My typewriter
was not a good typewriter,
its keys were weighty,
you had to use brain muscle to work it,
nobody wanted it.
My son unpacked a home computer.
I stood by and watched
as all the electronics were laid out on the floor
and surgically knitted together.
I knew then
that I would be consistently out of touch,
and possibly would remain
stuck in an obsolete year
trying to catch up
from the rear of the field.
I wrote my first poem
on that clickity-clack manual machine,
then a dozen more,
all of them were heavy handed,
yet that hefty labor
made me think
I was crafting something worthwhile.
Later, I was enslaved to a computer keyboard,
chained as I was to its subsonic urgings
I could tell
the world was speeding away
faster than I could write.
When my kind of poet dies,
he is immediately ed,
for all his contemporary poems
turn into digital wormholes
that suck him into an unknown grave.
The young look to dead poets for wisdom -
truth is,
that those ham-fisted plodders
have long ago
turned into chunky typewriters
that nobody wants.
`
Just curious, have you ever noticed that the top
row of letters on a computer keyboard contain
all of the letters to spell the word “POETRY”?
Ok, who just looked?
When I was growing up in school
I refused to take a typing class
My two finger style was sufficient
I had no idea what was ahead, alas
That was in the dark ages when life
Was not lived on a computer keyboard
I advanced to three fingers but I knew
My meager skills could not be ignored.
So I practiced on my computer and then
Became proficient enough to hold my own
Then arthritis came calling to my digits
I’m back to two fingers, here we go again!
Ode to the Computer Keyboard
By Elton Camp
It was on a manual typewriter that I learned to key
The keyboard’s function was obvious as could be
A computer keyboard, to me, isn’t the same way
For what some of the key do, I can’t possibly say
About half I comprehend of keys called F1 to F12
Into ESC, Scroll Lock, Pause, Break I don’t delve
Perhaps they do all kinds of absolutely great stuff
But for an old man like me, they are way too tough
ESC stands for “Escape” said the computer geek
If it escapes, then I guess he would have to seek
If I should see this useless key trying to get away
I’d just say, “It’s goodbye and good riddance today.”
computer keyboard
one key of each type
record of these words
Poetry of the noun competition entry
These cheerful words that in my mind do sing
Are not yet spoke, nor writ, and are no thing.
But I will pause before I give them life
(By cutting cord with working teeth for knife).
My tongue swells, my lungs do halfway burst,
To be real things my happy words have thirst.
Compressed, my lips, my squeezing throat constrains;
The fetus-words throb up against my veins.
My hands seek for computer keyboard, pen---
Oh, how they ache to make a thing again!
How now! I speak! These feet of verse kick free!
I am that soaring flame----live poetry!
Easy money goes from my pocket,as easily
as a man can climb out of the mouth of a
non moving rocket.My wallet is full of
many non-fluttering moth's,My arthritus
makes me move as slow as a slow
motioned tree sloth! Bang the drum slowly
as slow as sand,traveling down the neck
of an hour glass. I may be poor and i
may be slow,but alas i possess a high
falutin' habitual mannered like class!
Friends i may not have many,but i'll tell
you this-My wallet is held tighter than
o'le dead Jack Benny's! T'would be nice to
win that Power-ball lottery,For if it would
happen,i'd be so much more richer than
that actor by the name of Sean Connery!
Poetry flows from my finger-tips,down to
the o'le computer keyboard,These achin'
joints keep me at bay alot,but these
thoughts just jump up to the o'le
computer screen,Which keeps me
morally happily serene!Poets like to share
their love to good readers,because they
love to show off their powers as audience
pleasers!
01-14-2006'.
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