Sounds from the Pad

As the mellow glow the screen lights my face
In the loneness of my room,
I hear only the low sounds of movement
From the next room as the human there
Likewise sits, and is illumined
By similar light, though I cannot see it.
But I hear the sporadic, purposed taps and clicks
Of that one, in competition.
The taps of keys and clicks of buttons,
Though irregular, are purposefully created.
I sense the competition rising
As those sounds increase in number and volume.
Though thus, they still remain
Unique and distiguishible as being purposeful.
No more...
The taps and clicks flood into my ears:
A roar of panic and desperation.
Now they stop....
And all is silent...
Save for a deep and heavy breathing
Of frustration.

Surprise Letters

I used to write a lot of letters when I was younger. I was one of the few boys that had pen-pals and such (I learned later that it was more of a girl thing). I understood the value of a handwritten letter, though I often preferred to type mine on my appleII computer, printed on my dot matrix printer. I began writing because I liked to receive letters. In fact I loved to receive mail. I would think of how nice it would be if someone just out of the blue randomly decided to write to me. In fact, I thought about a lot of things like that: things like "Wouldn't it be cool if someone left a secret coded message in this book just for someone like me to find out?", or "Maybe someone will perchance just feel like being nice as they see me in this toy store and tell me to buy any one thing that I want!". I knew that it would probably never happen. The reason I thought that was because I wouldn't do something like that. My next question to myself was "Why don't I do something like that?" So I started thinking of some things like that to do. As a child, nothing much came more of just thinking of some things, and usually those things I wouldn't be able to do until I was older. But I did try writing people at times to surprise them. I like to think that I made a few people happy that way in my childhood.

However, I have been thinking that way again lately. I would say that I have more of the means to do some of the things that I may have planned as a child, and I should be able to think up some better ones. And I still love receiving real mail, so I can still assume others do too. Maybe I can go to a restaraunt and anonymously pay for someone's meal. Maybe I can invite someone over for dinner (instead of inviting myself to their place). Or maybe I can write a letter to someone who I've lost contact with.

Options. Choices. Opportunities.

Ode to my Favorite Poets

These are some selected stanzas of poems that have stuck with me over the years. I share them now in hopes that they will mean something to you, as they have meant much to me. Enjoy!

From Henry Wadsorth Longfellow's My Lost Youth

Often I think of the beautiful town
That is seated by the sea;
Often in thought go up and down
The pleasant streets of that dear old town,
And my youth comes back to me.
And a verse of a Lapland song
Is haunting my memory still:
“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”
__

From Robert Frost's The Road Not Taken

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
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From Sir Walter Scott's The Lay of the Last Minstrel

Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land?
Whose heart hath ne’er within him burn’d,
As home his footsteps he hath turn’d,
From wandering on a foreign strand?

If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no Minstrel raptures swell.
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;

Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonor’d, and unsung.
__

From J.R.R Tolkien's Journey's End

Though here at journey's end I lie
In darkness buried deep,
Beyond all towers strong and high,
Beyond all mountains steep,
Above all shadows rides the Sun
And Stars forever dwell,
I will not say the Day is done,
Nor bid the Stars farewell.
__

From James Russell Lowell's The Present Crisis

Careless seems the great Avenger; history's pages but record
One death-grapple in the darkness 'twixt old systems and the Word;
Truth forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on the throne,—
Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind the dim unknown,
Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above his own.

Drew's Farm

Driving home from work today I noticed a sign that said "Drew's Farm" on it. I found the mental picture of Drewey with a farm amusing. The remaining words on the sign were "Apple picking". I thought over the mental picture again of Drew surrounded by cows, corn, and a random apple orchard: probably on his sister's cell-phone calling Markie for some advice or something. Anyway, I knew it all made no sense, so I tried a different interpretation of the sign. "Drew" could mean no other than my best friend: that interpretation couldn't change. "Farm" however could have some different references. Obviously, the only farm Drew would have (other than an ant farm, perhaps) would be his Llama farm. Wow! that made things clearer. So that was the first part of the sign. "Apple picking" was a bit more difficult. For some reason I just can't picture Drew with an orchard of any type, even if it was to feed the llamas (though if "Ham orchards" existed he might have one). Thus "Apples" could refer to nothing other than the un-American computer brand. Why would Drewey have it on his sign? Obviously he was hosting some "Pick on Apple Computers" day or something.....






well, I thought it was kinda funny.