DESCRIPTION
Poetry should never be described, it needs to be read and enjoyed for what it is. I will say, my own poetry swings towards surrealism. Enough said. [247 words]
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
Can I be like batman, don a mask and wear underpants on the outside of my trousers? Can I hide behind a nom de plume and write of childish things? [September 2002]
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (12) At The Bus Stop (Poetry) Still working on this but would like some early feedback. I'm not too sure if I've captured the scene correctly? [425 words] [Romance] Before 6 (Poetry) Long before I could spell the word innocence. [129 words] [Literary Fiction] Blink (Poetry) A snipet of life through a childs eyes. [149 words] Cameo Of My Psyche. A Collection (Poetry) Says exectly what it is in the tittle. [1,288 words] [Popular Fiction] Comic (Poetry) Light hearted poetry. [187 words] [Humor] Fin (Poetry) Parting is such sweet sorrow.- Shakespeare Parting is like a chinese a meal: sweet for some, sour for others. - Ulysses Hero [142 words] Hammock (Poetry) For all you writers who scribe away on hot summers day: a dreamy submission for the tired of hand. [32 words] If Dali Wrote Poetry: (Poetry) Odd and totally bizarre. Yes, that's what it's meant to be. [180 words] [Art] My Parents Have The Mania (Poetry) A little light Humor. [177 words] [Humor] On A Napkin At Rialto's (Poetry) Surreal writing. To explain is to say too much. [96 words] [Relationships] Reverso (Poetry) Doesn't need one. [114 words] Satirical Lyrical - Contemporary Poetry (Poetry) - [121 words] [Literary Fiction]
Devolution. The Box Ulysses Hero
Devolution. The Box
In the 40's they came in small numbers,
widespread and hard to find. You never saw a herd
except in a shop window: little brown boxes
with Bakelite skin, legs thin as matches,
eating price tags 10 shillings to a pound.
Few took them home, fear of technology I suppose.
In the 60's numbers grew, every street had one.
We watched the Apollo moon shot on our very own,
the family gathering like primordial huntsmen
around a flicking fire. Here was the magic,
the attraction, a painting of our very own history
right then and there, in black and white.
In the 80's screens grew, legs became stumps.
They migrate from room to room.
Gone was the grey, colour was the norm
the red, the green, the blue.
In our palms we held the power
the joys of a cordless remote,
and we would use it, jab at it
like a proverbial spear,
and it would jump from channel to channel,
[a simple wrist action to make it flick].
At last we had control.
Time moved on. We tune into lethargy
and it is pre-set. On fashionable tables:
oak, teak, mahogany, they lie as pampered cats,
aged dogs, blinking rats; evolution has removed the legs
and they are self propagating: in hotel rooms one,
in street houses several.
We retreat to the safe height of a sofa
pleased in the knowledge of progression,
unaware, when buttons are pressed
we are pictures of Neanderthal.
READER'S REVIEWS (2) DISCLAIMER: STORYMANIA DOES NOT PROVIDE AND IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR REVIEWS. ALL REVIEWS ARE PROVIDED BY NON-ASSOCIATED VISITORS, REGARDLESS OF THE WAY THEY CALL THEMSELVES.
"close...but u didnt quite catch it....but ur imagery is clear and powerful....fine tune, my man" -- sunny, DC, USA.
"Do you remember when colour first hit our living rooms with a bang. Nation-wide people came down with headaches and mass hysteria blamed colour telly. I can remember my dad refusing to have one so we had black and white for another ten years before he risked a colour and a packet of paracetamol on stand-by. On telly last week they had a designer telly the screen was set in a wrought iron 'spider' and it rested on spindly legs, funky but far from practicle in a houseful of animals and kids. Loved this poem and voted accordingly. " -- Sooz, Dalton, England, Cumbria.
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