Best Programmers Poems
I really have outdone myself this time!
My ‘God Machine’ is finally in place!
I’ll never have to fret about a rhyme,
Or stop for a red light that changed from green
As if it sought to put me in my place
A random hiccup clearly quite obscene.
I really am quite clever I must say
My ‘subtle knife’ (1) allowing me to splice
My ‘God Machine’ into time’s tawdry day
The true God left completely unaware
That He is now controlled by my device
And just another victim of malware.
It seems there’s quite a lot that ‘God’ screwed up
That I intend to change now I’m in charge
I think that its bad form to cover-up!
So what’s the deal with dying anyway?
Let no one die will be my countercharge
And life is just a breeze on my freeway!
All pain mere nuisance, manna heaven sent
And sin gives you enormous facial zits
While love and kindness clear up all your rent.
Though talents differ, jealousies dissolve
As differences bring none real benefits
And non-destructive social moves evolve.
All birth defects, parental wealth passé
Genetic weakness gone with dodo bird
No accident of birth gives worth per se
Sins of the parent cannot taint the child
That God might favor one is just absurd
The color of one’s skin no more reviled.
But now I find my plans have gone awry
My God Machine decided I’m a flaw
It seems that I’m outdated samurai
Humanity endangering MY plan
Just plankton in the future’s yawning maw
Machine judged only advocate for man! (2)
Brian Johnston
November 5, 2014
Poet's Notes:
(1) subtle knife - A reference to a magical knife that can open windows in time in one of the 3 books in the Phillip Pullman trilogy 'His Dark Materials' including The Golden Compass, The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass.
(2) My poetic version of the lesson of the book and movie 2001 (written by Stanley Kubrick and Arthur C. Clarke) where HAL, a computer so smart that it becomes sentient, decides that that only way to really protect a manned mission of a spaceship to the planet Jupiter is to kill all the humans on board the spaceship. The crew's humanity HAL decides is just too big a risk to the mission that HAL is charged (by its human programmers) to protect.
I whizzed past the assembler, add
count in octal, subtract
hexadecimal. Found error
in the dump file, all zeroes
and wondered, is this an omen?
Surprise! write me an algorithm
for a full third of test score.
Sort all data in a file
swap and exchange,
compare and relate.
Loop through the right number
and oh, woe for me, I get a C plus.
The highest in the class,
all doomed to retake the section
except me, who passes.
But the A and B slip away
because I never set my counters,
important counters full of junk
all back to zero. Zero the clean
state of all beginnings.
Programmers learn by trial
and error, one pass,
one dump and oh, yeah,
zero out the counters
Or face certain demise.
Hubby was talking about the job he was at: when he suddenly…
Got into the ‘Computer Programmers Mode’. Where absolutely…
Everything became ‘DITS & DOTS, and DARS & FARS’…
No more caffeine for Hubby any time this week, at home!
This lingo of his, only belongs at work, where he IS an Uber Geek.
But here at home… you gotta know… he’s only talking to me!
It must be like the dreams he has, with reams and reams of code.
And tables of papers are stacked to the ceiling, or maybe to his nose.
It’s an APP-APP here, and an APP-APP there, to tie the Data to his code.
Make it go faster! Make it go smarter! In his own little world, you know.
His eyes have glazed, as his fingers flash over his fancy keyboard at home.
If only me, his little old wifey- poo, could get such attention as this, to know.
At least, he keeps my computers running, like crazy, and way up to snuff!
Now if only he’d give me the time of day… to get my own work done.
With a type-type here, and a type-type there: I definitely blow his mind.
He’d fix my typing, if only he could, with a new app, well designed.
The ‘Trouble with Tribbles’ is nothing, as when confronting an Uber Geek.
Microsoft falls into a hush, as they whisper out his name and fame complete.
For Halloween, he hooks up electronics, with apps to animated programming…
Never Fear! Hubby’s here! Next, the Turkey will be clucking binary coding.
He made Santa a GPS, which goes to mars and beyond: It’s simply otherworldly.
But now he’s talking in binary code… I hope Hubby’ll land home, soon, surely.
For with DITs & DOTS, and DARS & FARS it’s getting way past midnight.
I know he’ll be back to earth soon, tho, for it’s time to say goodnight!
What is love
if knowledge is not understood?
how can one love
without realising the true likelihood?
Love deprived of information
is like a body without a heart
lacking compassion and concern
existing in the wilderness without counterpart.
What a tragedy it would be
if this will happen to you and me
we’ll be androids under control
slaves to programmers never set free.
What is wrong with using "not"?
It is a negative to an eloquent adjective, verb or noun
Simply the opposite state of being; which one should NOT frown
For programmers, "not" is a logical complement
which helps us filter-out things we do NOT want
and is used sparsely and NOT to flaunt.
By simply twisting our thought at 180-degrees,
it's used to portray an abrupt reversal image in our mind.
A quick look at a mirror, and NOT you will find.
Affix a k-, yet "knot" still sounds the same
but it will help keep our things secure.
From our pretzels, shoes and the ribbon-wrapped gifts we procure.
Add an s-, and the children will be amused.
Defiance is in its nature, is it NOT?
That is, to disgust their friends with each others snot.
So, to be or NOT to be
In this hyper materialist era
We find ourselves in
Is there such a thing as a true soul?
Or have we all become
Nothing but fake souls
The rights to our souls
Long ago sold
To the evil masters of the universe
The secret programmers
Of this cosmic video game
We all live in
And our dear leader
Donald Trump
Has a fake soul
As he acts like he is robot
Trying to fake real human emotions
And usually failing miserably
Tonight I will not write
of stars, nor moon,
seeds of wisdom--
just mind flattering
bloom--
Nor will I write of love--
neither here nor above;
though our dearest
sentimentality, the heart,
too often foolishly enacts
its own fatality;
and if I decide to write
(which I have not yet)
it will not be the common
dark vs light--
No, not this, low, literary-fruit
will I harvest, arm and lather;
pick high and low to gather--
likewise, I will divest of
good angels vs evil counterparts--
my rules, my pen; therefore, for me,
some spades can be clubs,
and all pointed diamonds I declare
are now well-rounded, suitable, hearts--
Nor will my Poetic-theme
be of great, vast seas;
nor smaller phrases
of streams—the writer’s
usual surge to roar
that calms to a sleepy bore….
and certainly not
will I write about depth
of self esteem--
the shallow image of self
often incapable of
of deep, worthy gleam;
though seldom do others
see us mere puddles
as we to ourselves
are wrong to deem
(though never approaching
the great-self,
alas, most of us
will only let dream)--
so, tonight, self for me will rest...
and if brought to theme
it will only be for rhyme, my easy best;
Oh! That Poetic Shopping-cart:
shelves of prose! Aisles of mesmeric gleams!
like Poe’s mystic schemes--
clouds feeding voraciously off headless peaks—
those fantastical shoulders we desperate writers
must climb if to find our lofty seeks--
all creative mind’s begging for such volcanic leaks—
No! I will not pontificate on these, for the best programmers
many do still believe are little more than
Charlatans or geeks--
Nor as subject will I attempt the Divine;
our soul’s hope to progress, as wine,
to some vintage state--though, without tasting,
when compared to life’s offered new...
such abstaining, perhaps, not worth
the spirit's residue--
Nor will I attempt metaphors yet more mysterious--
maybe, even delirious; though often told
such intoxicating views, like the morning dews
can be practical lifesaving for both greens and blues--
sadly, such pasture-valleys thoughtless men
have turned to breathless, rat-infested alleys;
No! Tonight
should I decide to write
I will write of other things…
I will write...hum….
I will write… simply, Goodnight….
From one film to the other, your creative styles,
Rebels joined, save a world, then you, sacrificed a girl,
Online programmers that you had caused their riles,
Mr. Santino wanted New York as part of his world,
New bodies agents inhabit, mafia's list, you've been added,
Earned right to learn 'new school', while brother played you for a fool,
Oracle knew that you're the one, as bodies piled while on the run,
Trinity loved you, that you knew, with a price on your head, all wanted you,
Only machines rule off humans' body heat, get Santino, so to be complete,
Just when things weren't cooling down, Cassian searched all over town,
Of the agents, leader wanted to get ahead, on the train, he wanted John dead,
His team want to rescue their own, Cassian he warned, or he wont be around,
Neo wanted to go alone, instead, but Winston told John, "Not here", he said,
World saw the light, Neo did the trick, John didn't have it, he must split quick,
In rousing dance, chants, people are one, eyes o'er shoulders, he's on the run,
Can Neo have a new machines flick, more dinner reservations, 3rd John Wick,
Keanu's versatile--better to none, persona and lifestyle, simply being #1.
~~Born 09/02/1964, Beirut, Lebanon, mother English, from Essex, UK, dad American, from Hawaii, mixed race with Native Hawaiian lineage~~
You.played Dylan a song
Is it me or is it you
They buried whats true
Whats life mean to you
Did you turn your back to mother nature
Discovered the beauty with all its order amongst disorder
A hero a pair of all stars,rolled up Levis and a pack of cigarettes
I could only hide
The delicate space of alone
Citizen of a beaten down town
Don't give me any alibis
I can't lie I can't swim if I tried
Its
Accomadating
Modify
Thinking straight
Then getting high
Thinking straight again
Paradise is a song by Guns N Roses
We give our work to the bots
Your welcome programmers and controls
Give me drones or give me New York
Flagship floated
Down a river of
People helping people
Laughing at direction and being out if control
Give me what I shouldn't have
Tie me down with soul fed nothing but toxic soup
But with closed eyes
As a Composed assassin
The serial killer cat
Just knowing him was my demise
Looking at benediction
Artificial sanity
Taunting a nothing of a morning to attention
I heard you play that song for Dylan
When you were done
You were nowhere to be found
She did what she wanted
She found a part of me
Like a numb limb
A branch of destiny
Just nothing you can see
Life a season
Greater than the shadow you cast out
All the time or just
Once in a while
When its never right
Do it twice
Over and over again
Running this way and that, in search of some adventure new
The roads ran their course with flatirons the ruts not few
Over hill, mountain, river, valley, flood, glen and dale
To the open sea with long, sandy beaches and cut-up shale
To found a village here or there or town or port to call
Imports to the harbor, markets to open, and stores to maul
With Able’s fruit—either high or low— yielding no good life
The towns looked above to stave away constant strife
With no blossom, the towns built upward to store some treasure
The good ol’ boys breaking stocks to gain some measure
Breaking stocks not bread, with yield upon yield
Or bricks into actions, building high away from the fields
And the New Babylon, like F. Scott predicted in prose
Where nothing feels decent or good and nothing ever grows
Has grown higher, perhaps, than even ancient Sumer could
And his books out of print, out of font, are not printed in wood
All that remains of his stories, east egg and west
Are programmers building forms from programs, no longer missed
The lonely feeling of afternoon apperitifs or stiff strong drink
Even the sparklin’ ladies in their feather, plush and mink
Soar beyond the lay of the skyline if not the lay of the bed
With nothing but wonder, inclination, nothing but dread
How much emptiness this massive wealth can buy
Without really any curious gal or curious guy
The world’s tallest buildings reaching into ‘thereal night
And lights flashing on hovering spacecraft above, whose flight
Orbits the continents, oceans, floodplains, and polar caps
When pressing on towards Venus or Neptune will open their flaps
Look outward beyond towards other planets near and far
Within the Solar Domain and towards them that wander
The astronauts in future, and from before, won’t know why they came
to this planet Earth, since they will have left with nothing, even blame
Blame to exist, exist to blame, never settling here or anywhere
Where the grass is the stars beyond bluer than blue, or crystal stairs
With melted hearts, like sugar lumps, full of air, full of plump
Bumpin’ up slow, passin’ Dante on the left–or Janice Bishop’s rump
Oh Happy Day
Financial crisis
the Dj's sold out to the man
oh happy day on the radio
collective karma is the God they believe in
while Mammon teaches his machines to use phones
bill collectors and spam salesmen are calling
voices without souls
equity
and the bank wants to foreclose
billions of dollars for a bail out
and where the hell did it go
all of the really big spenders know
I guess they needed some of our tax money to blow
government programs, Ha!
just try to get some help or some info
and you'll find some scam artist ready to rip you off
or some over priced attorney
that just wants to take your money and laugh
as he drives away to go play golf
and your losing your home
yeah, your losing your home
and don't you want to put a bullet into somebody’s brain
who are ya gonna blame
two wrongs might not make it right
but it'll make a pretty good flame
try to make amends
there's no one to talk to at the bank
sorry, our mortgage department is in another state
just call this number then
press one for a circle jerk hot potato maze
the machines are in charge these days
and their's no mercy built in to their programs
but some of them do have names
I guess their programmers try to make them human
ice cold humans
ice cold humans
they think you and your money are the same
go on and take humanity out of the humans
their icy cold hearts dwell in the dark anyway
while the machines chew us up
just like a hammer headed shark
dive dive dive
let's see how low we can go
dive dive dive
these days lawyers are thugs
and nobody cares and everybody knows
and we're the greatest nation
oh play oh happy day
for me just one more time
there's no fear of God or compassion anymore
and I am just a poet
in the year 2009
There's no third option
in the binary code of
lovers: to love or
not to love, that's the one and
final truth of programmers.
In the cages at the zoo they crowded around each other
A million milling from father to brother
All speaking in a babel a million languages
From clicks and keyboard clacks to switches and bandages
A group is seen on a higher levee
They understand all, the interpreters you see
While some lower below compiles the dictionary
That translates to what is used by the assembly
A little farther around a table three Gs sit
they’re a python a Ci and Jav a’ Script
Sadly they discuss an end to their spec-ial woes
And thus the weird discussion goes
We hear the Ci talking first wheezing (he’s old)
What do you think makes girls so cold
To us our relationships’ are no success
And that’s the principal source of distress
Well as for me a girl who can’t commit
(Python interjects) I can’t have here cos she’s a git
And by the way Ci you need to have some class
There are some social functions you should pass
(An argument ensues)
Well I’m not the one who treats them like objects
That’s why they hate you, the Ci interjects.
And Jav a’ Script forget all the hype
You really need to settle on a type
Jav retorts, You’re the ones behaving slack
When they leave you simply call them back
Console them too if they cry
Be prepared to catch them if they try
Ah yes the man who always rejects
The promises he promised, (Python interjects)
(A lull in the storm, they begin to examine others)
Assembly’s got to make himself understood
Most of what he says goes under the hood
Swift’s got to slow down and not dart around
and Vue needs to react to their sound
There’s a theory I’d like to test
Says Python (although it’s half in jest)
If we work together as a unit
Then maybe we’ll be able to git one init?
And have mocha babies like Sinon no thanks
I’d rather throw myself on the express
Outside the cage the label reads
An endangered species with special feeds
Only pizza and soda strictly junk
For the whacky programmers inside this hunk
Sorry to say but you may regret it
Cause only programmers will read this and get it
We were still free to dream,
however, a tax on any imaginative writing
that contravened the rules or regulations
for literary acceptability
or worse
were deemed counter-revolutionary.
In Poland, the last of the hold-outs
wrote odes to Chopin
but essentially all was well ordered and
compliant to the powers that be.
Now that Chinese is a compulsory language
for third graders
many have become re-programmers
for the old and recalcitrant,
but like all wrong-headed reactionaries
the old dwindle only to fade away
in disgrace.
All the false history books
have gone out of print.
Now we study the history of
our brave new world. It is
always sunny here in our
equally allotted cubicles.
Any misinformed die-hards
that wander the streets begging
us to return to the old ways
are quickly rounded up
and sent to our happy
and well attended
correction schools.
Chopin has now
been put on a no-fly list, but few
have heard of his dangerous sonata
or think of it at all anyway.
Manifest Destiny
by Michael R. Burch
When you were in my house
you were not free—
in chains bound.
Manifest Destiny?
I was wrong;
my plantation burned to the ground.
I was wrong.
This is my song,
this is my plea:
I was wrong.
When you are in my house,
now, I am not free.
I feel the song
hurling itself back at me.
We were wrong.
This is my history.
I feel my tongue
stilting accordingly.
We were wrong;
brother, forgive me.
Originally published by Black Medina
NOTE: I wrote this poem when I had a home-based software business and had hired two fine young black men as programmers. They both had keys to my house and I was a minority in my own company. That seems like progress but still doesn't begin to atone for the horrors of slavery.