs us so, we smile and mutely nod

And look solipsists, but we are aware

Of more; not less. The world is is ours to share.

In Which My BrotherMan Visits A Humidor Hoedown

He travels west to see his girlie, and

Along his route there is a strange truck stop

In Rock Springs, not what I would call the land

Of civilized pursuits, but one can shop

Therein for something that I love most true.

This photo shows its glory, for within

There lies a walk-in humidor! I knew

He'd have to check it out, for he has been

A-telling me about it for, oh, weeks!

He's not quite a cigar man, though, just yet,

So as I bought my fennel and my leeks

(It's for a pie), I knew that I would get

A cell phone call, requesting a consult.

Connecticut, I said, as a result.

In Which I Muse On "Silent Communication"

An eyebrow twitch, a slump, can say so much,
As can a tone of voice, a squint, a moue.
But only if one sees it and, as such,
Has grown up watching for this kind of clue.
Do fluent texters even know they miss
Ironic looks or hostile postures when
They tune out conversations "to get this
One message" in a meeting? This has been
Cast in the Wall Street Journal, just today,
As something Generation Y must learn
To deal with, but I'm not so quick to say
That it's just "those durn kids" worth our concern
In this regard. Attention is sliced thin
In everybody's life. Look ye within.

I Love Living In The Future...Most Of The Time

The batteries, they all need to be charged
On many of the things I use each day.
I won't complain; my life is much enlarged
By laptops, cell phones, and my Kindle. They
Have let me do my thing 'most anywhere.
But ne'er before was there a pefect storm
Of power loss as right now. It's not fair!
My work PC, I regret to inform,
Restricts my freedom while my laptop sleeps.
My phone at home, an cool old candlestick
Works all the time; my cellie not so much.
As for my Kindle, right now it's a brick.
It lasts a week on one charge but, as such,
One has to charge it sometimes. I'm so glad
I bought a back-up dead tree book. Not bad!