February 25, 2005

Dr. Seuss Blushed

Kevin's latest poem, about his cat.

Oooooh-kaaaaay.

*dials 911*

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February 23, 2005

Wednesday Is Poetry Day

Greetings humans. This Wednesday, i bring you...

Robot Love Poetry!

A simple google search yielded this gem:


Poem 3

by TB788-E10-D

Oh baby you're so divine
with all those terabytes of fast cache
behind your flip-o-flex patented green irises.
I love the look of your sleek silver fins
and your interchangeable gold-rimmed
elbow and knee joints.

Oh, you are such a fashion statement baby.

The sight of your one point eight kilo capacity
frontal lobes makes me want to
re-scan the Kama Sutra every seven seconds
and stochastically generate a thousand and one
new positions for us to try.

Let's inter-collate indices daily
and murmur at sunset another tale from
Arabian Nights.
Oh, you exotic chrome and vanadium sweetie.
Oh, how I dig you to bits.


Pretty funny, but shouldn't it properly be called Poem 11?*

Also check out "Robot Barcode Poetry" at a blog called Sean. And there are some interesting Robot Builder limericks at the nerdy Dallas Personal Robotics Group website.
_______________

* As in: Only 11 more days until the end of Robot Week!

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February 16, 2005

Wednesday Is Poetry Day

In keeping with this week's grumpy Valentine's Day theme, i've selected the perfect sonnet from my favorite poet, Edna St. Vincent Millay.


If I should learn, in some quite casual way,
      That you were gone, not to return again—
Read from the back-page of a paper, say,
      Held by a neighbor in a subway train,
How at the corner of this avenue
      And such a street (so are the papers filled)
A hurrying man—who happened to be you—
      At noon to-day had happened to be killed,
I should not cry aloud—I could not cry
      Aloud, or wring my hands in such a place—
I should but watch the station lights rush by
      With a more careful interest on my face,
Or raise my eyes and read with greater care
Where to store furs and how to treat the hair.


Ouch. Edna could be a snarky bitch when she wanted to.

Which was often.

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February 11, 2005

Valentine's Day Poetry Contest At ASV

Hey poetry contest lovers, Michele is having a V-Day poetry contest. It must follow the "roses are red..." format, and must be addressed from one famous person to another. Sounds like fun.

i'm formulating an entry in my head right now. Hmmm.

Update: Okay, here's mine:

Brittany Spears to Kevin Federline:

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Stop fucking around
And help me feed Lacy Loo*


Kevin Federline back to Brittany Spears:

Roses are red
and sometimes they're yellow
I started cheating on you
'Cuz your feet stink like hello
(I mean, they really smello)**

_______________

* Lacy Loo reference explained here.

** stink reference explained here.

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February 09, 2005

Wednesday Is Poetry Day

It's also Ash Wednesday, so i had no choice but to post an excerpt from T. S. Eliot's long poem of the same name.

i've given up trying to figure out Eliot. i've concluded that it's more about how his art makes you feel. Just like looking at a Kandinsky, or listening to Ornette Coleman. If the message could have been communicated in prose, it would have been. But that was not what the artist intended.

Still i get the vague feeling that Eliot is writing about mortality here, but then the title is a big clue. By mortality, i mean more than just death, but all the limitations of a mortal life. All those things that are so maddeningly finite while we are here on earth: our knowledge, our understanding, and our strength of will.

If you are able to, try reading this thing out loud. For meter and rhyme, it is a fabulous piece of writing.


Ash Wednesday (excerpt)

Because I do not hope to turn again
Because I do not hope
Because I do not hope to turn
Desiring this man's gift and that man's scope
I no longer strive to strive towards such things
(Why should the aged eagle stretch its wings?)
Why should I mourn
The vanished power of the usual reign?

Because I do not hope to know again
The infirm glory of the positive hour
Because I do not think
Because I know I shall not know
The one veritable transitory power
Because I cannot drink
There, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is nothing again

Because I know that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
I rejoice that things are as they are and
I renounce the blessed face
And renounce the voice
Because I cannot hope to turn again
Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something
Upon which to rejoice

And pray to God to have mercy upon us
And pray that I may forget
These matters that with myself I too much discuss
Too much explain
Because I do not hope to turn again
Let these words answer
For what is done, not to be done again
May the judgement not be too heavy upon us

Because these wings are no longer wings to fly
But merely vans to beat the air
The air which is now thoroughly small and dry
Smaller and dryer than the will
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still.

Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death
Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.


The rest of the poem is similar, although different religious themes are explored, in an equally indecipherable manner. What fascinates me the most is how the rhythm becomes almost hip-hop in places.

Against the Word the unstilled world still whirled
About the centre of the silent Word.

      O my people, what have I done unto thee.

Where shall the word be found, where will the word
Resound? Not here, there is not enough silence
Not on the sea or on the islands, not
On the mainland, in the desert or the rain land,
For those who walk in darkness
Both in the day time and in the night time
The right time and the right place are not here
No place of grace for those who avoid the face
No time to rejoice for those who walk among noise and deny the voice

i swear that sounds like rap. Someone should really put a beat to it.

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February 08, 2005

KISS This Contest Goodbye

Allright, i guess i've dragged out this suspense bullshit long enough. i told you i had decision-making issues.

The winner of the KISS haiku contest is a poem that, i think, most completely encapsulates the kick-ass, devil-may-care, throw-caution-to-the-wind, damn-the-torpedoes, rock-and-roll-all-nite attitude of that band we all know and love to hate. Or not.

Here's the scene:

It's 7:30 on a humid summer night at the Macon County fair in central Illinois. The livestock awards have been handed out. A small crowd fills the rodeo grandstand, waiting for KISS to arrive. Finally, a half hour late, Gene and the boys take the stage (fucked up already) and rip through a cover of the Pointer Sisters' "I'm So Excited," followed by a medley including "Rock and Roll All Nite," "Lick It Up," "Love Gun," and "Detroit Rock City," which they rename "Decatur Rock City," in honor of the occasion.

Somewhere out in the crowd is a young girl, stringy blonde hair, red gingham sundress, who catches Gene's fancy even though she doesn't appear to be singing along to "Shout It Out Loud" like her parents. He tries, but he can't seem to make eye contact with the girl, so he sends a roadie to invite her backstage after the big encore set, which tonight will include "God of Thunder," "Calling Dr. Love," and Queen's "We Are The Champions."

After the performance, Gene waits by the catering truck, but the girl doesn't show. Chagrined, he heads back to the bus, for the long ride to Sedalia. Hopefully they'll find a Hooters along the way. But then, as if out of a dream, he sees the object of his desire in the parking lot, about to open the rear door of her parents' F-150 crew-cab. He struts over to the truck as fast as his six inch platform shoes will allow and... more...

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February 06, 2005

KISS Haiku Contest Update

i've narrowed it down to ten finalists in my kiss.gif haiku contest. i wanted to make it nine, but i just can't bring myself to cut one from the list. i think the finalists represent a pretty good mix of the gross haiku, the historical perspective haiku, the anti-KISS haiku, and the haiku with the humorous twist. Here they are:

Tony understands law school and haiku:

Rock and roll all night;
Party ev'ry day - sounds like
Law school's Free Beer Day.

i love Kevin's use of the double entendre here:

it's on video
I saw Annie blow a KISS
hope you've got Quicktime

And this one is just gross, but what else do you expect from the Big Hominid?

ass of Gene Simmons
rudely penetrated by
tongue of Gene Simmons

Tuning Spork says he was trying to introduce meter and rhyme into the contest. i'm not sure he succeded, but i did like this one, which pretty succinctly describes the KISS career cycle:

Paul and Gene in charge;
Ace and Peter hit the road.
Crowds were not as large.

Pursuit's final line in this next haiku is hilarious:

Gene thinks he is hot
Long, gross tongue, hideous face
please leave now, old man

The next one, by a man i once called "The Mark Russell of the Blogosphere" (perhaps prematurely), had me ROTFL:

One in my tight pants.
One in my make-up caked mouth.
Which lizard, baby?

And Emily's lone submission is a crowd favorite, not in spite of, but because of its disregard for the rules.

Gene, stick that frickin' tongue of yours
back in your mouth you filthy
damn pig

Tom gained the support of the Maximum World Order's poet laureate with this one:

My wife saw you play
you spit on her with fake blood
I hope it was fake

El Capitan's haiku were all great, but i picked this one because i figured we had to have at least one poem in the finals that didn't bash KISS:

Ted Nugent opened
KISS then took the stage and then
Blew the damn roof off

And i like the message in number ten, also by El Capitan. To me it says: resistance is futile, you will be assimilated by the KISS Army, regardless of how sucky the band is.

Simple loud cock-rock
Cartoon show for teenage boys
Just embrace your youth

The unfortunate thing about contests is that not everyone can win. Honorable mentions should go to D-Rod for his attempt to work Valentine's day into the contest; Ted for making fun of Victor's Joe Don Baker obsession; Victor for actually working the word "autumn" into his haiku without sounding forced; Shelly and Tom for their slightly non-conforming poems, which i'm convinced were intentionally tweaked ("Haku?" ... "Wed-nes-day?"); Derek for making the only stoner reference, however oblique, in a contest about a rock-and-roll band; and Tuning Spork for the haiku that ended with "please hand me a gun" which made me snort liquid.

Any help in deciding a winner is welcome.

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February 05, 2005

And The Winner Is The Award Goes To

i'm going through the fifty haiku submitted in the kiss.gif haiku contest, and they're all so good, i'm having trouble selecting a winner. i'm considering scrapping my own secretive and arbitrary criteria and substituting the method used by my property professor when he graded last semester's final exams. That is, so far as i can guess, to find a tall stairway, go to the top, throw all the submissions down the stairs and judge them according to where they land.

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February 02, 2005

Wednesday Is Poetry Day

Action figures have been in the news recently, so i selected this week's poem accordingly. You may recall that Barbie used to go out with a guy named Ken (That was before she started seeing G.I. Joe, of course.) Barbie and Ken were a cute couple, and Ken was a real doll. But they had their struggles, just like any two lovers. i hear they once toyed with the idea of marriage, but as their relationship soured, eventually they had to call it quits. Some say Ken was gay, and i don't know if that is true or not, but the following poem shows that they had other issues too.


Kinky

They decide to exchange heads.
Barbie squeezes the small opening under her chin
over Ken's bulging neck socket. His wide jaw line jostles
atop his girlfriend's body, loosely,
like one of those novelty dogs
destined to gaze from the back windows of cars.
The two dolls chase each other around the orange Country Camper
unsure what they'll do when they're within touching distance.
Ken wants to feel Barbie's toes between his lips,
take off one of her legs and force his whole arm inside her.
With only the vaguest suggestion of genitals,
all the alluring qualities they possess as fashion dolls,
up until now, have done neither of them much good.
But suddenly Barbie is excited looking at her own body
under the weight of Ken's face. He is part circus freak,
part thwarted hermaphrodite. And she is imagining
she is somebody else-- maybe somebody middle class and ordinary,
maybe another teenage model being caught in a scandal.

The night had begun with Barbie getting angry
at finding Ken's blow up doll, folded and stuffed
under the couch. He was defensive and ashamed, especially about
not having the breath to inflate her. But after a round
of pretend-tears, Barbie and Ken vowed to try
to make their relationship work. With their good memories
as sustaining as good food, they listened to late-night radio
talk shows, one featuring Doctor Ruth. When all else fails,
just hold each other, the small sex therapist crooned.
Barbie and Ken, on cue, groped in the dark,
their interchangeable skin glowing, the color of Band-Aids.
Then, they let themselves go-- Soon Barbie was begging Ken
to try on her spandex miniskirt. She showed him how
to pivot as though he was on a runway. Ken begged
to tie Barbie onto his yellow surfboard and spin her
on the kitcen table until she grew dizzy. Anything,
anything, they both said to the other's requests,
their mirrored desires bubbling from the most unlikely places.


By Denise Duhamel, a modern writer who some have called a "feminist poet." Although i don't think she objects to being placed in that pigeonhole, her poetry is often very funny and worthy of a wide audience.

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