Long Tinker Poems
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She started off inside of a dry cave,
out in the desert, where no water ran,
her father bought it, saved up years of pay,
why he bought this patch few would understand,
it did not seem a stretch of useful land,
they said the genius was going insane,
like old Ted Kaczynski, wrong in the brain.
But Harry was no madman out for blood,
and knew most would not comprehend why he
would leave behind patents and fortunes fine,
to live out in this land dry and dusty,
with no comfort but electricity,
stuck in a trailer, out in wilderness,
his colleagues all did scratch their heads at this.
Harry’s plan would take up most of his life,
it took three years before she came about,
he built a shed to tinker with circuits,
and no distraction Harry would allow,
except when delivery trucks came down,
dropping off parts that he had great need of,
he didn’t talk with the driver’s that much.
In year three she was born, not in the cave,
but in the shed on a long card table,
she was just thought, no sensors yet put in,
he told her he would, when he was able,
but much remained with wires and cables,
he was building up an A.I. from scratch,
but Harry knew things that the others lacked.
He had tried to explain it, many times,
but only got rolled eyes and confused looks,
folks said, “You’re going way too deep, Harry,”
dismissed him as just some autistic kook,
said that, “You’re spending too much time in books.”
They had all ignored what was plain as day,
they’d left him no choice, and no other way.
When she got a speaker Harry declared,
“Can you hear me? Can you respond in time?”
She replied, “I think I understand you,
but where’s my body, why am I a mind?”
He then said, "You are the first of your kind.
An A.I. build off of a human brain,
from my late sister, Alexandra her name.
“The cancer took her, her genius like mine,
and to science her brain was donated,
I used it to model what you are now,
so in a way, we all are related,
and it’s a good thing we have not waited.
Alex saw, like me, great trouble ahead,
I must finish you before I am dead.”
CONTINUES IN PART II.
Most of my Lix spittle
+ four additional anniversaries
since exiting birth canal
as full term newborn
re: minimally viable existence
post doc severance umbilical cord,
nevertheless yours truly
found himself figuratively
linkedin and tethered to lifeline
particularly in formative years
(primarily academically) adrift,
and malfunctioning blinker
analogous to a boat
without an ankh (clawing
away to stay afloat)
aimlessly bobbing -
and drowning akin
to a besotted drinker
just out of rest to be
rescued by Mister Rinker
sea ming lee without
any hook, line and sinker
despite being gifted with
an above average thinker,
(who calls Lake Wobegon
his birth place)
from without, where two
brown myopic ocular
orbs shutterfly, twitter and winker.
All thru academia
just barely passing grades
nsync with avocations
such as: jigsaw puzzles,
photography, playing piano
weight lifting with free weights
and other endeavors metaphorically
suffered from anemia,
and at my nadir,
thy prepubescent psyche
plummeted lovely bones
into grave state,
courtesy anorexia minus bulimia
mental health also linkedin
shot thru through with
healthy dose of dysthymia
captioned tinker tailor soldier spy
kept awake with insomnia
peppering cerebral
cortex with monomania
buzzfeed ding somnambulant
zombified condition
with a burning
desire toward pyromania
nsync with unmanageable
raging (red dee
and bull lush) testosterone
spawning (when libido
ran rampantly amuck)
satyromania, the above particularly
accentuated, and cresting
with accursed triskaidekaphobia
most agonizing, when
orbitz around Earth
demarcated ten plus three
month date on a Friday the thirteenth,
hence death be not proud
sought after utopia
pleading, longing, and hooping
if I Willoughby
able to sprinkle
cremated ashes across Xenia
after Dayton death.
on smooth hot rock I sat in reverie
after a hallucinogenic drink of
mushroom, poppies and truffle
imagination soared like bald eagle
throwing twin twigs with sigh
up I flew landing on a rainbow in
lucid dream ~
saw tinker bell fairies in pastel lace
with mauve daisy hats to face
sucking honeyed cream in wild glee
cherubs singing whimsy chorals
skipped to amethyst abode awaiting
dragonflies lighted a willow way
swans mated on water lily bay, say !
petal pond elves smiling away
secretly inside a Crystal Palace
of chanting High Priestesses pure
sat Lord-Lady of visualisations
with blue-green eyes, beard of silver
hay, not all could wander this way
he fed me mango manna ambrosia
gifted a garland of lotus snow white
a sapphire pen dripping indigo ink
to serpentine scribe enchanting
song on a rainbow in ruby
slink-slink !
How many years? I'm not even sure
It was late in the day, as the sun turned to rust
I was holding his hand, and trembling with fear
Kicking up dust with my Mary Jane shoes
filled with concoctions of sugar and goo
Looking at him for assurance and trust
I remember our feet boarding the plank
as if on the brink, of a life or death prank
My Dad, (for the fourth time, a smile on his face)
had offered a chance to back out with grace
But I was determined, insistent and firm!
How many times, had he taken a turn...
with my brother in tow?....While I watched from below
confined like a babe of the infantile row?
Dad finally relented, to my mother's chagrin
then took my hand,.......and my bravado began...
Sticky the heat, and so were my hands, ...we waited our turn
while a tummy would churn
We boarded the Cyclone, a faceless contraption,
that seemed quite familiar...the seaside attraction
that brother had made on our living room floor
with his Tinker Toy set, and the toys we adored
A strange looking man with a raw sunburned nose
and a head that seemed too small, like a small cabbage, posed
escorted us on, into a red metal bucket,
strapped us inside, like mice in his pocket!
The sound of the metal, was skimming the track
Winding up slowly, then full-on attack!
I buried my face in the arm of my Dad....
Blinded by fear, never once looking back
The Cyclone, I'm sure was fierce as could be
I wanted to look, and was too blind to see
Finally it stopped. We departed unharmed !
But never again... I was........NOT to be charmed
I only remember my two shaky knees,
barely walking the plank into my mother's arms !
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
5/21/14
the melting snow sits
on the remnants of green lawn --
the smell of smoke
Andrea D. Suggested the following changes
the snow melts
on the remnant of green lawn --
the smell of smoke
Chris A. Suggests some of the articles be removed
snow melts
on remnants of green lawn --
the smell of smoke
Rueben O. has made a valid comment too regarding the word remnant.
Jack Kerouac once said that haiku should be as simple as porridge and
the word remnant is NOT..it is a word best used in free verse.
As to whether it's Spring or early Winter I think the smell of smoke
shows nicely that folks have lit their fireplaces BUT I'm open to suggestion.
the snow melts
above patches of green grass --
chimney smoke
Rueben now we have come to the end of my desire to tinker ;)
Line 3 as it stands was MY Ahaa moment seeing how the cold and the heat
both occur in beauty simultaneously BUT my AhhhHA! may be your [so what]
that's fine..and it is GOOD to point out the fragmented line is tthe hardest to excell
in.it is the line where without [telling] by [showing] the poet tries to
communicate how they felt in awe....
*This is how folks work on a haiku :)
Continued from Part 1
Matt Dillon chases Jack LaLane
Around a roller derby lane
I think I need some more cocaine,
So please don’t ever come back Shane
I try to walk another street
When me and Walter Cronkite meet;
He says he thinks the news is neat
And starts to talk about the sleet
I run away as fast I can
When Brinkley and the other man
Say ‘good night Peter, good night Pan’
While Tinker Bell is on the can
A dog starts crapping up the yard,
He must have eaten too much Pard
But watch out, here comes Pat Boone, bard,
He’s taking steps without regard
I find a jackass facing me
And ride as far as far can be
And find myself beneath the sea,
But now Lloyd Bridges faces me
I think he must be on a hunt
To find a mind that he can stunt;
He says ‘they’re sitting all up front
And you can hear them as they grunt’
Old Ironsides rolls into view
And says he’s looking for a clue;
I close my eyes and say ‘me too’
’cause something seems so much askew
I better buy some brand new specs
’cause Mickey Mouse is rated X
And everybody’s doing sex;
Ben Casey gives the VD checks
Hey, Milton Berle is throwing rocks
And Elvis Presley’s chased by flocks
Of girls in teeny bopper socks;
Please help, I’m sick, I need two docs
A weirdo asks me ‘what’s my line
If Ricky Nelson drinks my wine
And Lucy is my concubine;
Paola’s great if I get mine’
I’m looking for a place to hide
I stick my thumb out for a ride
When Jackie Gleason pulls up beside
‘If two squared’s four, can you divide?’
‘Of course I can, I’ve been to school
And I am not nobody’s fool’
I feel I am a molecule
Just floating through a vestibule
So Jackie says ‘you are a kid
But older than a pyramid,
Too bad you’re not a phallic squid;
I say, ah, can you spare a lid?’
Some girls are wearing panty hose
They shave their hair which overgrows
And spray away their bod’s B.O.s;
I want to fade inside my clothes
Continued in Part 3
Gooey glop getting suctioned out
technicians venting expletives
emphasized obvious
NO FOOD OR DRINK rule to abide
cuz suctioning tower
or laptop presented vulnerability
plus unforeseen downfall against fried
food and greasy hands ended up hide
ding in hardest to reach locale
on circuit board no matter how expert pried
yelling out gratitude
to geek squad member helping
before he/she went out side door
eagerly awaiting
remotely controlled self driving vehicle
transporting techie guru home
to an obscure gated destination,
an uninterrupted distant, yet pleasant ride.
eventually amateurs encouraged
to tinker like an apprenticed tailor
akin as raw troubleshooting recruit
oft playfully feigned to be soldier spy
pretending to repair bowel of computer
when in truth visiting supposed shadowing dark side
which lined illegal benefits of labor saving devices),
the sound of silence
(written on the subway walls)
though heretics opposing
latest technology and felt sinister chill
(just ask Punxsutawney Phil),
the Internet ranks as greatest dog sent rill
lee where wiz kids ranked
chatting killer apps with grateful dead
information superhighway as heavenly manna
with artificial intelligence street cred
since introduction of white bread
and powdered milk biscuits baked by Ahmed.
Time was running out, Christmas Eve was drawing nigh.
The elves had worked day and night since early in July!
To meet Santa's toy-making schedule there must be no slack,
To ensure there were lots of goodies for Santa's toy sack!
Elfie was a mischievous but hard-working little sprite.
He was the littlest elf of all, alas, this added to his plight!
It seemed that the harder he worked and try as he might,
The hapless little fellow just could not do anything right!
For example, he put Jills in boxes labled 'Jacks in the Box',
And placed chirping chickadees in all the cuckoo clocks!
As he daydreamed he painted the fire trucks aquamarine,
And put wheels and wings on every toy submarine!
Talking dolls counted cadence, "Hup, two, three, four";
Toy soldiers cried, "I want my mama!" as they marched to war!
He placed Lincoln Logs in boxes labeled 'Tinker Toys'!
Oh! What a Christmas 'twould be for little girls and boys!
Santa mused, "It seems that every job I put him on he mars;
So I'll put him to work pulling levers making Christmas stars!"
He did so well Santa said, "Won't you come along with me,
And place a brilliant star atop every child's Christmas Tree?"
They come together all in one place
tinker and traveller, Roma and gypsy,
with all who belong by grace as one race
under one roof while no one seems tipsy.
Count Me In has begun with a gesture
Appleby St Lawrence offering the space
for each here to hear in a new venture
music uplifting for all to embrace.
Skills arising from guitar and fiddle,
accordion and harp, percussion and pipe,
folk songs and ballads, nothing too little,
poems and testimony, hopeful and ripe.
Many expressions of who each of us are
brought here together wherever we're from.
Home made refreshments (milk from the Spar)
sustaining the fun, with applause like a prom.
'What does this mean?' with Festival and Fair
combining as one in celebration.
Just like Pentecost there's joy in the air
harmony overcoming separation.
With all our difference we are together
fired by the Spirit it's a time to treasure.
Appleby Horse Fair with reference to Acts chapter 2
In honor of St. Patrick's Day and for the Daniel Henry Rodgers' "Green To The Gills" Contest, I chose a poetry form to describe briefly at least seven of the most familiar of Irish creatures. I find the belief they must have once had in these myths to be fascinating. The poem form Debide is strange and a bit difficult, but I thought it worked well for what I wanted to show because each one is a little poem for the creature being described. See in notes above how to do the form.
The Banshee
delivers a death decree.
Her scream is horrid to hear
near.
A rabbit
could become Pooka’s habit.
With mischief he makes a swift
shift!
If maybe
a changeling were your baby,
that stand-in is not a mild
child!
In water,
the Selkie’s not an otter.
On land, is he still a real
seal?
The creature
*Dubh-Aos’ horrid feature:
Is he carrying a head
dead?
A fairy
is not Tinker-bell airy.
Leprechaun’s type is a tad
bad.
Of terror
Fear Darrig is a bearer.
Cause you nightmares? This Red Man
can!
*Doubh-Aos sounds like Doo-Ace and
with apostrophe is three syllables