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Smoke Signals
by Ken HarnischSending smoke signals to you,
I am convinced, has only burned my blanket
There was a time when subtlety was king
But nuance became the victim of regicide
In this gigawatt age
And now it is be direct or be damned
I long for the days when a poem
Could sing across the street
The way the best of them do the ages
But knowing now you lack
The talent to appreciate
The reason for their creation
If not the words themselves
I am lost as to how to connect
With you
And no: I won’t text, my dear.
My thumbs are too damned clumsy. 12/13/2008 Posted on 12/13/2008
Copyright © 2024 Ken Harnisch
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 12/13/08 at 04:36 PM I like how you've linked the old with the new ways of communicating. "I long for the days when a poem Could sing across the street
The way the best of them do the ages" - a wistfulness I can relate to.
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| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 12/14/08 at 09:29 PM I really dig how the first two lines grabbed me by the neck then strapped me in for the rest of the ride. Excellent diction Ken; message received loud n’ clear. Reminds me sadly of my first wife, who didn’t appreciate poetry, and whose mantra towards the subject was “when the checks start coming in, then I’ll believe in you.” |
| Posted by Carolyn Coville on 12/17/08 at 06:50 PM this gigawatt age we live in is supposed to make our lives easier, faster, but *sigh*...as you've said here, sometimes this is not so.
p.s. I refuse to send text messages as well :) |
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