Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, while playing Pokemon Go and trying to catch Quilladin on August 2, 2016

 

A score of years have passed since your release
Childish nostalgia; games we once enjoyed.
Gameboy, Dreamcast, Nintendo 64
Amidst the console scrap-heap in the sky
Clouds scud across, sweet summer's zephyr.
Yet I care not. I'm in pursuit mode – hot
On heels of rare Quilladin green and brown;
Chestnut bred with hedgehog, strange beast indeed.
If only I could find reception in midst
Of landscape serene, these green hills and crags
These beauteous plots, hedgerows, fields – Nature
All around - why focus on tiny screen?
At this wide wilderness, I barely glance
Entranced by tiny pixels as they dance
Enticingly away from futile tries
To entrap Snorlax in my virtual grasp.
Whilst I leap to find elusive signal,
I lose my footing, tumble into tarn
My precious iphone dowsed in mountain stream
Screen smashed, game irretrievably lost.
My eyes open then to Nature's beauty,
Not augmentations of reality.
I fix my gaze on real, not Google Earth;
Take in each second, value every breath.

If Wordsworth were around to see this day,
Playing Pokemon would ruin his poetry.

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