I’ve got nostalgia for the way things weren’t
Aching out of every pore
Oozing and cruising and snoozing
A way around the darkened room
Humming lonely tunes to the dusty
Striped ambition swaying in the draught
That strips the jangling nerves
From my fingers to the fingering of keys
Old style letters locked at arms’ length
Just in and out of awkward reach
Trying to find a balance
On a dented mattress
Elbows sore from shifting weight
Dusk ’til birdsong
Gloom lingers on the brow
Leaving lines from one ear to the other
Hoping to hold my cold cup of Joe at bay
With bayou blues rockin’ ‘n’ rollin’
Across the lonely 3am airwaves
Surrounded by the gently snoring chorus
Everyday keepsakes firmly rooted in reality
Strong stock piled in corners
Well-heeled feet nailed down
To their own groove
I am adrift, tethered by a fraying string
My mind prowling through its wonder-land
Howling a song for the moon
What kind of world
Will you inhabit
Once we are gone?
Will it be one
Of your own choosing?
New landscapes built
To youthful specifications,
A virtual world, or
Precarious solidity shaped
From the concentration
Children’s toys – perhaps even
Of my infancy?
Will our groaning,
Of piecemeal policies,
Poor housing, health,
And knee-jerk reactions
To old threats,
Leave you with
Too little freedom
And too much responsibility?
However our teachings
Soak into your bones
It will be your turn
To roll the dice
And seek advancement
I hope we leave you
And with sufficient
Tools to survive
And what is yet
In praise of technology I’d like to say
A lifetime’s achievement’s now done in a day
Life’s so much the easier for this great boon
There’ll be no further use for the labourer soon.
Instead of a fact’ry, there’s one great machine,
Much faster than men and a good deal more clean.
No more will I rise at the cockerel’s crow
For my function has gone, I am obsolete. Though
I wonder how long the machine will resist
The temptations of ‘progress’, ‘improvement’ persist.
I shall watch with much int’rest the cogs start to turn
For the call of the future is too hard to spurn.
And however intelligent engines may be
I doubt even they will escape you and me.
As our scientists shrink to the size of a pin
The machine in it’s splendour can now be breathed in.
And the seeds of development soon start to grow
As the bell for technology tolls long and slow.
Perhaps in the future I once more may find
A use for my hand and my heart and my mind.