Best Developer Poems
The April morning's quiet
and so is the November.
Wherever people outnumber trees
or the dominant cover type
is unquiet. Nothing wrong with that.
Walt got it right, and Jane Jacobs:
the city is an experienced,
used beauty. Her toes are long,
nails thick and hair thin. Yet
her kisses can be sweet; or
smell of ****. All my life I've tried to point my window toward
some narrow wedge of nature.
On Seaman Ave., over the roof
beyond the chimneys to the park
where every dog was walked.
Could I survive soot and an air shaft now, pigeons and cats,
or even a desk in the legislature for my lot in life. How about
prison like Etheridge Knight,
Nazim Hikmet?
I've gotten soft.
When he builds that house in the pocket
wetland my window now looks out on,
the developer will have given me what I need.
Amphibian mortality,
gravel, fill,
oak, ash and maples felled. Good
to the last drop is our bitterness, our love.
Copyright 2014 A.D., ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
By Thomas Lam Hsi Andress (TLH ANDRESS)
THE 'AUDACITY' OF DISCLOSURE!!!
Thomas Hsi
1 second ago
This VERY SONG is the VERY REASON that I KEEP HOPING that LOVE WILL ONE DAY...'MAYBE'...FIND ME...as 'SHE'...finds...ME! After I was 'DELIVERED' by 'URSULA'...on APRIL 23, 1959 A.D., as a 'LILY-WHITE' MALE CHILD, but raised as an 'ASIATIC,' though I would go on to BECOME A MENTAL AND PHYSICAL 'SUPER-MAN' in that I would accomplish so many 'AMAZING' things in my 55 year-lifetime ( 70 mph 'ACCELERATED-RUN,' 378 lbs. 'ONE-ARM' DUMBELL CURL, 878 lbs. 'ONE-HAND' DEADLIFT, over 300 'ORIGINAL or IMPROVED GOURMET-QUALITY' FOOD RECIPES, 'WORLD'S FINEST POET, POETIC LYRICIST, ATTORNEY (AVVO-DISTINGUISHED, 14 OF MY 26 MEMOS WOULD GO BEFORE THE UNITED STATES SUPREME COURT, WITH THE 'SUPER-MAJORITY' OF THE CASES BEING DECIDED ALONG THE LINES IN WHICH I HAD CONCLUDED), VALEDICTORIAN AT EVERY MAJOR UNIVERSITY AROUND THE WORLD (based on 'Test Scores' at the University of Southern California and the University of Hawaii), the 'WORLD'S HIGHEST LSAT-TEST SCORE,' the 'WORLD-VALEDICTORIAN' LAW-GRADUATE (as McGEORGE SCHOOL OF LAW was the 'MOST DIFFICULT CLASS EVER FOR THAT PARTICULAR YEAR,' 'ORIGINATOR' OF THE PUBLIC ADDRESS, PORTABLE, RADIO-DEVICE WHICH WOULD LEAD JAPAN TO DEVELOP THE MODERN KARAOKE-MACHINE, and lead SOUTH KOREA TO DEVELOP THE HIGH-DEFINITION TELEVISION, 'MELON-STYLE' DRINKS, the 'SOLELY-RESEARCHED, WRITTEN, EDITIED, COPIED, AND DISTRIBUTED' 5 and 1/2 PAGE COMPRESSED OUTLINE FOR DETERMINING WHAT A CONFORMING AND NON-CONFORMING RESALEABLE LOAN IS, along with a PROPOSAL FOR DAWN FINANCIAL, where the 'EQUITY-VALUE' OF AN OLDER-HAWAIIAN REAL PROPERTY INTEREST, could be REALIZED UPON BY RELEASING THE BUILT-UP 'EQUITY,' the development of a 'PROGRESSIVE-STYLE' BETTING SYSTEM at the WHEEL OF FORTUNE and ROULETTE TABLE (first used by Me at the MGM GRAND HOTEL & CASINO in RENO, NEVADA), 'DEVELOPER' OF THE 'FAST-OUTBOARD-MOTORBOAT,' with a 'SCOOP-VECTOR,' the 'MULTI-DIRECTIONAL SCOOP-VECTORING-SYSTEM,' the 'SWIVEL-WIND-FAN-SYSTEM' (with various 'FAN DESIGNS,' including the 'MULTI-DIRECTIONAL-OBLIQUEST-DESIGN,' a 'PROPOSED-DESIGN' for a SPACE-SHUTTLE which solves the 'O-RING' PROBLEM.
The indelible, inspirational
lAid out hidden written inkling
wiThin a poem.
rooTs fertilized with the miracle grow, of the infrared info, view the verses of a valentine.
the cOpycatting of the method of the copyrighted piece.
the awEsome revelation one begins to see.
one musT read with acrostic eyeballs popping out your eye sockets.
and enteR into the darkroom of the skull which once held the
masterY tattoeterizing mind of Edgar Allan Poe - the developer who mused me into
Tattoetry - The Poetical Tattoo.
A tree stood silent, motionless and still,
Enhancing the beauty on top of this hill.
Timber is heard as the axes fly,
I thought that I heard this tree cry.
It wasn’t hurting anything, just soaking up sun.
That was the day the developer was to come.
They tied little ribbons on the ones to go.
The trees start to shake as the wind blows.
One by one all the mighty trees fall,
Crashing to the ground across a stone wall.
They say this is progress and it must be.
Did anyone stop to ask the tree?
Years go by and some new trees grow.
I wonder to myself will these have to go?
I look up and watch the leaves dance in the air,
A green canopy under a sky that is fair.
It’s a cycle of life but I still wonder,
Is there any sense to all this plunder?
The tree I once knew now has to die,
I drift to the day I heard the tree cry.
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America pretends today
that it didn't actually
put an unqualified
narcissistic bully
in the position
of the most
powerful man
in the whole known universe,
America pretends today
that somehow
this lying
two-faced con-man
can best represent
their interests
& actually givea damn,
America pretends today
that its o.k.
that the office
of the President
is now run by a
scamming tycoon
real-estate developer
whose claim to fame
is really just
his name,
America pretends today,
that mocking the broken,
denigrating tortured prisoners,
sexual-assault,
bigotry & racism
are all forgivable
in their newly
minted Chief,
America pretends today,
that this choice
is not a reflection
of the darkness
in its people,
of the false promise
of a Great America,
and the bitter poison
that is white folks
fear & dread.
America has another drink
& then
goes home.
(With thanks to the late great Francis Vincent Zappa)
Exodus
Under a big holm oak, I sat on a stone resting a little
the sun so early in the year was hot, years ago there were
flocks of sheep here they laid chewing ignoring me.
This year there is none not even pellet droppings
the landscape is being gentrified and no peeing up against a tree
It is strange when people who are not of the land
the first thing they do is to try trimming it and making smooths
tracks made of imported sand, plastic chair and a nice cuppa.
The extended field of olive trees lends itself to a golf course; they will
of course, leave a few trees with tall grass and call it the rough
little can be done give the developer a chance and Portugal
ends up looking like Florida, and architects will draw the same
dull estates and find some fancy names
for their vandalism.
But let them spend money before it comes crashing down
abandoned and nature can take it back, yes it has happened
before and with good reason when small farmers were so poor they
sought work on the other side of the ocean
and their old homes has trees growing through them
nothing is new only the name changes like a rabbit would care
Like the ancients of old
I dare to be bold
Pyramid developer
I was Ramesses
in the third trimester
A king forthcoming
Deuturonomy destined
Babe placed in basket
Growing up in a world
where white was in
gave my heritage
suicidal ideations
Luckily I found me
a king waiting
in the reeds
Blackness stealthy
as a panther waiting
to pounce and confiscate
the ignorance drapped
over me
Finally situated in my own skin
when I look in the mirror
I can't believe I'm him.
A prince, riding chariots
in the wind, daring to be
like the ancients of old.
Questioning every lie
I was ever told.
Getting back to bold.
I am Him.
Divinity evolving
Our stay in the
mushrooming subdivision
Ashley Springs
can achieve full ownership only
by meeting the developer’s
latest requirements...
six bushes and two deciduous trees,
keep your garbage can in the garage.
Such restrictions have put the whole
neighborhood in the throes of unrest.
Gears are clashing even as I write.
To sully the community spirit
in this way evokes emotions which
attempt to sidestep legality.
We more flexible newbies,
about thirty in number now
are pitted against
the established oldies
who could grandfather out of some of
the constraints based on length of residence.
Solution? It’s our property now!
Mr. Developer. Your raw power gains nothing
by the forcing of personal preference.
written May 27, 2018
The wrecking ball long since
demolished boyhood house zen
located at 324 Level Road,
a once rural residence,
which soulful yen
I called home
since February 28th, 1968, when
Boyce and Harriet Harris
(my octogenarian
widower father, a transplanted urban
cowpoke father, and late outskirts
of poker flats mother) than
experienced livingsocial in the country,
cuz aforesaid domain didst span,
and encompass,
one hundred plus acre estate
listed in national register
as "Glen Elm", where ran
woodland surrounding a golden pond
favored by Canadian Geese,
but under game plan
of commercial developer Donald Neilson
(a tall lumbering
"all business no play doh" man
blueprints drafted for
an army of vinyl city
exemplifying Little boxes
on the hillside ditty
Little boxes made of ticky tacky...gritty
material upending wildlife refuge,
ah...what a pity
yet, impossible to stop industrialization,
the das capital way
spurring thy preferential longing
for nature preservation oye vey,
and to make a million bucks in USA
if land left off limits
for propertied class today
then in the near future,
an aggressive builder will sashay
confirming prophecy
scooping up gobs of profit
out maneuvering competition
analogous to a marathon relay
race quickly witnessing little boxes
to sprout all the same
by construction workers,
who hammer away,
nailing steady income,
viz all work and no play,
who maxim eyes
American middle class dream
asper buying affordable home
after acquiring a mortgage to outlay
their limited choice sans, may
be there's a green one and a pink one
and a blue one and yellow one, how zing
free enterprise, and they're
all made out of ticky tacky
held together on a wing
and prayer they all look
My job moved west,
and they didn't take me
They took my sister and my nephew
Said they had certain skills very few do,
and even fewer do well
One pitches big developer dreams,
one catches lonely hearts at casino hotels
Company said they no longer needed me,
got phased out by automation
But a robot doesn't have to feed a wife and baby
Got more bad news ...
My wife moved south,
and she didn't take me
She took the baby,
and the Corinthian leather couch
Said she wished she never married me,
and cleaned our joint bank account out
I didn't argue with her,
I didn't put up much of a fight
Maybe there might be a little good news
in all of this
Things just might be starting to swing right
After my brief smile, I got some more really bad news ...
The bio daddy took his baby from my wife,
and moved east
He didn't even try to take squat from me
Now she's down south crying tears,
and he's east downing lager beers
The baby is probably with her alcoholic grandmother,
thinking about it just makes me shudder
Dysfunctional families
tend never to stay together,
nor can they ever be truly
one big happy
But one thought is golden ---
Staying put might earn me
a trip to the poor house
tax free
REGENERATION GAME
Poverty stigmatises
Poverty overwhelms
Poverty condemns
To rid an area of its poor
Is the new regeneration game
That governments catering to middle class greed employ
Thus keeping the third estate in check
Sterility of environment
White washing of areas
Coupled with compulsory cauterization of attachment
Are the sticks that beat down the resolve
Of the new underserving poor
Those that made an area
Vibrant
Rhythmic with charm
And a melting pot of cohesion
Are no longer welcomed
Now the developer sees an opportunity
The middle class scramble
For central havens
Above the best schools
Sends planners into an orgy
Of false accusation against the poor
And wilful disregard for the
Life blood of the communities
They so lovingly plunder
The hardship of having too much
Is the story of those in power
An Understanding of poverty
Is not a vote puller
Thus all are rated on their property value
And their post code
To beat the low paid and waged
And the non-double barrelled named
Is a game the chattering classes engage in
Stigmatising the hardworking
Demonising them for living
Democracy functions today
By dividing society into the powerful and the followers
Those that cannot influence
Or have friends with connections
Are never to be allowed within the city walls
Lepers they must always be
To occupy a space where one
Is no longer welcomed
Is the daily grief of the estate inhabitants
Those that have stayed when the going was rough
Are now discouraged from
Claiming ancestry of an area
They will be rooted out come what may
By a council with middle class ambitions
Social depravity does not fit
With most government’s upward mobility
The Victorian idea of the needful poor
Rears its ugly head even in our modern times
Those that have not are always
Meant to be have nots
Politically motivated poor bashing
Is how a party gets into power and stays in power
The economy and society are pawns only
To attract
Buy
And keep voters
Fooled by the scraps from a heavy laden debt table
Selfishness is an ingredient in all
Past social implosions
Today’s regeneration plans
May ignite and incite smouldering ambition
When those that want a fair share
May overcome
The goliath that is selfishness
She returned to savor her childhood dreams
the flowers by the brook, the trees by the stream
She found a paved road, a boarded-up cabin
her depth of despair, no developer imagines
She fastens the safety pin
on her baggy sweater
cold aged hands
turn the wheelchair towards
the broken down tenement
which had been her home
for the past fifteen years
In her pocket is the pink
crumpled eviction notice
that some unfeeling
developer with a billfold
of cash and a heart full
of greed handed to her
and others less fortunate
Furniture of friends lies
piled high on the street
awaiting the Salvation Army
van to take it away
such irony that they take
away what that once gave
to the needy
Snowflakes begin to fall
leaving wet spots in her lap as
a cruel wind blows her
salt and pepper hair
turning she takes a last look
at her decaying building and wheels herself down
the broken sidewalk to the soup kitchen
A poet like me
I start my days at the 11th hour.
I pray twice a day.
I take my coffee before my bath.
I write with my heart.
A poet like me.
I gossip, oh yeah,
I gossip with my note book.
My favorite ink is black.
I prefer blue paper to white paper.
I am obsessed with the simplicity.
A poet like me.
I am perfectionist.
Because that's the only way I see things.
I love Mercedes
Damn, I love sweet cars.
I love the Rolls Royce Ghost.
For it is perfect, it's simple enough.
A poet like me.
I am software developer.
I write poetic algorithms.
A lover of binaries and recursions.
Oh yeah, I am for Data Science.
I am a deep thinker.
An innovator and a go getter.
I am a pace setter.
A poet like me.
I am a Computer Science graduate.
Where I studied from, they build for the future.
I chose to build my future on codes and lines.
Silk and sick, in my writing canvas.
I am an alien whose power ain't silence,
not compliance or resistance but persistence.
A poet like me.
Loves to have a good laugh.
I am a poet with substance.