THE TYPEWRITER PROJECT

The Poetry Society of New York 4/19/17 The Poetry Society of New York 4/19/17

Fear and anxiety nonsense entirety were once a dull plague on my life my daily routine the american dream so corrupted with this little strife how it was to be wrapped so utterly trapped by these feelings beyond my control thus i went to a doctor for my health, a proctor to free me from this terrible foe i felt i left with a thrill my new little pill had done its job through and throughso i went back to workthough my boss was a jerkto live out the dream all anewyet there was still no please nothing to measure even now that im old and grown so now i must wonder if this was a blunder was there something my fear had known? this supposed life still full of work and strife has left me with nothing but pain and now i feel that this lifee wasnt realand id never take those pills againfor fear you seefar from my enemywas a voice shouting at me to run!now my days have been stolenmy eyes red and swollenas i stare down the barrel of my gun.xxxxxx-a pharmacistdisclaimer; while depressing, the message of this poem is to Sure. Life ccan be a real pain in the butt; but, it can be full of adventure &sunrises (good & bad types), too. Take me, for example, my husband died ayear ago and theree are plenty of days I feel the world is not enough. Other day, ththe world is a wondrous place I am delighted to be a part of. I hope to have more & more of the wondrous days & fewer & fewer of the not enough days.

The Poetry Society of New York 4/19/17 The Poetry Society of New York 4/19/17

Flashbacck to 8th grade typing class I can't remember how to do this!

The Poetry Society of New York 4/19/17 The Poetry Society of New York 4/19/17

Sometimes i woneder Say, who does this? Only the brightest minds and the weakest fingers. Allow yourself to dream and play and do all the things that bring you joy and happiness

The Poetry Society of New York 4/19/17 The Poetry Society of New York 4/19/17

i feel lonely at night i feel magic i am proud i find d god when im Lonely

The Poetry Society of New York 4/19/17 The Poetry Society of New York 4/19/17

Unlike every other keyboard in my life. By which my mind is somewhere else while typing...my iPhone, my iPad, my desktop and laptop computers.I like being reminded of the time when I connected with the world by poundingkeys to send stories and photographs to those interested in my West Virgina home. Like a piano , this old Sterling typewriter brings music to my ears and memories to this present moment.

The Poetry Society of New York 4/19/17 The Poetry Society of New York 4/19/17

I'm smiling as I site here on a wooden bench, in the warm sun, a cool breeze blowing my hair across my face.. I am in the moment.

The Poetry Society of New York 4/19/17 The Poetry Society of New York 4/19/17

Typing has become such an integral part of our lives. I had forgottenthe physical nature oftyping! There was a time when **** just graduated from collegeininto the recessionioon of the 1970s when I earned my living typping addressesfor West Virgina Maa. Gazine. THAT was hard work! Every number required precisioonpinkies!!! My typewriter was high tech for its day-- an electric selectric withtype on a m. Metal ball instead of these individual rods that clump together whenyou type too fast. While I'm still entranced and engaged with high tech (currentlyexploring 360-degree spherical video for immersive experiences for high ed ) , I love the textral feel of these keys, the resistance, the clacking,as I type my thoughts onto the bright white paper

The Poetry Society of New York 4/19/17 The Poetry Society of New York 4/19/17

i think back often to those warm summer nights. Laying on the warm wood pier, piering up at the stars, not a single person for miles and miles. The days were so simple, so engrossed in nature.We would run and laugh and plat, it didnt matter if we got dirty or wet or messy. Rain fell like clockwork on the tin roofs...twelve noon every day. We would lay there with full bellies, book in hand, amd listen to the pat patpat of the rain. And the the sun would return and out we would go, untilthe stars and bullfrogs returned to lull us goodnight.