Colonels Crooning to Their Dowagers
To bridge the gap 'twixt man and machine
('twixt subaltern and submarine)
Is not a task, as we have seen,
For dolts;
The skill required is truly immense
And holds no scope for common-sense
It can't be done for fifty pence
On seven volts
No, what we need is a thinking cap
A sapient helmet; then the gap
Will shorten, while we take a nap
'Til dawn;
Our synapses must be rightly wired
So, when the starting-pin is fired
Our efforts will not end up mired
In scorn
The trickiest thing is where to start
And where to finish; that's the art
You have to seek it in your heart
Or spleen
And in the traversing of the void
Some subtle wiles must be deployed
Or we'll end up like Murgatroyd
-- Obscene!
And so we don the protective gear
Electrodes jammed in every ear
And sing aloud, to mask our fear
Of failure
We'll need a generous slice of luck
In case the process runs amok
And leaves no hope, except to pluck
God's dahlia
We'll first establish an interface
Connecting up the human race
With denizens of cyberspace
Pan-global
Then set our grey cells to receive
Impressions that, we half-believe,
Will set our spirits free to leave
Ignoble!
And when our souls have all been filed
In databases, part-compiled
We'll let our bodies roam, quite wild
And reckless
Our Earth-bound forms will gradually fade
Until, by VDU displayed,
Our lives like beads will be arrayed
An Ecklace !
And Oh!, what bliss shall we know then
When all machines are partly men
We'll never need to wonder when
To slumber
Our lives we'll lead as carefree boys
Our heartbeats nought but whirring noise
We'll praise for aye the untold joys
Sans number
| Contributors: | TG, Roland. |
| Poem finished: | 15th May 2002. |