Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=534120" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Golden Gate - I (A novel in verse)</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=534120" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">1.1.<br>To make a start more swift and weighty,<br>Hail Muse. Dear Reader, once upon<br>A time, say, circa 1980,<br>There lived a man. His name was John.<br>Successful in his field though only<br>Twenty-six, respected, lonely,<br>One evening as he walked across<br>Golden Gate Park, the ill-judged toss<br>Of a red frisbee almost brained him.<br>He thought, "Who'd gloat? Who would be glad? <br>Would anybody? " As it pained him,<br>He turned from this dispiriting theme<br>To ruminations less extreme.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=534120" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">1.2.<br>He tuned his thoughts to electronic<br>Circuitry. This soothed his mind.<br>He left irregular (moronic) <br>Sentimentality behind.<br>He thought of or-gates and of and-gates,<br>Of ROMs, of nor-gates, and of nand-gates,<br>Of nanoseconds, megabytes,<br>And bits and nibbles… but as flights<br>Of silhouetted birds move cawing<br>Across the pine-serrated sky,<br>Dragged from his cove, not knowing why,<br>He feels an urgent riptide drawing<br>Him far out, where, caught in the kelp<br>Of loneliness, he cries for help.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=534120" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">1.3.<br>John's looks are good. His dress is formal.<br>His voice is low. His mind is sound.<br>His appetite for work's abnormal.<br>A plastic name tag hangs around<br>His collar like a votive necklace.<br>Though well-paid, he is far from reckless,<br>Pays his rent promptly, jogs, does not<br>Smoke cigarettes, and rarely pot,<br>Eschews both church and heavy drinking,<br>Enjoys his garden, like to read<br>Eclectically from Mann to Bede.<br>(A surrogate, some say, for thinking.) <br>friends claim he's grown aloof and prim.<br>(His boss, though, is well-pleased with him.) </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=534120" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">1.4.<br>Grey-eyed, blond-haired, aristocratic<br>In height, impatience, views, and face,<br>Discriminating though dogmatic,<br>Tender beneath a carapace<br>Of well-groomed tastes and tasteful grooming,<br>John, though his corporate stock is booming,<br>For all his mohair, serge, and tweed,<br>Senses his life has run to seed.<br>A passionate man, with equal parts of<br>Irritability and charm,<br>Without as such intending harm,<br>His flaring temper singed the hearts of<br>Several woman in the days<br>Before his chaste, ambitious phase.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=534120" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">1.5.<br>John notes the late September showers<br>Have tinged the blond hills round the bay<br>With a new green. He notes the flowers<br>In their pre-winter bloom. The way<br>That, when he was a child, the mystery<br>Of San Francisco's restless spark,<br>It strikes him now as, through the park,<br>Wrested from old dunes by the westward<br>Thrust of the greenbelt to the slow<br>Pacific swell, his footsteps go.<br>But it is late. The birds fly nestward<br>Towards the sunset, and the arc<br>Of darkness drifts across the park.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=534120" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">1.6.<br>It's Friday night. The unfettered city<br>Resounds with hedonistic glee.<br>John feels a cold cast of self-pity<br>Envelop him. No family<br>Cushions his solitude, or rather,<br>His mother's dead, his English father,<br>Retired in his native Kent,<br>Rarely responds to letters sent<br>(If rarely) by his transatlantic<br>Offspring. In letters to The Times<br>He rails against the nameless crimes<br>Of the post office. Waxing frantic<br>About delays from coast to coast,<br>He hones his wit and damns the post.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=534120" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">1.7.<br>A linkless node, no spouse or sibling,<br>No children - John wanders alone<br>Into an ice cream parlor. Nibbling<br>The edges of a sugar cone<br>By turns, a pair of high school lovers<br>Stand giggling. John, uncharmed, discovers<br>His favorite flavors, Pumpkin Pie<br>And Bubble Gum, decides to buy<br>A double scoop; sits down; but whether<br>His eyes fall on a knot of three<br>Schoolgirls, a clamorous family,<br>Or, munching cheerfully together,<br>A hippie and a Castro clone,<br>It hurts that only he's alone.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=534120" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">1.8.<br>He goes home, seeking consolation<br>Among old Beatles and Pink Floyd —<br>But "Girl" elicits mere frustration,<br>While "Money" leaves him more annoyed.<br>Alas, he hungers less for money<br>Than for a fleeting Taste of Honey.<br>Murmuring, "Money — it's a gas! …<br>The lunatic is on the grass,"<br>He pours himself a beer. Desires<br>And reminiscences intrude<br>Upon his unpropitious mood<br>Until he feels that he requires<br>A one-way Ticket to Ride — and soon —<br>Across the Dark Side of the Moon.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=534120" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">1.9.<br>He thinks back to his day at college,<br>To Phil, to Berkeley friends, to nights<br>When the pursuit of grades and knowledge<br>Foundered in beery jokes and fights.<br>Eheu fugaces… Silicon Valley<br>Lures to ambition's ulcer alley<br>Young graduates with siren screams<br>Of power and wealth beyond their dreams,<br>Ejects the lax, and drives the driven,<br>Burning their candles at both ends.<br>Thus files take precedence over friends,<br>Labor is lauded, leisure riven.<br>John kneels bareheaded and unshod<br>Before the Chip, a jealous God.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Vikram+Seth">Vikram Seth</a></strong></div>