Category: Poetry
-
040: Why We Will Never Make Artificial Intelligence
Watch me work: I’m going to make a statue from created things. See there? Made it. I’m going to make three statues out of clay marble steel. See there? Made it. I’m going to make a statue of an older me making three statues of clay marble steel. See there? Made it. I’m going to…
-
038: [title redacted]
This isn’t a poem, it’s a regular post. Sometimes when you write, you end up writing so honestly that your words are too inflammatory, personal, or polemical to share. It’s not like you lied and got embarrassed about the lie. Rather, the thoughts and words are too fresh, too new, too immature — in the…
-
037: ランスロットの探求 (a heroic haiku)
in humble deference to my friends in Osaka who speak the language better Lance yawns bed of leaves nuzzling dreams: Go. (cold air waking) enters in foreign woods blooming blooms too: hot, high, hardy. takes light. gets “Go,” harvest of Goes brimming costs cuts: cold air comes, steals Goes. back again: bed of blooms waking…
-
035: The Preacher’s Word Abided
A mouse may save a squeak, sir, A wife your love and cheek, sir, Your neighbor rumor’s tale, sir, Your friend save humor, ale, sir, An abbot, goods and role. But see, there’s one who’s able by squeak, cheek, ale and fable; It ever was decided: The Preacher’s word abided, will save your very soul.…
-
036: Making Noise or “The Self-Replicating Nanobot that Consumes Everything While Replicating itself, Leaving the Entire World in an Amorphous Blob of Grey-Goo”
I am going to write 1,000 words. Ready? This is one-thousand words in one paragraph, it’s awesome. This is one-thousand words in one paragraph, it’s awesome. This is one-thousand words in one paragraph, it’s awesome. This is one-thousand words in one paragraph, it’s awesome. This is one-thousand words in one paragraph, it’s awesome. This is…
-
033: In the Thirty-Third Year
Plants bearing seeds according to their kinds and trees with fruit with seed according to it and (GOOD!) evening and good morning and Third day. Third river’s Tigris. Three sons: Shem, Ham Japeth. This is how you build it build it build it: three-hundy [insert colloquial measurements] long. Wife and three sons enter enter, three sons…
-
032: He That Serves Woman
John may have wed both rope and gun; yes, married a poisoned doctor’s pill; his view of woman must be undone: some basilisks make lovers still. The fly in Fly-Treacle serves the course, so he that serves woman, woman, woman, he that serves woman won’t divorce. }{ For newcomers — a note on 50 @…
-
030: Færwel, Welfær
a signed memorandum drafted soon after Brandon Stuckey’s passion safety < salvus ~ salvare > salvation: deliverance from harm, ruin, or loss There’s this idea in our society that… well… see… one of the old timers sipping his ale in The Golden Dragon pub said it better: “Keep your nose outta trouble and no trouble’ll…
-
029: I Know Why the Caged Verse Sings
The free verse leaves out the back of the line, aimlessly grieves until we hear it whining, wailing, singing for more, more, MORE. It has never paid nor gone without—a babe, a brat, a brawling rich twit. But a verse that stalks down her narrow lines would never walk through a crowd to dine with…
-
028: Contemptusemptus Mundi or “The Pre-emptive Comtemptive”
mundi contemptus doesn’t comfort the suicide, whose selfish escort just quits when life takes sorrow serious, when now old age grows deleterious, Hemingway was cowed when came threat of age when neither his pluck nor nerve would engage contemptus mundi hidden inside him, but scorned weak skin, his youth subdivided his fates: Brave men can…
-
026: The Doubt of Future Woes
The doubt of future woes exiles my present pain, my wit, it warns me, “Mind the sorrows everyone again employs as if despair, despair, despair, brought truth unquestioned, unrestrained. I do declare that sorrows left within the void without the context brought by joy, the cultured route of pain-then-pleasure-ever-after, brings not truth, but lies —…
-
025: Clothes that Fit Everyone Else but You
that moment when the boxer briefs you’re wearing catch all your bathroom’s light WHAM! how it hits you, branches and leaves: you’ve owned them forever, since – what’s the night? Oh yeah! It was Valentine’s Day Dance, Sixth Grade. You’d won them raising funds for artists. “’Lastic band, orange frog print?” “Lance.” (goes nice with Dance…