Generational Shift

Day 14: "Poetry is an ancient art, and one that revisits themes that existed thousands of years ago – love, nature, jealousy. But that doesn’t mean that poets live in a sort of pre-history unaffected by technological advances. Emily Dickinson wrote about trains, and I’m rather charmed by this 1981 poem about the “incredible hair” of actors on television. In a more recent example, Becca Klaver’s “Manifesto of the Lyric Selfie” draws inspiration from the contemporary drive to document everything in digital photographs. Today, we challenge you to write a poem that similarly bridges (whether smoothly or not) the seeming divide between poetry and technological advances."

Well, my poem just had to be about gaming! My grandsons and (to a lesser extent) my granddaughter are hooked on Roblox games, and disappear up to their rooms straight after lunch whenever I'm visiting on a Sunday.  Hopefully it's not just an excuse to get away from boring old Granny! 

Generational Shift

They arrive at the table reluctantly, their talk
Of Robux, admin abuse, brainrot, skins and noobs
Impenetrable, alien, exclusionary. 

They're hyper, jabbering away to each other
Loud and fast, allowing no interruption
To talk of real life matters, of things outside their screens.

I'm silent, bemused, wondering 
Was this how my parents felt
When my kids spoke of Tetris, Super Mario?

They promise to BRB but are gone for the rest of the day
Lost in the pixilated universe they prefer
To my old-hat world of ancient history.


 © Copyright 2026. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Party Piece

I haven't written any poems for quite a while,  resting after the intensity of the OU course in Creative Writing, and this year's Napowrimo which seemed to have sucked me dry.  But this morning a painting of Acker Bilk by my friend Jocelyn Gilfoyle prompted a memory of my Dad, which needed to be recorded.  He had a great love of instrumental music especially brass bands, which were unappealing to me as a child - after the first few tracks I'd usually had enough.  But I loved the novelty of him coaxing music out of his cornet, just by pursing his lips and blowing,  It only came out at Christmas, The scuffed black case with its puffy silk lining, The tarnished brass cornet nestled safe inside. Each year his girls would ask him to play His party piece at the family gathering, Amazed that his puckered lips could draw  Sweet notes from this unassuming instrument. He'd always start with an apology for being rusty, But once the first few wavering notes were tested...
Read more

Pedalling towards Recovery

Part of my daily physio to counteract arthritic knees and hip is 20 minutes on the exercise bike. It's actually quite an enjoyable start to the day, giving me plenty of thinking time. Pedalling hard Easing knees, teasing ease, Breeze on my face as I race Towards a distant day Of walking without thought  Without stick or support, Walking out of the door Going further than before Each step bringing more. Legs pound, pound, pound, Thoughts go round, round, round. © Copyright 2025. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved
Read more

Tea Party

It's funny how some memories of childhood stay fresh and clear, while others disappear.  I came across this memory in some notes I'd made on childhood during my course, and had to write them up before they disappeared once again.   My nineteen guests sit in a circle Splay-legged on the carpet, Silent, eyes blank, looking straight ahead As if in the company of strangers. A mixed, assorted bunch, From tiny dolls with painted hair,  To blue-eyed, blonde-haired Fiona, Standing half my height, my latest friend. Mixed in between, with no distinction made, The hunched and furry bears, Reaching out their worn and clumsy paws Towards impossible teacup handles. The shaky teapot pours juice into their cups, Red plastic plates are passed around To share the iced ring biscuits politely, Though every one is bitten by my proxy teeth. The party warms up as 'tea' and biscuits disappear, Guests slump in their places, inhibitions lost, As they regain the toy box familiarity  Of li...
Read more