SoP 43: "Kerouac Tribute" and My Vengeful PC

It's not a poem, exactly, but the way this was read made it sound insanely poetic. Take a listen and you'll see what I mean:

http://prairiehome.publicradio.org/programs/19970705/rafiles/970705_kerouac.ram

- - - - -

My comp is out to get me

I swear it really is.

The internet's the worst-est part

Here's the low-down biz:

It's spastic and sputters,

it's making ficly fail!

And I can't rant to anyone,

'cause twitter's in the pail!

Blocking me off from the rest of the world,

you think you can do that, comp?

I swear, I'll count 'till I'm blue;

I'm onto you, now stop!

- - - - -

The counting thing is originally from Hitchhiker's. I'm convinced it could be a way to temporarily stave off singularity and the A.I. takeover:

[Ford] started to count to ten. He was desperately worried that one day sentient
life forms would forget how to do this. Only by counting could humans
demonstrate their independence of computers.

Why yes, my internet is being more of a failure than usual, why do you ask?

(Note: twitter did come back up, and it's not just my comp that's failing with ficly)

SoP 42: "Poem 42" and Untitled

'Poem 42'

e.e. cummings

n

OthI

n



g can



s

urPas

s



the m



y

SteR

y



of



s

tilLnes

s

- - - - -

For the Ultimate Question,

Odd is it's answer.

Rather odd, I'd

Think.

You know The Answer?



Take a

Wicked good look

Only at the beginning.

- - - - -



- - - - -

I had to do this for SoP 42. I had to.

SoP 41: "I want to tell you"

I'm just sharing today. ^^
- - - - -
I Want to Tell You
George Harrison

SoP 40: "Geek in the Pink", "Life is Wonderful" and Gratitude Café

Geek in the Pink
Jason Mraz

Life is Wonderful
Jason Mraz


- - - - -
I amble down the downtown street,
amid the crowd and noise,
Oh man, the stress, it's mounting here!
But then, a poster's voice:

Come down to Gratitude Café
for a pot of tea or joe
and 'preciate the life we have,
let time go real real slow

So I meandered down the street
to Gratitude Café
I was doubtful, with my tea,
But one sip, I must say
It warmed my soul and eased my mind,
The tea and a comfortable thought.
It took a while to dawn on me
But when it came, I 'nected dots:

I'm blessed with life and with this world,
Thanks for the daytime light;
I must give thanks for the sun and moon,
Obliged for darkened night.

The birds, the trees, the cityscape,
For peace and quiet, too.
But y'can't have those without others
Like din and noise, know you.

I finished the tea, stood myself up,
Sighed, smiled, and said:
"I'm ready now to face you world,
Thanks to Gratitude Café."
- - - - -

- - - - -
Yay for Jason Mraz concert! Bigger yay for catching up! Woo!!

SoP 39: "Vogon Poetry" and Bad Poetry

a sampling of Vogon poetry
Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz
as translated by Douglas Adams

Oh freddled gruntbuggly! Thy micturations are to me
As plurdled gabbleblotchits in a lurgid bee.
Groop, I implore thee my foonting turlingdromes,
And hooptiously drangle me with crinkly bindle werdles,
For otherwise I will rend thee in the goberwarts with
My blurglecruncheons, see if I don't.
- - - - -
(Anybody passed out? Internally bleeding? No? Good. I'm no poet, as I've mentioned in the past, but I think the following's a bit of an improvment over the above.)
- - - - -
Bad poetry's
akin to torture.
It's understandable
if it's a new poet.
But a "seasoned" one?
It's cruel and unusual.

I'd cry out in anguish,
"Please! Spare us!"
but I restrain.

Maybe they'll have mercy?
Maybe it'll improve?

But why can't I shake the feeling
that it won't?

SoP 38: "Yesterday" & Scrambled Eggs

Yesterday
Lennon & McCartney

- - - - -

(to the tune of the song above)

Scrambled Eggs

But my breakfast seems so far away,

Just because it all burned away,

Still, I believe in scrambled eggs.

Suddenly

It wasn't quite the egg it use-ly be,

There's a hunger hanging over me,

Those scrambled eggs burned suddenly.

Why'd it have to go?

I don't know,

I couldn't say.

I did something wrong,

Now I long for scrambled eggs...

Scrambled eggs,

Mornings were an easy game to play

Now it's time for me to throw away

Those scorched and burnt, those scrambled eggs.

Why'd it have to go?
I don't know,
I couldn't say.

I did something wrong,
Now I long for scrambled eggs...

Scrambled eggs,
Mornings were an easy game to play
Now it's time for me to throw away
Those scorched and burnt, those scrambled eggs.

- - - - -
- - - - -
- - - - -

Most Beatles and/or trivial-trivia fans know that the song "Yesterday" had the working title of "Scrambled Eggs." Whilst sitting in the park this afternoon with this song stuck in my head, I figured: "why not try working off of that?"

The poem ensued.

SoP 37: Nickname

Just
a mesh of your first
name and last.
some just have a way
of sticking,
nicknames do.