Electronics

All Poems, Electronics, Family, Spouses

Chat GPT

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I don’t want to chat with a computer, said Bob.

When I asked him if he’d like to install Chat GPT on his laptop.

After Uriel gave us an impressive demonstration.

Talents, skills, prowess of the new technology.

Personalizing a travel itinerary.

Locating and reviewing vegan restaurants.

Writing poetry.

I was shocked by the firm no.

From the guy who was an early consumer of computers.

Their progeny.

Texas Instruments, Gateway, Blackberry, Apple.

Desktops, laptops, ipads, iphones, apple watches.

Urging a reluctant daughter in 1992 to use the internet.

Today, driving an electric vehicle replete with interactive GPS.

Why not Chat GPT?

Especially for trip planning.

Disloyalty to guidebooks?

Worries about people losing jobs?

Thoughts about the dark side of artificial intelligence?

I know not why Bob would resist

a tool that could save some travail.

It just could be the last revolution

he has a chance to unveil.

 

Lynn Benjamin

July 26, 2023

All Poems, Career, Change, Electronics, Emotions

Website 2

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Professional website’s off the grid.

Gone.

Three years after retirement.

Last vestige of a career.

With the usual sensations.

Attached to lasts of things liked.

Last day of a glorious retreat.

Last page of an absorbing book.

Last expedition on a relished adventure.

Longing in the belly.

For one hour more.

Desire in empty arms.

To fill them.

Melancholy in the chest.

For the end.

Relief in the lungs.

To move on.

Excitement in the mouth.

For novelty.

Confusion in the brain.

For what that might be.

Finally, calm.

After the tumble, jumble.

Realms open wide.

Illuminate pathways.

Marvels provide.

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 16,2023

 

 

 

 

 

All Poems, Career, Change, Electronics

Website 1

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The website is closed.

Three years after retirement.

The one with professional biographies.

Necessary data.

Fees.

Hours of operation.

Practice forms.

Rules.

Even a blog with relevant articles.

Perhaps of interest to a client.

Now no longer needed.

Nor its concomitant email address.

Domain name.

Host.

Was that site a chapter?

In a book begun before technology?

Or was it its own book?

Full of chapters?

Arrived to the epilogue.

What happens to the protagonists?

Doctor and therapist?

Still peeling off identities

as an onion peels its skin.

On a quest to find the core.

True selves that lie within.

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 16, 2023

 

All Poems, Electronics, Humor

Router and Modem

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Our house has a router, a modem.

Hot spots, wifi, boosters.

To power laptops, iphones, TV’s.

All electronics, arriving after our childhoods.

Our schooling.

Our router had to be changed to keep up with wifi speed.

The tech on the phone assured us we could do it.

It’s easy. I’ll walk you through it, he said.

Just unplug the router.

Instantly, the phone stopped working.

The tech was no longer by our side.

We tried to do it ourselves.

Reconnect wires to the new router.

No more connection with any devices.

Frustrated, we conceded defeat.

Called Comcast again.

Begged, we need an in-person technician.

Fearful we’d be denied.

I was just trying to save you a charge, the voice said.

My husband protested, I lost you when I unplugged the router.

Everything’s now connected

in ways we don’t understand.

Better to call a professional

than let things slip out of hand.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 13, 2023

 

 

All Poems, Electronics, Emotions

Naïve or Arrogant?

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Was I naïve?

Or arrogant?

Thinking I had mastered an online world?

At least enough of it to function in it?

Using emails.

Browsers.

YouTube.

Paying bills online.

Till without warning, I was no longer able.

Able to fix the disappearance of an email account.

That stopped working on 4/17.

Precisely.

My first thought to correct it: call Apple support.

On the phone an hour.

Making it worse.

All emails deleted from the phone.

No amount of futzing brought them back.

What went wrong?

My brain twisting, turning in search of an answer.

To no avail.

Finally calling an IT expert.

Who, within an hour, explained the problem.

All those ads for Google Workspace, he explained,

were telling you to purchase the account.

I groaned, What? I moved those ads to trash!

After all these decades of free use?

Besides, the services are extraneous to me.

No longer running a business.

Who knew they bundled email with services?

I have to say, I felt sheepish, naïve.

Google alerts, I didn’t comprehend.

Purchasing business apps and tools

so my email account didn’t end.

I now have Meet, Chat, Docs, Slides, more.

All of which I never will need.

But my email’s back for at least one year.

Buying time to ponder, proceed.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 5, 2023

 

 

All Poems, Argentine Family, Electronics, Family

Luisa on WhatsApp

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We just finished dinner.

When WhatsApp dinged.

There, on screen, a snapshot.

My ninety-year-old Argentine cousin.

Sent by Uriel, who lives in Pittsburgh.

He must be in Buenos Aires, I thought.

¿Estás en Bs As? I texted.

Estoy, he responded.

So, you went for your mother’s sixty-fifth birthday?

Yes, he typed.

What a good son! I exclaimed.

Went on, and now you’re visiting Great Aunt Luisa?

Yes! Do you want to video chat?

Which we did.

Four of us.

Uri and Luisa.

Bob and I.

Luisa entreating us to go see her.

We, wishing we could.

At ninety, she can’t come here.

The trip to her is long.

WhatsApp may have to host us all.

To keep connection strong.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 4, 2023

 

 

 

All Poems, Electronics

IPhone Rebels

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It’s a shock when the iPhone rebels.

Flashes messages like server stopped responding.

Leaves you with no internet, no email.

With the job of trouble shooting.

Is it a problem with the server in the house?

An area-wide network issue?

Who knows?

But data at our fingertips interrupted.

Reminiscent of past days.

When we sought knowledge in encyclopedias.

Dictionaries.

Books.

Really, not that long ago.

But convenience without waiting

for all information needs,

makes it hard to postpone, pause.

Old time patience, it impedes.

 

Lynn Benjamin

April 10, 2023

 

 

 

 

All Poems, Electronics

Back Hatch

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Bob returned from the market.

At least the sixth trip.

Since early last week.

When he started shopping for Passover.

For the company we expected.

For the Seder.

For all the dishes we prepared, put away.

And all the dishes yet to make.

Both of us carried bags from the BMW.

The electric vehicle he drives.

Carefully, he closed the back.

Locked the car.

When the rear door lifted.

Surprised, I alerted him.

He pressed the button to shut it.

It lowered.

Didn’t quite lock.

Rose again.

The same scenario, over and over.

I better call the dealership, he said, walking for his phone.

Good idea, I chimed.

Added, but maybe, just turn the car on, off. Like we do with a frozen phone.

See if the hatch fully closes.

He listened, tried it.

I peeked out from an upstairs window.

The back was down, secured.

The dealership returned his call.

He explained the situation.

Told the serviceman my advice.

Gave me credit for the fix.

Common-sensical, concise.

 

Lynn Benjamin

April, 7, 2023

 

All Poems, Electronics, Family, Humor, Spouses, Stories

Printer

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It’s unfortunate when electronics fall apart.

But they’re not like chairs or tables.

They have calculated times to survive.

For their parts are intricate.

If one goes, the machine falters.

So, it wasn’t a surprise.

When our three-year-old printer jammed.

Over and over.

Bob ordered a new one on Amazon.

Which arrived in forty-eight hours.

Connected it to phones and laptops.

But, refrained from abandoning the broken one.

Parked it near his desk.

Fiddled with it.

Tried to resurrect it.

Though a tiny part had fallen off inside.

Which he couldn’t fish out.

Insisted it had nothing to do with the functionality.

Turned it on.

Off.

On.

Watched it jam.

Again, and again.

Agreed to take it to the Geek Squad.

At Best Buy where he bought it.

Maybe expert hands could revive it.

Bring it back to life.

He put it on a dolly.

Lifted it into the car.

Then out into a cart.

Wheeled it like a baby into the store.

Where the technician declined to examine it.

We don’t work on printers, he said.

With sadness, Bob relinquished it.

Left it there to go to the printer graveyard.

I began to wonder.

Was this old Bob not wanting to say goodbye to a machine?

To keep an extra one on hand?

Or was this Dr. Bob who wanted to make it whole?

Heal it?

Send it home in better health?

Maybe both?

I gave him credit for parting with the printer.

Letting go when there was no repair.

Though he regretted he couldn’t save it,

he never descended to despair.

He is grateful that the new one,

delivered strait away to the door,

works flawlessly without problems.

No pick up hassles at the store.

His outlook now is brighter.

Optimistic and upbeat.

Knows to surrender electronics.

When they fail, they’re obsolete.

 

Lynn Benjamin

December 21, 2022

 

 

 

 

 

 

All Poems, Change, Electronics, Humor, Memories

Holiday Cards

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I sat to write holiday cards.

How did my list dwindle to seven?

When I used to send seventy-five?

Order them imprinted?

From dedicated catalogues?

Received cards by the dozens.

From friends.

Neighbors.

Colleagues.

Filled with updates on children, vacations, jobs.

What happened over time?

Some card senders passed away.

Others moved out of my orbit.

Children became parents themselves.

Stories lengthened.

Maybe too much to write?

Too costly to mail?

Less confidence in postal service?

Slowly, people switched to email exchanges.

The younger generation stopped sending greetings at all.

Even thank-yous, relegated to mere texts.

Certainly, I’ve witnessed changes.

Revolutions, maybe.

Desktop computers.

Macs.

iPhones.

Apple watches.

Electric vehicles.

What’s next?

ChatGPT (Generative Pre-trained Transformer 3)?

Will bots take over writing?

Holiday tidings?

Who knows?

I miss the days of receiving letters.

Arranging them neatly for display.

For all my guests to stop and read.

Each different card, its own essay.

But now that I have fewer

to write, address, and mail,

I have more hours in the day

to breathe, relax, inhale.

Next year, instead of writing,

I will FaceTime or meet with those

whom I’d like to see or greet.

ChatGPT, you do the prose!

 

Lynn Benjamin

December 14, 2022