HOW MANY DIGITS AM I HOLDING UP?

HOW MANY DIGITS

AM I HOLDING UP?

I got left behind somewhere in ages

past when the word “digital” flexed its hand,

and retrained fingers from typing to texting,

banging keys to softly tapping tiny pads

with clumsy fingertips spelling out words

truncated, misspelled, loaded with acronyms,

all slaps in the verbal face of language.

For a fellow who in grammar school

counted on his fingers, they don’t come more

unenlightened than I do. I shun

the smartphone, the cell phone, the vapid pass-times

that keep many folks downcast, hypnotized,

lacking social skills of one-on-one,

person to person, in-your-face chats.

I prefer authentic exchanges of laughter,

not today’s tap of “ha ha ha” or LOL(aughs),

a prelude to wordless mind-reading holograms.

Ages come and go. Progress reaches

its dead-end time like the ice age when

once more we begin counting on our hands.

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FIVE 17-SYLLABLE LILY-CLOUD POEMS

    FIVE 17-SYLLABLE

        LILY-CLOUD POEMS

       1

       I never touched a cloud

       though in aspirations

       I stretched up my hand.

      2

      From my window seat on the plane,

      clouds ride by and softly

      swallow us.

      3

      Lilies grow in your garden;

      clouds fill the sky.

      Do they share soft secrets?

     4

     God clothes the lilies

     of the field

     in the soft raiment of giant clouds.

      5

      mesmerized by their sway,

      I envy their camaraderie

      with the wind.

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