Soon poetry shall reign in common thought
As yet more youth acquires the technic pox
That truncates brains’ long cogitates of flight
Into autistic fragments of delight.

The novel is but now a bridge too far
As boring as a trip to distant star
No commercial pause on that great trek
Or shimmering instant flash that is high tech.

No thought or 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 or things to know.

The burgeoning brain delights and is ‘all ears’
For all worthwhile reality bides here
No earthly wonder ever bright as this
For gods now speak in techno-glimmered bliss.

Thus so the pruning of the brain goes on
Thereby proof editing dendritic prongs
Until the box transforms the brain within
And some new versions of Hans hymn he sings.

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 neurons 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 grows strange realities
That must be true, he saw it on TV.

Thus living now in some fictitious world
Not certain if he is a boy or girl
All reasoning reduced to zero or one,
Should he log on or simply buy a gun?

The world once round squeezed now into 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 o’erwhelms and gentle love forsakes
Perhaps he’ll harken at commercial breaks.

So in this land of promise, gates and jobs
Our newly minted genius cyber gods
Promise endless knowledge, minds forsook —
The world was round when Gutenberg sold 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 may own.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.