Poem:
Centuries older were you
Who reduced everyone to an ignorant child.
As the sun rose everyday,
At my doorstep you arrived
With fresh tidings of
Novel ideas and events,
Of deaths and horrifying stories.
Man’s truest chronicler were you
Who told stories the way they were
Without clouds or endless alleys.
In you, did we see a heart of gold,
As you distorted yourself,
So a child could hold you
Like the adults did.
Exemplifying patience,
You underwent every dissection, and cruel scrutiny
The words you sheltered
Were forced to go through.
Weren’t you the strongest person
When children and adults
Fought glorious battles
For a few hours of your presence?
You were just
A few sheets of paper,
Bringing news from all over the world.
You were the whisper in the air,
The wise sage in the room,
The world’s diary;
A lost luxury now.
Source:
Deepthy
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The Skeptic's Kaddish 🇮🇱 
An exquisite nostalgic poem, D! What a different experience from the newer media! ❤
“Man’s truest chronicler were you
Who told stories the way they were
Without clouds or endless alleys.”
Young as you are, you may still remember a few of the things I remember:
Do you remember how newspapers smelled of ink and how that ink came off on your fingers? Fine particles fell from the papers as you turned the pages and had to be brushed from the furniture and your clothes.
Newspapers were used to pack the glassware when you moved, were laid across the counter when peeling fruit, lined the bird cage, and were used for kindling a fire in the fireplace. Remember tearing newspaper into strips to make art objects of paper mache and flour paste?
Thank you for posting this, David! ❤ Somehow, I missed reading it!
💞 Cheryl 💞 ~ I remember those things!
❤ David!
I’m 43
I am 73, so I should be able to remember something you don’t…My grandmother washed her windows with vinegar and polished them with newspaper. That was probably before your time. 🙂 You, David, will see many things I will miss! It gives me hope for the future to know the world is in the hands of capable, caring people like you.
🧡 😍 Cheryl 😍 🧡
Thanks so much for sharing! ❤️
🖤🙏🏻 Deepthy 🙏🏻🖤 ~ thank you for letting me share it.
My pleasure!
I still look forward to the morning paper. I spend too much time in front of a screen already. (K)
💜🙏🏻 Kerfe 🙏🏻💜 ~ I sometimes read a newspaper on Shabbat
I can’t even read a book on a screen.
Nor I
A wonderful share! 👏🏻 I love her work! 💗
💜 Michele 💜
A lost luxury indeed. I read a newspaper a few days back. I didn’t know I’d miss it so much. As a kid, I preferred the comics part only but over time I learned to read the rest of it.
💘 Maria 💘 ~ I used to love the comics too!
They were the highlight for me.
Beautiful longing
💗🙏🏻 Abi 🙏🏻💗 ~ yes
💗💗
The touch and smell of the paper
“you were just a few sheets of paper, Bringing news from all over the world.” Simple lines yet so profound & impactful as I read it! Those lines too about “fighting glorious wars just to be in your presence” too were just… Wow! 😮😮👏👏👌👌
💓 Ken 💓
love D’s poem so heartfelt with her depth and gift of words David.❣️
💙 Cindy 💙 ~ me too
Enjoyed reading this David.It is so well written✍️.Thank you for sharing🙏
❤️ Maggie ❤️ ~ you are welcome!
When the press completely dies out we will be so much poorer and ignorant as a result!!
🧡 Muri 🧡
Lost indeed! I kept one as a Teenager and have failed as an Adult. My ego has Diminished. I am not interesting to myself anymore.
💛 Andrew 💛 ~ I feel you
Wonderful poem about the newspaper 🗞️
it evokes my memory of the sound of the Times being opened and closed with arms stretching to perform the morning ritual—taking the time to read it…
this poem is remarkable
💕 Lesley 💕 ~ I’m so with you
💖
…to be on the early morning tube and getting hit in the face be a chap opening the Times…