Thought Wheel

From the mind of Ann Chiappetta

S Is For Success, Sort of

| Filed under blindness Poem Relationships Uncategorized Writing Life

Yes, readers, the new wickedly light and sexy infinity edge Dell laptop is good to go, thanks to much patience and help from my friend, mike. The first model was returned and I even made the first payment. Last Saturday I visited Mike and he helped me configure it. Now I will be using Windows 10, JAWS screen reader version 2018 and adding a few programs I use for writing and blogging. I even purchased an external DVD drive, and found it quick and easy to use.

What I did not allude to in the blog post, “D Is For Dilemma’, was that I’d also upgraded to an iPhone XR from an iPhone 6S. I think this transition was harder due to the change from buttons to haptics, removal of the home button, and new gesturing commands as compared to the older phone.
Here is a little poem about it.
On the Tip of a Finger
By Ann Chiappetta

Tap.
Flick up.
Flick down.
tap tap.
use a digit
drag it around.

press side button;
“Hello Siri” — why doesn’t she talk?
Slide and lift
Thumbs are best to text.
Swipe up with index finger
Tap tap to select.
Tippity-tap tap
Doink doink doink
Try middle finger gesture instead.

Spell Onomatopoeia
 NOT ammonia —

Swish, swoosh blunk

Dexterity demands flanges
To execute a pinch or scrub.

“Hi Siri,”

I didn’t say that

Slide and lift
Thumbs are best to text.
Swipe up with index finger
Tap tap to select.

National Poetry Month

| Filed under Poem Relationships Uncategorized Writing Life

TROPHIES
By Ann Chiappetta

Burnished figures on pedestals
Inscribed electroplate
Into households they gather, insidious
Conniving onto shelf and mantle place

They represent childhood paragons
Foster a competitive edge;
Rally spirits when called upon
As we leap and clear the proverbial hedge

They possess our emotions, sentiments
Simbiants woven into beliefs
A bit of blanket, a toddler’s treasure
Photos that trigger grief

Even in death we cannot escape
Carved markers above bones underneath
Grassy knolls peppered with maudlin
Guardians, trophies the dead bequeath

Yet the living tend the reminders
While the dead are set free
What a breath holds dear
Spirits don’t need.

2005