OK, people are on my case about being late with the Sunday Poem, so I had better post something despite the fact that I am wrestling with site load. I am unsure what that means in terms of popularity of the Sunday Poem, since it’s only two people. But hey, two is better than zero. So even if I post the Sunday Poem, odds are it won’t increase load too much. 🙂

This is actually a song lyric. I don’t have a recording of the song handy, so you will just have to come to a jam session sometime if you want to hear it.

Married Life

You fell in love and you signed the papers
And moved home to annoy the neighbors
And it was good, just fine, living the married life
No kids yet, but what’s the hurry?
They just mean you have to worry
That’s no good, no time in the married life

Continue reading »

OK, this is for the geeks among us. In fact, it is geeky on many different levels. It merits explanation in advance.

Last night, I was working on a game I’ve been messing with. It’s circular, so there’s a lot of Sin(a) and Cos(a) and incrementing arcs and stuff. I was up until 4am, in fact, and needless to say, when you do that you end up with dreams. Mix into this the fact that at the Cub Scouts this past week, the demo was of optics, and we saw white light broken into the spectrum, and the wavelengths of the colors identified (and blue is damn close to 440 nanometers, and the note A is of course at 440 as well), an article I read a year ago about how the vibration frequency of the universe is the note A, how the composer Schumann (who went insane because of syphilis and mercury poisoning) was driven mad by hearing the note A… well, soon you end up with a poem that mooshes it all together.

Then, to top it all off, I wrote it in blank verse: iambic pentameter, with seven-line stanzas, and one extra coda line (alas, not 440 syllables — 290). The stanzas arose organically, but each verse really hated being in lines — words broken across lines, etc, like strands that shouldn’t be interrupted. So then I re-broke the lines to be in a sine wave. Because I could. They seemed to want to fall that way. Eerie, huh? 🙂

So finally, you’re left with a poem about, well, making games. And one I am tempted to annotate with Wikipedia links…

Continue reading »

Eves are potential: the pendulum at its farthest swing,
The wave as it curls, the indrawn breath, lowered lashes.
They accrete importance, become more the thing than the thing,
Surrounded by lights, by costumes, icons, belled sashes.

The days themselves are rushes, crashes, madness,
The ebb and flow of family, feasts, and fastness.

But eves — eves are frozen, out of time, still and somehow sad —
An endless moment of anticipation you had, but never have.