Clickety-clack! The sound harkens back
memories of mechanical metal keys
first machine to employ QWERTY
key striking, punching, and forget erase
manually pushing a rubber rod to that place.
Ding, Grind, Return!
(O how white paper makes ones stomach churn)
Ribbons tangled knotting little girls hair
happy letter circles post erect- sans care.
Will children tomorrow ever learn
of this odd thing called “carriage return”.
An olden device from yesteryear
( used by Lord Shakespeare-
to the youth it would appear)
“A typewriter dinosaur?!
I think I’ve heard of that before...”
A dying art-
or relic part,
a Remington treasure
Underwood of heavy measure.
Oh-to bear the cursed weight
of a writers' heavy fate...
Ashes are just spent pages
From the notes of thin typing sages
Poets words have been lost
their precious pages tossed
aside as irrelevant tools
written by poor ancient fools…
But if the Poet is dead,
if what may be written should no longer be read
will his secrets die too?
Although you cannot buy a typewriter brand new-
they are still used in funeral homes, like bodies stored,
and gainfully employed in the maternity ward
A picture can be repainted, but new layers don’t erase,
all that existed in the first place.
Out of ink, there was a problem loading,
use pencil or pen, technology not so foreboding.
A writers' day is done
if he can inspire no one
by tools of any kind
if a reader he cannot find
To type, text, jot and scratch-
Inspiration, words, ideas to catch,
"Thou art privy to irrelevant tones"
with these archaic words, one moans.
Stretching keys and word count is not prophetic
instead singing off tune, a non-meaning lyric.
Compose, Post, Draft, Send, Share-
How you write I don't really care...
This divine write, to right
to say, to mean, to express, and share the light
Is a beautiful mysterious thing
I can still hear the typewriter sing
Ding.
Image By Bain News Service, publisher [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
