clarity

concision leaves an incision

when overzealous brevity

leaves little room for levity

when constant clamor for clarity

clouds clear vision

causing caustic confusion

driving dabblers to the rafters

and drafters to derision

sewing sutures in our futures

pouring the past

from endless pitchers

making it last

with poignant pictures

that fade to flickers

as you edit out the pixels

doled down in word-sized parcels

pruning phrases with precision

harrowing every old decision

sewing sutures with our futures

weaving pleadings from our pasts

when our wells seem sorely shallow

we can replant what we left fallow

we shall cultivate our loves

we shall fortify our lives

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heavenly hammock

warm autumn night

corner of my eye

caught a stunning sight

hammock in the sky

glowing enough

to read the stories

told by the faeries

who flit and buzz

hammock hanging high

tied off to two stars

if i could climb up

swing in evening breeze

starstrung hammock

beckons to me

as i listen to songs

sung by sleepy bees

hammock of the night

i bask in your light

you hang like a beacon

that things will be right

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moonless deep

oh darling moon

hiding on the far side of night

staying close to your shining sun

down the babbling brick lane i run

to the flowing strand of colors

the faintest blends into the others

a thousand windows watch the bay

where all the hues come to play

clouds of color fill my lungs

feast of festive flavors on our tongues

sounds of songs on water shimmer

stretch my ears to glean a glimmer

wind on lake evokes a dimple

tender night with joys so simple

dear lake soon aflutter with surface ripple

delighted eyes sup from night’s nipple

too soon does wane enlightened deep

without the moon i drift to sleep

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rain rein reign rayn

when the sky fyres cool
flicker the haughty hues
on the coast of night
the evening orb
sets like a jewel
descends as a sliver of light
swiftly following
their beloved
beyond the veil

in those precious hours
bald eyes drink in
the last stray
murmurs of day
quaff the final drops
of nectar from the fray
leave behind the fury
and the cray cray way

boundless blue
casts off its luster
like heavy bathrobe
it had worn all day
reveals the secrets
it had concealed
now softly shine
the distant candles
like thousand teardrops
of sweet night

as i watch
these tears of night
feel their rayn
upon my soul
i see a hundred
sometimes a thousand
but know from
eyes augmented
a septillion stars
watch one another

and i think of those
who we have lost
of those who still
shine on each day
and those who’re
yet to come
as i watch
these tears of night
feel their rayn
upon my soul
this naked sky
makes me cry

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irresistible

"Only that which does not teach,
which does not cry out,
which does not condescend,
which does not explain, is irresistible."

— W. B. Yeats
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poetic programming

“The programmer, like the poet, works only slightly removed from pure thought-stuff. He builds his castles in the air, from air, creating by exertion of the imagination. Few media of creation are so flexible, so easy to polish and rework, so readily capable of realizing grand conceptual structures…. Yet the program construct, unlike the poet’s words, is real in the sense that it moves and works, producing visible outputs separate from the construct itself. […] The magic of myth and legend has come true in our time. One types the correct incantation on a keyboard, and a display screen comes to life, showing things that never were nor could be.”— Fred Brooks, The Mythical Man-Month: Essays on Software Engineering

Is poetry just as real as software programs? The concepts and emotions evoked in the reader show them “things that never were nor could be?”

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innies and outies

the innies and the outies
all stood in rows
from each family
both the same
from house to house
some in, some out

every one was present
though varied
how they’re berthed
the blue ones
and the green ones
all waited at their curbs

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