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.


Yon, never 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.



Related links:

Feed Your Thyroid the Right Foods


© Ellen M Story and emariaenterprises, llc 2012.

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







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