What is our conversation now,
in this new world of self
where all our time and energy
just builds a cluttered shelf
for trophies that we give ourselves
and prizes we amass
to demonstrate a sense of worth?
It seems a little crass
to focus our attention in
so tight a frame and sphere,
while worrying our waking hours
that we might disappear
without that click-and-clack applause
from friends who use our name
to sell their own inventions,
in a never-ending game
of who said what and when to whom
and why should someone care.
We all pontificate and cast
our notions on the air,
expecting a contagious wind
to drop them here and there,
in pockets of sunlight and shade
where they will die, or grow;
and give us more to talk about,
or nothing. I don’t know.
Random Posts
- A Modern ErasmusWhen I have a little money, I do not buy food or other such trivialities. I buy books. – Erasmus Ah, as Lawrence Olivier might …
- Hope and DespairHow fleet of foot is dream-spun Hope; and how Despair, her lead-shoed sister, trips a clumsy way to fill her place! How fair and rosy …
- Crime and PunishmentI would admit a lesser crime if only it were worth my while; but in these days when wish makes fact the simple notoriety of …
- A Modern Erasmus
Most Shared Posts
Recent Comments
- Irene on Some ancient affirmations
- Rekha on No More Sad Weepings of Regret
- Novena on Wake Up: sonetto rispetto
- John on On the Veranda: serenade
Blogroll