Technophobic   Leave a comment

I eye the page, and check the space.

For every line there is a place.

And every word goes in apace,

while images have made their case.

Excitement builds when cadence sings,

with every breath the stanza rings.

Rhythm moves, and subject stings.

We, breathless, wait for imaging.

Call up the app, and set the spot

where caption line, and image, hot,

direct the action and the plot,

with color, line ,and lighted dot.

We framed the subject, chosen size,

rejected any compromise

of hue and contrast, we surmise

the nature of the piece, a prize.

Satisfaction settles in,

as we ,the process then begin,

of file transfer with a pin,

attach the subject there, within.

Happily we call the scene

where image went, so we can preen,

but, Lo. No image is there seen.

It layeth yet, where it had been,

Nor ever copied there to here.

Directions followed, never fear;

still subject lies unmoved. Oh dear!

What can have happened? (Drops, a tear.)

The desperate artist tries again,

to set the image, clicks in vain;

while mocking image there remains.

now hangs the head in techno pain.

Were written page, on cotton set,

the image would be transferred yet,

with brush and ink, and colors wet;

but pixels still defy the vet.

The edits of the word and link,

are graven now in pixeled ink,

but chosen photo, still the fink,

remains aloof; the heart, it sinks.

Nor now, the edit mode is scorned,

the Artist doth the image mourn,

which never, now, will page adorn,

since edit tool won’t birth the form.

 

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© Ellen M Story and emariaenterprises, llc 2012.

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The Willing Worker   Leave a comment

Farmer's Landscape by Ellen Lattz, April 2016When softly blows across the heart

a nearer scene of sentiment,

Where ne’er greed, nor envy start;

the worker labors in content.

The nearer fields are tilled ahead,

That those who eagerly await

the coming of the watershed,

may seed the ground, while in full sate.

And so the seed, in embryo,

is nestled in a ready soil,

whose sev’ral parts, all set to grow,

spread now their roots in ready toil.

And now the willing worker waits,

while sunshine warms the seeded bed;

nor thought for idleness he takes,

when tilling further fields instead.

Now clearing ground, now weeding patch;

The labor changes with the need.

No duty shirked, no plots to hatch,

The worker finds no ire to heed;

But satisfied in job well done,

looks ever more to other’s needs;

and glories in the day’s full run,

of willing service, and good deeds.

Step homeward now to set a while,

and sup on past accomplishments.

An hours leisure, done in style,

Welcomed last, in random moments.

Now laying down a weary head,

the laborer smiles in fulsome dream.

Turning over in the bed,

Ne’er once thinks to cross the stream.

Anticipating new blown day,

hurries to finish needed rest.

The laborer loves the willing way;

Life’s challenges, takes on with zest.

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© Ellen M Story , Ellen M. Lattz at emariaenterprises, llc. May 2016.

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To Ad or Not to Ad   2 comments

When gentle sunsets glow with golden light

and shining waves wash sweetly ‘cross the sunlit sands;

When lofty mountain heights peek o’er, at the very edge of sight

and watchful gulls wheel briskly o’er pebbled shore;

Then is the setting so sublime

that eye can’t want for more…

Yet then is ad displayed o’er scene,

obscenely staking out some space

better left to wind or wave or moor.

Agreed was I to let some ads take place

but something subtle and sublime is lost

when jarring subjects impose their brightly colored ads,

and on poets space,  implore.

 

 

© Ellen M Story and emariaenterprises, llc 2012.

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Posted September 29, 2012 by emariaenterprises in Poetry

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The Economics of Love   1 comment

 

There is a numbness where my feelings were.

There was so much promise and joy

in our union. We were one

until I lost my job.

When you made the income

I was dependent.

You became demon.

lost

All the joy is gone.

Only confusion

remains.

 

 

 

Thank you to Henricky for his photo of the Angels and Demons in Barcelona and to Alpine Edge for this photo of a Lost World

 

© Ellen M Story and emariaenterprises, llc 2012.

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Posted September 27, 2012 by emariaenterprises in Poetry

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Tongue in Check   1 comment

It isn’t the cat;
For who is holding his tongue?
Lack of a subject.

Posted September 24, 2012 by emariaenterprises in Haiku, Poetry

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Love Lost and Found   Leave a comment

Missed Opportunity
leaves a search for eternity
to find tomorrow.

Thank you to little.lions for the picture of ” love lost in the sea”

© Ellen M Story and emariaenterprises, llc 2012.

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Posted September 24, 2012 by emariaenterprises in Haiku, Poetry

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A Culture of Political Confusion – Ad Infinitum   1 comment

ClownOnShelfWhere did the                                                             Why do we

plain speaking,                                                           Listen to them

straight walking,                                                        telling us lies,

hard working citizen                                                 with their big smiles,

disappear to?                                                               and sneaky eyes?

 

When did we                                                               I’ve seen you

buy into                                                                        laugh at us,

fast talking,                                                                when we gasped

street walking,                                                           at your casual

con artists,                                                                  carelessness.

with loose lips,                                                          You’re so cool,

and lean hips,                                                            confidently

and quick tongues                                                    denying guilt.

selling us                                                                     telling us,

fear and shame?                                                        it won’t stick.

 

Who are we                                                                 Do we look

 

becoming?                                                                   gullible?

Where is our                                                               Are we so

spirit?                                                                           blinded

Why did we                                                                 by media,

stop believing                                                           that we can’t

in ourselves?                                                             see the truth?

 

Teddy Roosevelt’s                                                   I’m not some puppet

rugged individualism                                             you can pull the strings on.

has become                                                               You can’t make me

a mantra                                                                     dance on

of  gimme.                                                                 your stage.

 

 

© Ellen M Story, and emariaenterprises, llc 2012. and Ellen M. Lattz, 2016

Poems and artwork are by Ellen M. Story, 2012, and Ellen M. Lattz, 2016

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ellen M. Story and Ellen M. Lattz, and emariaenterprises with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 

 

About Choices   https://politicalvalues.wordpress.com