Treasure Island

Fay Slimm

(Ageless. / in Cornwall U.K.)

Powerless Musings.


Sitting in candlelight I, absently
Minding the clock, wonder why candle glow
Is no more considered good light, and meant
Solely for romantic nights. Flames glowing,
Now engagingly chase colourful hues
With flickery light. I easy prepare
A small meal, sew a seam, then start doing
Washing by hand, but, could I have been there
Before advent of electrified light
I too might have dreamed of washing machines,
Or yearned for T.V. or 'phone, and even might
Have cleverly invented powerful schemes
Of my own. I turn from the sink, and sigh!

When will this power, disabled by storm
Be recovered? I can then make reply
To unanswered, faraway friends, who form
By now an image of me as carelessly
Rude. Candlepower, never the same, no future
Can claim over click-button ease. Depressed,
Now I turn and start hugging Computer!

So, confessing addiction to modern means,
I will only use candles to weave my dreams.

Submitted: Sunday, January 18, 2009
Edited: Sunday, January 18, 2009

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Comments about this poem (Powerless Musings. by Fay Slimm )

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  • Sandra Fowler (1/19/2009 4:36:00 AM)

    Lovely thoughts. The power of poetry is not diminished by lack of electricity.
    But it makes life so much easier. And communication much more possible.
    In this age, we are lost without it. Still, candles are indeed dream weavers.
    They inspired you. Take care.

    Love,

    Sandra (Report) Reply

Read all 3 comments »

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