Thursday, November 1, 2012


(A Haiku)

Wickedness is bad
And yet wickedness is fun
We wrestle with it



In days gone by the little children
Gazed at picture-books.
They could tell an artist's work
By the artificial looks.
I never, for one moment, puzzled
Over illustrations;
They were, clearly, quite unreal,
Portraying situations
Which pretended to happen in Fairyland,
Or underneath the sea.
A line was very clearly drawn
Between them and reality.
Now, however, the fantasies
Seem like the genuine article;
The digitisation has progressed
To every little particle,
So that only an adult can, at once,
Recognise the sleight of hand;
We seem to have an era
Of reality on demand.
But I wonder about the children,
The ones of three or four,
Who gaze at videos and such,
Which most of them adore.
Take the picture up above;
It appears to speak the truth,
And I wonder how I'd have looked at it
If I'd seen it in my youth.
Would I have seen a photograph
Of somebody in mid-air
Held up by a bright bunch of balloons,
Seemingly dangling there?
And would I have thought it possible,
A delightful thing to do,
And would I have thought that, one day,
I'd like to do it too?
Imagination is wonderful,
To be encouraged in all,
But I worry about the children;
How do they see it all?

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