iLife

Well the Woking Informer came out today with three of my pictures - this one, this one and this one. I had to smile because the caption to the last one read: "A bridal party wearing wellies on Leith Hill, Dorking." Fine, except they'd cropped off the bottom part of the pic showing the wellies. A shame also that the paper didn't print the Blipfoto url. Oh well!

Today's picture is a bit of an accident. I took out the dogs with my lens bag and tripod and forgot the big camera (doh!) but had the little one. I try not to tart up my shots much but I softened this one and liked it (Gill preferred the sharper image, we always disagree).

I've been working on a poem the past two days, inspired by Tuesday's blip. It's about modern living, technology and commuting and how it's shaping behaviours. I would like to have had something fitting as an illustration but the canal didn't offer that. Anyway the poem's called:


iLife

We butt up like barnacles on bare rock,
Bag walled, window eyes
Shuttered against the strobe journey.
Plugged ears, sponge brains
Graze a rhythmic beat,
Absorbed and sealed with a hiss.

Queue and covered hands punch
Bingo numbers, tool money
Snatched and palmed from
Trusted cavity to gaping leather,
Stuffed, replete and satisfied,
Cushioned on apprehensive breast.

We do not talk to willing strangers,
Perish the high-five,
Banish fraternal warmth.
Sometimes we smile at tidy dogs,
Preferring German pedigrees
And neat, disposable poop.

Whole days can pass without
A nod or glance or sniping shot
Unnerving the enemy crowd.
Cleansed by its soap-bar tones,
We bless and coddle close,
The pocket-confessional, always near.

Sprint walking, stealing steps,
Filter-feeding scraps,
Dredged from the networked ocean,
Skimmed, lean, recycled,
Approved by experts, processed
For an undernourished soul.

Concourse-bound our Brownian steps
Choreograph an exit,
Carriage chosen, seat defended,
Kindle gripped and settled,
We glower our attackers down
And celebrate the victory of space.

Girded thus, we shop, to buy
To breath, but not to think.
In-date yoghurt beeps contentment,
Caged and plastic bound,
With problem items,
Pleading a mute innocence.

Nozzle dry, we pay the pump
And order online now,
Another link in a chain
Curtain of social exclusion,
Veiling a neighbour's doorstep perch,
She's busy too, that's understood.

Packaged supper, wrapped conversation,
Multi-screened, we Tinker Bell fast friends,
Spreading a gossamer presence,
Quenching our social thirst,
Warbling and thumbs-up icons,
Yes, this is the high life: iLife.