Soon poetry shall reign in common thought
As yet more youth acquire the technic pox
Truncating their brains long fancies of flight
Into fragments of autistic delight.
The novel is but now a bridge too far
As lengthy as a trip to distant star
No commercial pause on that great trek
Or shimmering instant change that is high tech.
No concentrated effort more than minutes long
Impatient minds await that well timed gong
That stops engaging stories in mid flow
To show us things to buy and things to know.
The burgeoning brain delights and is all ears
For all worthwhile reality is deemed in here
No earthly wonder ever bright as this
A world ensconced in cyber-glimmered bliss.
Thus so the pruning of the brain goes on
Thereby short editing dendritic prongs
Until the box transforms the brain within
And some new versions of Hans hymn we sing.
Here poetry fits well in new found spans
Oft short and sweet but in a moment grand
But yet well crafted so to entertain
The sculpted reaches of a well trimmed brain.
What mighty wonders have we cyber wrought
His mother put him right here in that spot
That she may now enjoy some time that’s free
And he learn of the world in mock 3D.
No need to sit and read a story book
Just push a button and then let him look
How very peaceful when dendrites decay
And much less strain than going out to play.
Synaptic pruning having run its course
Little Johnny appears but none the worse
Yet in his mind a strained reality
That must be true, he saw it on TV.
Living now in some alternative world
Not certain if he is a boy or girl
Reasoning such reduced to zero or one,
Should he log on or simply buy a gun?
The world once round is now inside a square
And all life’s stresses seem to be out there,
Why does he simply stare at screens all day?
He needs a pill to make this go away.
But Johnny’s brain now hacked to 1 and O
Has simply no more branches left to grow,
The world overwhelms and love forsakes
Perhaps he’ll listen at commercial breaks.
So in this land of promise, gates and jobs
Prophets here of new electronic gods
Promised endless knowledge; young minds forsook —
The world stayed round when Gutenberg gave us books.
But here’s my point before my song is sung
Just read a poem and in a minute, done!
And let the mind form pictures it may hone
Instead of visions some one else does own.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.