The dream home of Tomorrow, in which you might find the Goblin…
It’s a two-poem day as my brain was too fried yesterday…The other (today’s) will appear later.
So, catching up with yesterday’s prompt to write a love poem to a thing, here’s my offering. It ended up quite long, so if you can stick it out – thank you, there is a ‘pay off’ and I appreciate any constructive suggestions for cuts or other edits! 🙂
Love Song of the Goblin
Such Integration:
where before, we poor
humans had to lumber through
the morning chore of tea
production, in a number
of discrete actions:
no more.
Such Automation:
for now, the boiling water
of morning is poured on to the teabag
of your dreams, even before
your fleshy eyelids
have flickered.
Sentinel of The Modern Day:
you begin your boiling ways
at precisely the allotted tick.
As we kick off our fluffy
heads and robes, gliding
into one (of two) myopically
chrome and out-damn-spot
clean family cars.
Such Illumination:
dissatisfied with the distant
Sun, you add your cheery
and alarming glow to the throes
of a dawn chorus of factory-produced
daylight. Springing up, along the branch
that Britain was, alert to promotion, bonus
cash. Growing on the map like a gorgeous,
bioluminescent rash.
Such Reanimation:
now, in pixelated times, we save up
the promise stored in your recklessly
un-energy-efficient bulbs. Half a century
– no, more – from your peak, we keep you here
(though there is scarcely space) for the idea
that there is use in you. For moments, you rejoin
the Gleaming Highway of Time. When we children
of another century, want the ambience for a birthday
do just right. We put our ear to you for a tick,
or a Frankenstein fizz of electricity. From time
to time, we invite you, nervously,
to join us at the party,
as a light.
Addendum: here is the actual sort that we have on our shelf, as a light (and never, ever a tea-making device)…
A 1959-60 Goblin Teasmade, like the one we have on the shelf (and for which I have a curious affection).
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