Tag Archives: poem about computers

Cyber Tragedy

Cyber Tragedy

Much as they wished that she would wander, their child was otiose,
Glued to her computer, growing tissue adipose.
They wistfully imagined a life where they were free
to wander on their own in perpetuity.
In vain her parents waited, but their freedom never came.
They watched her eat and then begin one more computer game.
Her mother darned her hose and her father worked to feed her.
If she were a plant, there is no doubt that they would weed her.
They’d raised a human vegetable, capable of more.
If only they had earlier rushed her out the door!


Prompts today are hose, wander, wait, wistful and otiose.

Out of Order

Out of Order

My Wi-Fi’s ills I must relate,
Its constancy I must delate.
For though I’m much in need of it,
Telmex won’t take heed of it.
It’s off and on by its own whim.
When most in need, its lights go dim
or flash a mock emergency
uncaring of my urgency
to post a blog or read my mail.
When most in need, it’s sure to fail.

I’m in great pain, I must confess.
I am a maiden in distress
who needs a knight who might be able
to bring me fiber optic cable
so when I get the writing urge,
I’ll always get that welcome surge
that allows my words to hit the air
in weather inclement or fair.
So if you’re friends with Carlos Slim,
please tell him I’m in need of him.

We’ve filled his pockets and his banks,
now we’re deserving of his thanks.
It’s time that we received the perks
of a router system that really works.
Perhaps he’ll look at all he’s got:
his houses and his massive yacht,
and realize that it’s only fair
to give a hoot— to really care
to deliver what we pay him for.

Wi-Fi that’s fact and not just lore!!!


Prompt words today were delate, WiFi, knight and pledge. Here are the links:


The prompt word on this Valentine’s Day is, fittingly, “passion.” 


Each morning when I wake
to shrill alarm or sweet bird song,
depending upon the requirements of my day,
you are the first to greet my opening eyes.
You rest there on the pillow next to me
in the bed where first I, then you,
have fallen to sleep the night before
too soon, too soon,
before half our words were said.

It is the first stroke of my fingers
that brings you finally to life.
Your countenance lights up
and the same love words
I revealed to you last night
are returned to me.

My hands caress
and new words come easily
first to me, then to you.
I touch gently all
your fine smoothness,
getting back
everything that I give
equal measure,
continuing our long love story
of give and take
as I shift your light frame onto my lap
to stroke your separate parts
from question mark to exclamation point.

Could a PC ever rouse this passion in me?
No way, MacBook Air. Thou art my love!


 The above is a rewrite of a poem written 5 years ago, and my passion for its subject continues to this day.

Panned by Hand


The dVerse Poets prompt today is to take something we’ve written on September 11 of another year and to take a word or idea from that piece and write a new piece. Here is my Sept. 11 essay from 2015 that I am going to draw from. There is a link at the bottom of that post that will bring you back to the poem I’ve written today based on that post from three years ago.  Wow.  Complicated.  Here is my present-day poem based on the word “handwritten.”

Panned by Hand

Words slowly written out by hand
will in future years be panned
as much as petroglyphs in stone
carved out by flint or sharpened bone
are an anathema today,
now that we have a simpler way
to write with pencil or with pen.
Will kids remember way back then
when moms and grandmothers and dads
wrote out notes on legal pads,
or will they only go to see ’em
in a history museum?

Cell phones don’t run out of ink,
spew words as fast as you can think,
don’t use up paper, wood or lead,
just use up gigabytes instead.
Thus handwriting’s a bygone art—
i’s carefully dotted with a heart,
those flourishes at ends of lines—
those curlicues and hearts and vines
scribbled in the margins? Vanished.
All our doodlings soon banished.

It is the truth that progress brings
technology to replace things
dear to our hearts we thought would be
carried on by progeny.
But, alas, it is not so.
Typewriters were the first to go,
then cursive followed recently,
and soon I’m sure the powers that be
will decide all writing’s out,
and soon technology will tout
communication via brain
and then my friends, once more again
the means we’ve used to share our thought
will be outmoded, no longer taught
by school or university.
Mere ESP will surely be
worked out so we need only blink
to transmit all that we might think.

Imagine, then, the problems caused
by thoughts inadequately paused.
Words penned in ink can be crossed out,
or crumpled up and then tossed out.
Not so words received as we think them—
flirtings known before we wink them.
So long, subtlety and tact.
Hello, naked glaring fact.
No thoughts scrawled or written with care.
All meaning caught in truth’s harsh glare.
The truth is, friends, that each advance
may neither further nor enhance.
Some advancement only fetters.
All in all, I prefer letters!

Here is the link to dVerse Poets Tuesday Poetics in case you want to see what others did with this prompt: https://dversepoets.com/2018/09/11/poetics-on-a-loop/

lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown

We Fill in the Blanks

I write notes three times weekly in my limping Spanish for Yolanda, not because I won’t see her, but because I probably won’t remember by then what  I need to tell her. She has asked me to order more vacuum cleaner bags from the states. I use the words I know, and tonight the word for vacuum has escaped my memory. So I leave this note on the kitchen island, taped to a filter I’ve found in the laundry room:

“Is this the bag for the machine for clean the floor?”
Es este la bolsa para la machina para limpiar el piso?

Then, taped to the stove top:

I’m sorry, Yolanda, but a potato broke in my oven  and it is very bad! I worked for one hour and a  half but it is still bad now.”
Lo siento, Yolanda, pero una papa romper in…

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Just Beyond My Grasp


Just Beyond My Grasp

When I’ve passed a restless night,
to once more welcome morning light,
I do not leave a lover’s grasp.
No knitted legs need to unclasp.
What time on waking I can afford
is simply spent unwinding cord:
the earbud cord around my neck,
my PC power cord from the wreck
of pillows, comforter and sheet
that somehow, now, are at my feet.
My MacBook Air, just by my shoulder
has come unplugged and so is colder
to my touch. It won’t power on.
Then, when plugged in, my poem is gone.


This is part of a much longer poem written three years ago. The prompt today is grasp.


I woke up with the word “Cublic” rampaging through my brain. When I got up to pee, “Cublic!” formed my entire  interior monologue. Back to bed.  Someone knocked on the door.  “Cublic!” I let in Ellie to wash the sheets for the upstairs apartment. Tried to go back to sleep, but “Cublic” kept nudging my dream, so I got up, fed Morrie, let him out and pulled a chair up to the computer. After a few changes of spelling (initially I had spelled it “Cublik”) I found that it was a Korean company that had found a way to put advertising videos on the pagers restaurants use to call you to your table.  Good grief!!!  So, when I went to find my daily prompt word on the WordPress Daily Post and saw that the word was “territory,” I knew I had to claim mine by getting rid of “Cublic.”  Here goes.


They are always out there waiting, intent on doing peeking,
inflicting what they want to sell over what I’m seeking.
They invade my territory every single minute,
eavesdropping on each search I make to try to find what’s in it.
I wouldn’t really mind at all if they stole my cookies,
if only they confined their sorties just to having lookies,
but I fear that’s not enough. The real end of their story
is that they are planning raids on my territory.
I do not want their bracelets nor their brassieres nor their dresses.
When they think they know what I want, their thoughts are merely guesses.
What I really want the most is every bit of screen space,
but every day more of my screen seems to be has-been space.
Every minute, a new sales pitch comes feeding at my trough,
while I only want an app. that tells the pop-ups to pop off!!!!!

The prompt today was territory.

Too Much Information

DSCF1865 - Version 3jdbphoto

Too Much Information

There is too much of everything—
things constantly developing.
There is no time to fool around.
We’re always off and “somewhere bound.”
The days of lying in the grass
and watching ants? They are long past.
Instead I lie upon my back
with laptop and my battery pack,
plugged into the confusing world,
downloading facts dispensed and whirled
together in my spinning brain.
I want a simple world again
composed of only what’s around me.
All these facts stress and confound me—
glossing over the fact that
I’m really only where I’m at!

Ironic that as I tried to save this, my computer refused to do so or to add the photograph to the post  because the startup disk was full.  No more memory––too much information!!! I’m going to try to post this, remove things from my computer, and then post the photo to go with it. (After one hour of removing files from my computer—success!!! Photo is added.)

Overwhelming is the prompt word today.

Recalculating: Berkeley to Livermore and Back

Recalculating: Berkeley to Livermore and Back

Who wanders for pleasure, wanders alone
marking no boundary, barrier, zone.
The earth has no limits and time has no chime,
my steps undetermined by schedule or clime.

This used to be my modus operandi
travel my sweet tooth and freedom my candy.
No email or Google, no iPad or phone,
without Internet service, I rolled like a stone.

But today I am traveling from town to town
with heavier luggage–more weighted down.
And though I go singly, I’m never alone
thanks to my computer, my Kindle and phone.

Right now I’m imprisoned and my progress is bound
by the cords of my ear buds confusingly wound
round my camera charger and Ethernet connector.
My GPS determines my vector.

No more do I travel unfettered and free.
Cell tower to tower is where I must be;
so every person that I’ve ever met
has me perpetually in their debt.

Birthdays to remember and twitters to answer,
queries of grandchildren, hip sockets, cancer.
Traveling with this extra weight is not pleasant.
I much prefer traveling just in the present

unfettered by email, phone calls or that voice
calling instructions at every choice
of northwards or southwards or eastward or west.
Yes, I know GPS directions are best,

but if I’m never lost and never alone,
I might as well stay home and talk on the phone,
for most of adventure has come when I’m lost
from all of my past, whatever the cost.

Still the ways of the present make planning much easier,
finding my next destination much breezier.
These tricky freeways have changed in past years
and I find my memory much in arrears.

So perhaps for today I’ll turn on GPS
so I won’t get so lost and I won’t have to guess
which freeway to take: eight-oh-eight? eight-oh-six?
Getting myself in a terrible fix.

Tomorrow’s the time to become vagabond,
using personal radar and my fairy wand
to maneuver through life by the skin of my pants.
Just for today, I won’t take the chance!

P.S.  Thanks, Patti, for the loan of the GPS!!! Actually, it has been a Godsend.

The WordPress prompt: The Happy Wanderer–What’s your travel style? Are you itinerary and schedule driven, needing to have every step mapped out in advance or are you content to arrive without a plan and let happenstance be your guide?