D-evolution
In the olden days
families lived on homesteads,
the elders taking care
of the young ones
and in time
the young ones
taking care of the elders.
Word traveled
by mouth
men riding
through night and fog.
When times were hard
young men went away
to find work
in distant villages.
Those who could read
and write
penned letters,
missives of news
and love.
In time telegrams came.
They might bear news
of the birth of a child
or the passing of a
What a wonder
the telephone was:
the ring of the machine
on the wall
announcing a call
perhaps from far way
bring the voice
of the loved one
right into your house,
right into your heart.
How wonderful to talk freely
as long as you wanted to.
With the advent of the computer
people started to write emails
to each other,
just like the letters as before
but without the familiar sight
of the handwriting of the other,
written quickly,
deleted as easily…
And then someone invented “texts”,
those telegram style messages,
more impersonal
short, sometimes snarky,
sometimes misunderstood
without the personal sound
of the writer’s voice.
Long text strings
rather than picking up the phone
and speaking at length
and directly to each other
about important issues.
Someone said once said :
texts can be dangerous
miscommunications.
But that was not all:
sending an emoji
brought an altogether different
dimension
to friends’ interactions.
Just a picture,
a heart, an angry face,
a smile.
No words
no sound,
just a picture
meant to say it all.
What’s next?
Smoke signals, maybe?
just send them in different colors
to convey the mood
the message.
Read them, see them
quickly
and then they will be gone,
nothing to record,
nothing to remember,
nobody to hold to account.
The closeness of times past
gone
in the busyness
of our daily lives.
Though communication
is fast
so immediate
our lives
feel less close,
less intimate,
leaving us
like tender plants
in parched fields
thirsting
for the gentle rain
and live-giving sun
of loving attention,
the touch of your hand,
the sound of your voice.
A friend said to me:
It is our generation that remembers the Past,
the young ones only know the Now.
families lived on homesteads,
the elders taking care
of the young ones
and in time
the young ones
taking care of the elders.
Word traveled
by mouth
men riding
through night and fog.
When times were hard
young men went away
to find work
in distant villages.
Those who could read
and write
penned letters,
missives of news
and love.
In time telegrams came.
They might bear news
of the birth of a child
or the passing of a
What a wonder
the telephone was:
the ring of the machine
on the wall
announcing a call
perhaps from far way
bring the voice
of the loved one
right into your house,
right into your heart.
How wonderful to talk freely
as long as you wanted to.
With the advent of the computer
people started to write emails
to each other,
just like the letters as before
but without the familiar sight
of the handwriting of the other,
written quickly,
deleted as easily…
And then someone invented “texts”,
those telegram style messages,
more impersonal
short, sometimes snarky,
sometimes misunderstood
without the personal sound
of the writer’s voice.
Long text strings
rather than picking up the phone
and speaking at length
and directly to each other
about important issues.
Someone said once said :
texts can be dangerous
miscommunications.
But that was not all:
sending an emoji
brought an altogether different
dimension
to friends’ interactions.
Just a picture,
a heart, an angry face,
a smile.
No words
no sound,
just a picture
meant to say it all.
What’s next?
Smoke signals, maybe?
just send them in different colors
to convey the mood
the message.
Read them, see them
quickly
and then they will be gone,
nothing to record,
nothing to remember,
nobody to hold to account.
The closeness of times past
gone
in the busyness
of our daily lives.
Though communication
is fast
so immediate
our lives
feel less close,
less intimate,
leaving us
like tender plants
in parched fields
thirsting
for the gentle rain
and live-giving sun
of loving attention,
the touch of your hand,
the sound of your voice.
A friend said to me:
It is our generation that remembers the Past,
the young ones only know the Now.
