Binding Forces
The force that mages use to fetter spirits,
to hold them to the Earth while warding harm,
is binding within geometric limits.
Shape failure: mage's work will fall to charm.
When thrall submits to bondage of the body,
the master's discipline in ties of trust:
that binding forged from leather straps or bracelets,
may fail and leave the players out of lust.
A word connects the thing for which it's symbol.
The denotation, link that binds the speech
to object, cannot be but changeful,
thus meaning fails to comprehend or teach.
A binding force may sometimes truth entail,
yet ties that bind are often known to fail.
From the Undead Poets' Society Journal:
How will I eat thee? Let me count the ways.
I will eat thee to the liver and lights and brains
My mouth can reach, when leaving only stains
Behind where once was face.
I'll eat thee to the point of spacing
Uncouth grunts between each bite.
I'll eat thee freely, never feeling spite.
I eat thee purely, not with mayonnaise.
I eat thee with the zeal of the undead
that being all I have to face my fate.
I eat thee, in order to be fed,
My appetites appeased. I must sate;
You have no hope, unless you take my head.
Then I will stop, undeath will then abate.
David Honigsberg, 1958-2007:
It's not as if we've seen and know Death well,
we've pushed Him back, away over the years.
So when He comes we think of age: "Hell,
it's much to soon for them." The sum of fears
grows, and we find ourselves looking back,
afraid of how we'll end and what we give
for life. Don't let the fear make you pull back:
those we remember thus were here to live.
(no envoi)
abi's Back to Visit California
Abi, the one who knows just what to test,
and binds books beautifully (or not, in jest),
the Lady of the Lady of Khazad-dûm,
is moving on. She's jumping blind, no room
for error, a bit of fear, but lots of zest
for what comes next. As for the rest,
she carries it with her; I would assume
it will be easy finding where she will resume.
Jet-lagged, but glad to see the old home ground,
she has returned to Oakland in the Bay
from Scotland, still she'll miss the Bank.
Now we in cyberspace who've talked and clowned
while she grew weary on the way,
have heard that she is there, Great Ghu be thanked.
Weightless Running
200 miles above the Earth, halfway to space,
running 2 miles with every step, each footfall
matches one in Boston. Floating near a wall,
restrained by cords she runs a marathon pace
to match her sister on the ground. The grace
of motion changes without weight, but will enthrall
the viewers down below. She hopes that recall
of her run by kids will spur them on to race.
She's wise to help the young enhance their time,
using her place to lead them into winning
some measure of the grace she can apply.
But those of us who've watched the rockets climb
and hungered for the worlds' new beginning,
might wonder how this race will help us fly.
Pyrotech
Smoke bombs and fire and ringing in the ears.
Perchlorate stings the eyes and makes the smell
that fills the nose. We wipe away the tears
from fumes and peer into the midget hell
created by our craft. Don't stand too close,
the lore relates, or lose a precious part.
That safety lore passed down the years to those
who use the lore from those who lore impart.
The kids these days don't handle safety well;
they get no lore from older pyro addicts,
but copy television tricks. They get too close,
pick up duds, otherwise auto-darwinate.
Their common sense is rare, rash urge inflicts
a harm they could prevent. Perhaps a dose
of parent's wisdom could allay their fate.
De Gustibus
We all find mirth in one thing or another:
Stooges for some the acme of delight,
for others dreary crap. One brother
may laugh long at Austin Powers, one might
think well of Mel Brooks' gassy lines. The cause
of disagreement out of ken, to taste
we had best ascribe it. Some viewers' craws
stick at Survivor, by others it's embraced.
For me no humor comes from degradation,
disrespect, and pain. I am not alone:
my friends hold views on humor much like mine.
We feel a strange and troubled fascination
for debased humor. Find humor in the moan
and grope of sex? On that we can't combine.
Do Not Be Evil
Google: "To strive, to seek, to find, and not ..."?
We don't know where they think they're headed,
or what they'll do to get there. Take a swat
at "Don't be evil," others have and dreaded
what Google'd do if not held down to it.
Could they be building AI to supplant us,
or instruments to reign over the net?
The questions will continue to enchant us.
For all we ask ourselves just what they're doing,
for all we seek to understand their goals,
No matter how we try to augur omens,
We will not know what secret plan they're brewing
or if commitment to their maxim weakens,
until they day they unveil what they're doing.
The Evil Overlord applauds:
In the beginning we need a few lines
to lure in the readers and get them to stay.
Starting with action, then flashback's a way
to get going quickly, then fill up their minds
with backstory, setup and color.
But do this too often and readers get jaded;
they don't buy the books, their interest has faded,
and TV, so written, will not please the watcher.
Now into an arms race, each book must try harder
to get some excitement into the beginning.
After awhile it's not clear who's winnning;
I doubt, though, the reader or even the author.
Some adore the action and some insist on plot
that has a complex structure. How to pull
each kind in depends on what their type.
If you insist on hooking them, and then deliver not,
you'll lose them in the finish, they'll feel the wool<
over their eyes, and they will call it tripe.
CBS surrenders to racist commenters
A moderator needs to keep the peace,
to banish trolls and those who flame and rail.
Without respect the flame wars will not cease.
Discourse would fail if there were no police.
Enforcement cannot use the threat of jail.
A moderator needs to keep the peace.
Ignoring bullies will not give surcease;
facing their ranting anyone would pale.
Without respect the flame wars will not cease.
Once started pileups surely will increase.
Each poster adds a share of fire to the bale.
A moderator needs to keep the peace.
A flamer vents his spleen to get release
then hunts more victims, hammer seeking nail.
Without respect the flame wars will not cease.
No scheme will all the posters please;
some hope for reasoned speech to fail.
A moderator needs to keep the peace.
Without respect the flame wars will not cease.
"The sky isn't evil. Try looking up."
It's not the very words we use that matter:
saying 'please' or 'prithee' 's not the issue.
The lives we lead together form a tissue
of acts and speech that some hear as patter.
If acts are not acknowledged, unions shatter,
smashed by lack of care that says 'I dis you'.
A simple 'Thanks', 'I love you', or 'I miss you'
is all you need; not world on a platter.
Be polite routinely and you'll see
that teasing or insults can oft be fun,
not tear relations up but keep them whole.
Keep politeness in your mind and you will be
much better as a friend in the long run;
and feed the love that livens up your soul.
Corpsicle
I wanted Death to stay its hand,
so slept the still, dark sleep of ice
in hope the centuries I would span.
The doctors said they had it planned:
cures for all ills would soon suffice.
I wanted Death to stay its hand,
My life could be both long and grand.
I was willing to pay the price
in hope the centuries I would span.
But with each cure the ills expand,
and benefit's o'ercome by price.
I wanted Death to stay its hand,
I finally came to understand
that I must put my life on ice
in hope the centuries I would span.
In helium chill I've made my stand.
If I'm thawed is a throw of dice.
I wanted Death to stay its hand,
in hope the centuries I would span.
