The Grand Design
The wicked eye of fate beholds
our petty plans and great endeavors
And as each plot its scheme unfolds
she tweaks the cosmos’ hidden levers
With careless ease she alters rules
(or so it seems to lowly creatures)
makes great prognosticators fools
and lunatics who made good, teachers
Her numbers game is rigged, you see
preserving balance, eternal strife
the wise take fate as it may be
as they shrug, and grin, and quip “That’s life!”
The Magic of Winter
Evil, heavy, wet, and cold
they sit upon the ground.
They clog the air in scads untold
and muffle every sound.
A snowflake is a pretty thing
its facets sparkling bright,
But in its ultimate demise
I find a great delight.
For snow has made my life like hell,
my back to ache, my arms as well.
And travel, you can just forget,
my car’s a ski, can’t land a jet.
The upshot, friends, it’s sad to say,
our day’s deprived of light.
There’ll be no joy outside today,
forget about tonight.
If essential apparati screw the pooch and shit the bed,
And experimental data causes aching in the head,
But while searching for a reason all your ends have come up dead,
Then a ten pound sledge will make you your devices’ greatest dread.
When Doctor Watson comes to call
he makes his presence known
and brings your system to a stall
which you’re left to bemoan.
A stable system he’ll derail
with unrepentant glee
and leave no useful info trail
your software’s glitch to see
With little else to go upon
you’ll simply hold your breath
and pray your problem does not spawn
the dread blue screen of death
Here I sit, weary and grim
bleary eyed and out of trim.
slumber beckons my regard
productiv’ty to retard.
Staring at a PC screen
where my code might once have been
what drained my vigor, I’ve a hunch
the Indian feast I had for lunch…
The sands of time have run away
our future to unfurl.
We never realize yesterday
today will be a whirl.
What will have been, we came to see
will soon be was, or were.
It had been being perfectly,
but when does it occur?
It seems confusing on it’s face,
this vaguery of tense.
’tis language brought us to this place,
for time itself makes sense.
Once a sound, its name returned
knew itself an echo turned.
With bated breath, for more it waited,
alas, it was attenuated.
Exploding frogs are not my thing,
the din of it makes my ears ring.
This movie gore b’longs on a shelf,
but better that than ‘splode myself!
Once a mad rocket sci-entist
decided to be-come a dentist.
He’d pull teeth with glee,
(though his patients might flee)
with a rocket and string, ’cause it’s quickest.
Save your document
Before the Blue Screen of Death
Swallows your haiku
Would you like to reboot now?
I hate Microsoft
Behold alpha geek
Master of Trek trivia
Girls make him nervous