In Which A Dragon Saves A Maiden

My elbows both engaged in mutiny,
From overuse of these computers, I
Must now resort to something new to me:
Some software that makes what I say to my
Machine, here, into typing. As I've said,
As many others have repeated, this,
Life in the future, rocks. From out my head
And through my voice, onto the page! I miss,
Sometimes, the errors that do creep into
The text this way, but editing is smart.
It's passing strange though, that I say "undo"
Instead of hitting backspace. How my heart
Is gladdened: now no longer is there pain
In pouring out what's in my heart and brain.

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 Comment Discreetly On Something That Amuses Me

A certain new device is causing queues
Around the block in certain cities, e'en
Though it has certain problems -- that won't lose
It fanboys, though they know of these, I ween.
The lure of gadget-lust is strong, as they
Already know, for most of them succumbed
To iterations earlier. I say:
It does seem odd that more than two-thirds, numbed,
Perhaps to their old versions' fading charms
(I doubt a million of them just broke down
All at the same time) ran into the arms
Of their sharp produce-dealers in each town.
What now becomes of those forsaken toys
Abandoned for antenna-addled joys?

In Which Reality Proves Once Again To Be As Weird My Favorite Novelist's Work

Were I with Apple's marketing brain trust,
How would I follow it's great iPad coup?
I'd think guerilla leaks would be a must,
And it looks to me that they think so, too.
Was iPhone's newest iteration dropped
In error in a bar? That seems quite odd.
The furor this created can't be stopped,
And such publicity's a gift from God,
Unless it's manufactured, Blue Ant style.
E'en he who dreamed up Hubertus Bigend,
Our William Gibson, thinks so. It's worthwhile,
I think, to ponder if it's true. Forfend
That one of Apple's minions takes the blame.
Could any human being withstand the shame?

In Which I Say Meh To A Fruity New Gadget

An iPad is not something that I need;

I have a Kindle and an iPod touch.

Between them I've more books than I can read,

And that's not counting paper ones, as such.

Within the App store I've found much that's fun

But don't see where they need a bigger screen

That weighs near two pounds and won't fit in one

Of my ass pockets (really, that's my scene:

The Kindle makes my shoulder bag so light

Compared to five or six big paperbacks,

And now the iPod Touch does too, fits right

And takes up even less space!). But relax

I will not be a hater and reserve

The right to change my mind, indeed to swerve.

In Which I Go All Meta Over My Ipod For @ParadiseTossed

Today, a brand new gadget came my way,

An iPod Touch, and so I join the rest

Of my geek fellows, all of whom will say

That most things things "i" are really quite the best

In terms of ease of use; no need to think

Too hard about exactly how one might

Accomplish what one wants to. Each night's sync

Can bring new tools, to one's complete delight,

New apps, which entertain and yes, inform,

And even which allow me to compose

New sonnets to my blog. And should a storm

Of thought come to me during my repose

No longer must I drag me out of bed;

I grab my toy, and share what's in my head.

In Which I Plan A Techvacation Of Sorts -- But Just A Short One

I have a lot of work that I must do

Ere I resume my day gig three days hence.

I'm taking here a breath; I'll plunge into

The final push, and spare me no expense

In time or labor, now, till this is done.

I know that you know not of what I speak,

Dear readers, and I promise it's not fun

To keep these secrets but for now a meek

Apology is all I have to give.

I'm going dark quite soon, because I suck

At working hard when there's this life I live

Online and in my town that bids me chuck

The nitty gritty and go off and play

As I have learned this last many a day.

In Which I Am Awestricken By A New Fashion Accessory

Were I a guy who had to wear a tie

Would I choose one of these under my suit?

While certainly these beauties catch the eye,

Displaying all the best hues of a fruit

We call the Apple iPod nano, is this not

Solution for a problem of which we --

Be honest -- didn't know that we had got?

Accessories like this fill me with glee.
My old-school iPod shuffle just clips to

A collar or a hemline: there I go!

With this "Commuter Tie" one won't see, true,

The actual device, but still there'll show

The telltale earbud cords. Plus, changing songs

Looks to be pretty awkward. Fashion wrongs?

In Which There Is A Flapple Over Apple

The deed was done a year ago; the news
Came from the Patent Office last month, and
Was in the New York Times today. "Let's fuse
Our lovely tech with advertising! Grand!"
Quoth Randall Stross (I paraphrase) by way
Of summing up his thought's on Apple's move,
Applying for a patent on, they say,
A gadget highjack, quite against the groove
We think is Apple's. Make your iPod freeze
Until you prove you've watched the ad it's shown?
Anathema! Yet cooler heads say "Please,
Is this indeed the Apple we have known?"
Perhaps it's just a measure to prevent
Some others making real what we'd resent.

In Which I Uncertainly Prepare To Catch A Wave

Today on impulse I just threw it out
That I would take a Google Wave invite
If one were offered, though I am without
A clue, really, as what might come to light
Once I am on there with my Twitter buds.
Collaboration always sounds quite good,
But sometimes leads to unbearable duds,
If no one has an idea of what should
Be happening. Does anybody know
What we're supposed to do once we're on board?
I'm always game to give something a go
And pitch in with my best creative horde.
Right now though all I think about is hype
And wonder if I'm quite the waving type.

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.