Posts Tagged "poetry"

Oh! I have spurned the surly SEC,
And pierced the skies with rocket booster flames;
Sunward I've turned, to harvest energy;
Nutted to Mars -- and played a hundred games
You have not dreamed of -- founded, bought, and sold;
Ran Paypal, blasted Dogecoin to the moon,
Built companies from visions into gold,
And granted seven children silver spoons.

Up, up the endless void of frozen black
My dankest starship speeds with burning grace.
I've seen the future, and I won't look back:
They'll say I left my mark upon the times.
For I have sent my Roadster into space --
Put out my hand, and touched the face of Grimes.

There came a schollar from Viking country,
Well verst in ludonarrativity.
When that Aprill with his shoures thick
Hied off, he watched ye childe play hoop and stick
To ponder changing stick for lethern balle,
And wryte upon the meninge of it alle.
Of anti-gamer scorn, no hede took he,
Aware that men live in society,
While those of lerninge to him wolde adjure
For hy discourse on English literature.
Full gladly teched he on such things culturall,
And left each lecture-hall with maydens plurall.
Exotic assets allways filled his pipe:
He was a verry parfit gaming type.

Forth from the unicorn issued a groaning,
A sound low and awful, as never is heard in the fields that we know.
Then there was naught but the wonderful carcass,
The deep growls and roaring of hounds as they wallowed in fabulous blood.

Curséd be unicorns, all of their ways,
And everything else in the world that be magic.

Curst be their horn and the place where they dwell
And the lilies they feed on. Curst be their speed,

And their hide in white sleekness, their beauty --
And all things enchanted that wander by magical streams.

The Elf King, chaunting rhythmic, unknown words,
An age-old incantation, ordered Elfland
To drift away from Earth, the mortal realm.

As in a moment no one can determine
When sunset layers turn from gold to pink,
From glowing pink to listless unlit colors,
All Elfland left the edges of the fields
Which all men know, and hied where men know not.

Motionless fronds of dream-gripped trees lay calm.
Petals of myriad roses stilled their trembling.
Sharing the King's content, Elfland reposed.

So strong enchantment lay o'er all that land,
It seemed there was an understanding there
That reached from men to trees, from trees to men.

More beautiful than aught our wonder guesses,
More than our hearts have hoped, the dewdrop lights
Hint of the seaweeds draping cliffside rocks.

Eternal beauty dreams in honied air
Where nothing ever stirs or fades or dies,
Nor seeks its happiness in changing things.

For breakfast, man made sausage, so I sausage,
And squint askew as Ra holds high his disk.
With no time for poetic inspiration,
He casts aside the slinking clouds of mist.

The seagulls, noisy poopers, have come inland.
With stupid orange mouths agape, they wheel,
Ungainly flap, and float, til they spy refuse,
Then land to fight amongst themselves and squeal.

On high, in blue, airliners cut a contrast,
Speed straight where birds must fart around like clods. 
Do seagulls ever wonder what a plane is?
Do they believe in jets, as we do gods?

巧克力兮，花生酱
混合二味，皆更香
小圆形兮，超方便
咬后食尽，屑不见

Chocolate -- oh, peanut butter
Combine the two and both taste better
Small round shape -- oh, super handy
No crumbs left from one-bite candy

秋风摇树果不应
愿隐士身旁同赏
人生弯曲预无因
他稳似果拟之值

Autumn wind shakes the trees, but the fruits don't go along
I wish the hermit was here to appreciate it, too
Life's twists and turns aren't worth guessing at
He is steady, like the fruits, and that's worth imitating

桃红中坏烈焰
柳绿烧成灰柱
花落腾于热气
鸟啼出窝恐离

Red peaches suffer from fierce flames
Green willows burn up into pillars of ash 
Flowers fall, then rise on heated gusts
Birds cry, leaving their nests in fear

I've a PhD that I must pursue
There's neuroscience knowledge to accrue

With calves athletic and a belly lean
At times my swagger's known to cause a scene

Although I'm picky 'bout my repertoire
I'll practice strumming tunes that you adore

One look in our mirror and you know it's true:
I'm awful fond of being Bloo with you

Sundown. My latest letter is complete:
I post it to the madman's house of black.
His call for correspondence thus fulfilled,
White ink on parchment fuligin comes back.

The auto-philosophe greets me with cheer.
He's scoured my tubes; he's scanned my public face.
"Your site's delightful" — so reads his review.
No lesser turbo-hermit has such grace.

I swear I see him through Eye Number Three:
Thin fingers, stained with e-ink, sweep the keys
That lock him to the ever-growing Book
Of Life, which he attends on hands and knees.

From ones and nones, h0p3 builds a prophesy,
And from his labors may he never tire.
In 2020, Montaigne essays on.
His precomputed smile floats down the wire.

I stepped outside to take the air, but stopped short when I heard
A squeaking cry, as issues from a wounded, bleeding bird—
Or rather, from no bird at all, but from an injured bat;
The wingéd mouse, the flying shrew, the aviating rat.

The sound came from the corner of the garden, past the gate.
I went inside to fetch my coat—we've had a chill of late.
Beraimented, I crept along. The batlike wail grew near.
On garden path I crept, until the screeching filled my ear.

And ... what found I? A broken bird? A bat, brought down to ground?
'Twas neither thing that drew me there by way of eerie sound.
I took a knee to do some work. The squeaking went away.
No longer will that broken sprinkler keen like dying prey!

I rambled through a grid of streets which I thought I knew cold
The street lamps turned to will-o-wisps, alluring balls of gold
I lost my bearings wandering—I got all turned around
But I'm OK. I found my way, and now I'm homeward bound.

I got disoriented on the roads I walked of old
I took some time to cogitate—I knew I wouldn't fold
The path that I was seeking is no longer sought, but found
I'm A-OK. I found my way, and now I'm homeward bound.

Surveying my surroundings gave my instincts purchase-hold
Rearmed with subtle pointers, I grew confidently bold
Old landmarks shuffled out to say, "You're on familiar ground"
I'm A-OK. I found my way, and now I'm homeward bound.

When you pull a tight spin
Without losing your grin—
That's podracing

When the chance cubes are rolled
And you have to be bold—
That's podracing

Racers bring
(Bring a ling a ling, bring a ling a ling)
Pods together in battle
Watto squirms
(Squirmy lurmy lurm, squirmy lurmy lurm)
Only Shmi left as chattel

When you feel in command
Soaring over the sand—
That's podracing

When a man screams "poodoo!"
As he cedes ground to you—
That's podracing

When foes swear in Huttese
As you place first with ease—
That's podracing

When announcers go wild:
"Anakin, the slave child!"—
That's podracing

Racers bring
(Bring a ling a ling, bring a ling a ling)
Pods together in battle
Watto squirms
(Squirmy lurmy lurm, squirmy lurmy lurm)
Only Shmi left as chattel

I sit down to produce a jot of verse—
I stand up, and I pace around the room.
What might have been a banger will get worse
The more I pace. To hesitate spells doom.

For any work which takes a focused mind—
And poetry is surely in that group—
Ideas must flow all at once, I find,
Or else I'll lose myself: caught in a loop

Of thinking, and rethinking, and—oh, fuck!
I've dropped the thread entirely by now.
That's what I get for pacing: a big suck;
The glimmer of a topic, but no "pow!"

One saving grace: there is no Poem Boss.
When I screw up, it's no-one else's loss.

Were I King Ahasuerus
    Then never would I see
        A Haman full of hate.
        My kingdom's Jews, their fate,
    Would never safer be—
Were I King Ahasuerus.

Were I King Ahasuerus
    No outside threat would scare us.
        With Mordecai at hand,
        The wisest in the land,
    We'd have him to prepare us—
Were I King Ahasuerus.

Were I King Ahasuerus
    I'd toss out old Vashti
        With bigger dreams than britches.
        What's with these ancient bitches?
    A diff'rent wife for me—
Were I King Ahasuerus.

Were I King Ahasuerus
    To fortune I could bear us.
        One people, marked forever:
        A Jewish race, together.
    To this compact I'd swear us—
Were I King Ahasuerus.

The north wind rises
Descends onto the ridge
Meets both trees
And swirls away

My milkshake is a peanut-butter treat
With chocolate, too, appearing in the mix
A glass so large, so sickeningly sweet
That I need less than half to get my fix

I'm in a diner with a weighty tome
Great English Poems, edited by Briggs
Across the table, Adam looks at home
With Murakami, and with coffee swigs

There comes a sudden motion from below
As Adam lays a tickle on my knee
I counter-jest, exclaiming, "Nandato!"
Which Adam laughs at oh-so-heartily

It's Wednesday. We have nothing much to do.
The skies change from a rainy gray to blue.

Bunghole! Bunghole! Clenching tight,
On the toilet, in the night.
Curse you, bowels! Set me free!
Has my poo no place to be?

In a distant land of glee—
Somewhere constipation-free—
Man may poo most joyfully.
He knows not of agony.

He knows not the price we pay:
Pants 'round ankles, we inveigh,
Grunting, swearing, moved to pray,
Pooing in a toilsome way.

For what reason, in God's grace,
Did He make man squat in place,
Wasting time, without a say,
On a poo's extended stay?

What immortal hand on high
Moved to make our poo so dry?
Whither Bunghole and his fee?
Whither constipationry?

Bunghole! Bunghole! Clenching tight,
On the toilet, in the night.
Curse you, bowels! I don't see
What I've ever done to thee!

Has it occurred to you that you deserve
To be called not just chill, but chill supreme?
I have a softness in my heart for those
Who follow through—who realize the dream

Of living in a world where effort's fruits
Are by most sincere comments justly met
Much thanks, for 'tis upon my horn you toot
Exchanging digits was a winning bet

A sonnet, or two thirds of one, for thee
With gratitude from You-Know-Who and me

Tonight I've met a pair of men
Whom I hope I may
Call new friends

Two buds, pointed at PhDs
Knowledge sets both their
Means and ends

Two dudes, united by one car
Stick-shift - they're off! in
Homeward flight

Let's meet again, cognition crew
To pass another
Pleasant night

最后一杯
干了之后
老师告别
哥俩要走
笑着回家
大麻便抽
疯狂假想
做双朋友

One last cup
Drained
The teacher bids goodbye

The two boys
Leave
Laughing all the way home

"Big Hemp" is
Smoked
Wild fancies take flight

Such is a pair of friends!

A cottage on a hill
A flower patch
A tree of fruit
A mound of herbs
A bunch of beans
A pile of plerp
A bag of blegg
A tin of twomp
A sack of snoob
And a sign out front, big-lettered:
WITCHY WONDERS
"CHAOS, MADE TO ORDER"

Hand-painted
Wholesome winter scenes on
Christmas cards.
How? How does
Someone come to wield such
Skill at arts?
Long, hard work
And a smile for all the
"Not-quite-rights."
No other
Way to learn to paint such
Winter sights.

Guaranteed to brighten up my day-J
Hugs me when I go off on my way-J
Emits every color except gray-J
Friendship Village saint? I vote for AJ

To me you come off as the coolest housemate
Can it be true that you're the illest villager?
Skate on home, then rouse up that guitar rumpus
"Cool" is too weak: from now on you're a chillager

Sneaking round the house at night
The prankster man comes giggling
Laughing to himself with all
Ten fingers splayed and wiggling
Reaching into every cranny
(Not a man for strictures)
You won't see him come or go
But you will find his pictures

Hayley and her boy toy
In the night they giggle
Fingers go exploring
Interlocked they wiggle
Fingertip on her hip
Tracing out a squiggle
This is love, no doubting
Not even a niggle

Gadi Gadi Gadi
我队队长
样子很帅
哥们超爽

人才之峰
留一大胡
教人何为
天天为酷

Gadi Gadi Gadi
Captain of our team.
His style is way fresh,
This Chiller Supreme.

Of eminent talents
And big-bearded too,
He teaches all people
His everyday cool.