Computers are hierarchical. We have a desktop and hierarchical files which have to mean everything.
quote by Ted Nelson
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Files
Files
The Files -
Office Files !
Oblige me by referring to the Files.
Every question man can raise,
Every phrase of every phrase
Of that question is on record in the Files -
(Threshed out threadbare - fought and finished in the Files
Ere the Universe at large
Was our new-tipped arrows' targe -
Ere we rediscovered Mammon and his wiles
Faeza gentle reader, spent her-five-and-twentieth leader
(You will find him, and some others, in the Files).
Warn all coming Robert Brownings and Carlyles,
It will interest them to hunt among the Files
Where unvisited, a-cold,
Lie the crowded years of old
In that Kensal-Green of greatness called the Files
(In our newspaPère-la-Chaise the Office Files),
Where the dead men lay them down
Meekly sure of long renown,
And above them, sere and swift,
Packs the daily deepening drift
Of the all-recording, all-effacing Files
The obliterating, automatic Files.
Count the mighty men who slung
Ink, Evangel, Sword, or Tongue
When Reform and you were young
Made their boasts and spake according in the Files
(Hear the ghosts that wake applauding in the Files!)
Trace each all-forgot career
From long primer through brevier
Unto Death, a para minion in the Files
(Para minion-solid-bottom of the Files). . . .
Some successful Kings and Queens adorn the Files.
They were great, their views were leaded,
And their deaths were triple-headed,
So they catch the eye in running through the Files
(Show as blazes in the mazes of the Files);
For their 'paramours and priests,'
And their gross, jack-booted feasts,
And their 'epoch-marking actions' see the Files.
Was it Bomba fled the blue Sicilian isles?
Was it Saffi, a professor
Once of Oxford, brought redress or
Garibaldi? Who remembers
Forty-odd-year-old Septembers? -
Only sextons paid to dig among the Files (Such as I am, born and bred among the Files).
You must hack through much deposit
Ere you know for sure who was it
[...] Read more
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Danny Deever
"What are the bugles blowin' for?" said Files-on-Parade.
"To turn you out, to turn you out", the Colour-Sergeant said.
"What makes you look so white, so white?" said Files-on-Parade.
"I'm dreadin' what I've got to watch", the Colour-Sergeant said.
For they're hangin' Danny Deever, you can hear the Dead March play,
The regiment's in 'ollow square -- they're hangin' him to-day;
They've taken of his buttons off an' cut his stripes away,
An' they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'.
"What makes the rear-rank breathe so 'ard?" said Files-on-Parade.
"It's bitter cold, it's bitter cold", the Colour-Sergeant said.
"What makes that front-rank man fall down?" said Files-on-Parade.
"A touch o' sun, a touch o' sun", the Colour-Sergeant said.
They are hangin' Danny Deever, they are marchin' of 'im round,
They 'ave 'alted Danny Deever by 'is coffin on the ground;
An' 'e'll swing in 'arf a minute for a sneakin' shootin' hound --
O they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'!
"'Is cot was right-'and cot to mine", said Files-on-Parade.
"'E's sleepin' out an' far to-night", the Colour-Sergeant said.
"I've drunk 'is beer a score o' times", said Files-on-Parade.
"'E's drinkin' bitter beer alone", the Colour-Sergeant said.
They are hangin' Danny Deever, you must mark 'im to 'is place,
For 'e shot a comrade sleepin' -- you must look 'im in the face;
Nine 'undred of 'is county an' the regiment's disgrace,
While they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'.
"What's that so black agin' the sun?" said Files-on-Parade.
"It's Danny fightin' 'ard for life", the Colour-Sergeant said.
"What's that that whimpers over'ead?" said Files-on-Parade.
"It's Danny's soul that's passin' now", the Colour-Sergeant said.
For they're done with Danny Deever, you can 'ear the quickstep play,
The regiment's in column, an' they're marchin' us away;
Ho! the young recruits are shakin', an' they'll want their beer to-day,
After hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Columbiad: Book VI
The Argument
British cruelty to American prisoners. Prison Ship. Retreat of Washington with the relics of his army, pursued by Howe. Washington recrossing the Delaware in the night, to surprise the British van, is opposed by uncommon obstacles. His success in this audacious enterprise lays the foundation of the American empire. A monument to be ere on the bank of the Delaware. Approach of Burgoyne, sailing up the St. Laurence with an army of Britons and various other nations. Indignant energy of the colonies, compared to that of Greece in opposing the invasion of Xerxes. Formation of an army of citizens, under the command of Gates. Review of the American and British armies, and of the savage tribes who join the British standard. Battle of Saratoga. Story of Lucinda. Second battle, and capture of Burgoyne and his army.
But of all tales that war's black annals hold,
The darkest, foulest still remains untold;
New modes of torture wait the shameful strife,
And Britain wantons in the waste of life.
Cold-blooded Cruelty, first fiend of hell,
Ah think no more with savage hordes to dwell;
Quit the Caribian tribes who eat their slain,
Fly that grim gang, the Inquisitors of Spain,
Boast not thy deeds in Moloch's shrines of old,
Leave Barbary's pirates to their blood-bought gold,
Let Holland steal her victims, force them o'er
To toils and death on Java's morbid shore;
Some cloak, some color all these crimes may plead;
Tis avarice, passion, blind religion's deed;
But Britons here, in this fraternal broil,
Grave, cool, deliberate in thy service toil.
Far from the nation's eye, whose nobler soul
Their wars would humanize, their pride control,
They lose the lessons that her laws impart,
And change the British for the brutal heart.
Fired by no passion, madden'd by no zeal,
No priest, no Plutus bids them not to feel;
Unpaid, gratuitous, on torture bent,
Their sport is death, their pastime to torment;
All other gods they scorn, but bow the knee,
And curb, well pleased, O Cruelty, to thee.
Come then, curst goddess, where thy votaries reign,
Inhale their incense from the land and main;
Come to Newyork, their conquering arms to greet,
Brood o'er their camp and breathe along their fleet;
The brother chiefs of Howe's illustrious name
Demand thy labors to complete their fame.
What shrieks of agony thy praises sound!
What grateless dungeons groan beneath the ground!
See the black Prison Ship's expanding womb
Impested thousands, quick and dead, entomb.
Barks after barks the captured seamen bear,
Transboard and lodge thy silent victims there;
A hundred scows, from all the neighboring shore,
Spread the dull sail and ply the constant oar,
Waft wrecks of armies from the well fought field,
And famisht garrisons who bravely yield;
[...] Read more
poem by Joel Barlow
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You Make It All Worthwhile
He arrives home. he fumbles in his
Pockets for his keys but there is no
Need. andrea is waiting to greet him
With open arms.
Wife:
Hello love. you look all worn out!
Let me take your brief case. thats a
Good boy. now you come and sit down
Ouer here and relax and Ill make you
A nice cuppa tea. then well have
Dinner and we can sit and watch the
Tele. by the way dear, howd you get
On at the office.
You make it all worthwhile
I mustnt stay in this job too long
I gotta get out before the hold is too strong
Gotta get out before my ambition is gone
cos its breaking me up and bringing me down.
But when I get home you make it all worthwhile,
You make me laugh and you make me smile
And after a hard day sorting out the files
You make it all worthwhile.
Wife:
Oh, Ive just remembered weve only got shepherds pie,
Do you like it?
Star:
No, I hate it.
Wife:
Hate it? but you see norman loves it so much and you did ask me to
Act normally, didnt you. I mean I cant cope with all that
Fancy stuff you like to eat.
Star:
Alright, Ill eat it and afterwards, Ill write a whole verse about
Your cooking.
You mustnt blame yourself like you do,
Its gonna make a nervous wreck out of you,
So wipe your nose and dry your eyes,
Whats the point of cracking up all because of shepherds pie?
Baby, you never know what Ive been through.
I break my back and sweat and slave
To bring some money home to you.
Baby, you wont believe it but its true
What a boring occupation can do,
It can make a nervous wreck out of you,
It can kill your spirit and destroy your mind.
But when I get home you make it all worthwhile.
You make me laugh and you make me smile
And after a hard day sorting out the files
You make it all worthwhile.
Wife:
[...] Read more
song performed by Kinks
Added by Lucian Velea
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Linux Concept(.SVCPD)
Name: Standardize Version Compatible Package Deployment.
Goals: 1. Make All Software On Linux Compatible By A Version Standard.
a: By this if you name something name_x.x.x.(1) and something else of the same version will not conflict with it. Only the number in the brackets will be important for this standardisation. Allow the software creators, programmers, and designers to state what stage the software is in. Why because I believe good organisation will produce better coding. Not just clean code, but clean files that call upon that code.
b: The inner compatibility is important an key. Why are Linux competing against each other? Why is it not a joint effort in it's entirety? Now I'm not speaking of their design or how something works by itself but with other and completely different software. Now imagine for a second if you wanted something that wasn't on you current os (Operating System) , but was on another Linux. Wouldn't it be nice if you could install their package. Without having to rebuilding the source to a package, compiling natively, or having to worry about if it will conflict with any of your currently installed files.
Now the third part of the version number name_x.x.2.x Let it describe the hardware it will work with. Let this number be tested and proven before it is given and if it not let the number clarify what hardware it is for and state it hasn't been completely tested yet. Thus the alpha betas what ever you want call them. Now the second number let it define a controlled listing of bugs/errors. And
let the very first number describe the current version of the modification in code or design.
Next let us add another number x.x.x.x -x
To describe any unavoidable conflicts in detail and to keep a listing of them of files in a specific version type.
Another thing I want from this packaging software.
Is the ability to covert packages between different types.
And upon conversion to.SVCPD I want it automatically generate this version number. I want to it access a database and return a number that describes everything I listed above. I want the user to see what will work, what won't, and explanation why other then just an error code. Or a compiler code. We need to make Linux more user friendly. But not in the eye candy sort of way. But instead in the usability way. Make it to where you can almost install any software on Linux within reason. I want to make it where the design of an operating system is more important then the window environment.
And it is already happening for alot operating systems already have multiple window environments installed.
Another goal is to have the software packaged in.SVCPD to no matter what software environment it is installed it calls upon files from that environment and has a gui interface of that environment. And it not to be necessary to install a different environment for it.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Fly On The Wall
(colin moulding)
I am the fly on the wall,
My prying eyes are looking through your bottom drawer.
I just came flying through your door,
You didnt notice that your number had been called.
I see the mother whos beating the babe,
I see the money,
The pennies you save,
Stored on computers,
From birth to the grave.
The fly on the wall,
Hes seeing it all.
I am the fly upon the wall,
Youre in the index of the files that stand so tall.
Although your health is rather poor,
We have a place for those who cannot find a cure.
I know your income,
Your daily crust,
I know your pleasures,
Your passion,
Your lust,
I know when youre living and I know when youre dust.
The fly on the wall,
Hes seeing it all.
One is born and one will die, its all understood
The bit thats in the middle doesnt count
I am the fly on the wall,
My prying eyes are looking through your bottom drawer.
I just came flying through your door,
You didnt notice that your number had been called.
I see the mother whos beating the babe,
I see the money,
The pennies you save,
Stored on computers,
From birth to the grave.
The fly on the wall,
Hes seeing it all. I am the fly
I am the fly upon the wall,
Youre in the index of the files that stand so tall.
Although your health is rather poor,
We have a place for those who cannot find a cure.
I know your income,
Your daily crust,
I know your pleasures,
Your passion,
Your lust,
I know when youre living and I know when youre dust.
The fly on the wall,
Hes seeing it all.
song performed by Xtc
Added by Lucian Velea
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Fly On The Wall
(colin moulding)
I am the fly on the wall,
My prying eyes are looking through your bottom drawer.
I just came flying through your door,
You didnt notice that your number had been called.
I see the mother whos beating the babe,
I see the money,
The pennies you save,
Stored on computers,
From birth to the grave.
The fly on the wall,
Hes seeing it all.
I am the fly upon the wall,
Youre in the index of the files that stand so tall.
Although your health is rather poor,
We have a place for those who cannot find a cure.
I know your income,
Your daily crust,
I know your pleasures,
Your passion,
Your lust,
I know when youre living and I know when youre dust.
The fly on the wall,
Hes seeing it all.
One is born and one will die, its all understood
The bit thats in the middle doesnt count
I am the fly on the wall,
My prying eyes are looking through your bottom drawer.
I just came flying through your door,
You didnt notice that your number had been called.
I see the mother whos beating the babe,
I see the money,
The pennies you save,
Stored on computers,
From birth to the grave.
The fly on the wall,
Hes seeing it all. I am the fly
I am the fly upon the wall,
Youre in the index of the files that stand so tall.
Although your health is rather poor,
We have a place for those who cannot find a cure.
I know your income,
Your daily crust,
I know your pleasures,
Your passion,
Your lust,
I know when youre living and I know when youre dust.
The fly on the wall,
Hes seeing it all.
song performed by Xtc
Added by Lucian Velea
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Every Little Thing She Does
Freshman year mama asked waht do you wanna
do when you get out of here.
i said well gee, i'm only 13, but i think i'd like to play my guitar
be a star
She well thats not it you got some time to go
good sense will kick in any time you know.
i'm not worried, i'm not worried
Softmore year she asked the same old thing,
my answer had remained unchanged
i saw her fidgit with her thumbs,
she said you like computers John, you like computers don't you
you see i always see with a computer you like computers
maybee you could do something with computers yea wouldn't that be nice
Junior year, its a little more tense she says,
what do you want to do with your life?
i'm not on the fence i know exactly what i am to be
and i'm only 17.
she well all i ask is that you pay attention in class,
so if you happen to xhange your mind in time you can still go
so where reputible, do us proud.
so i went down stairs and played the guitar loud.
yea and senior its the same old question
she said what you wanna do?
i said play my guitar and sing, she said theres no such thing,
she said thers no such thing
song performed by John Mayer
Added by Lucian Velea
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Blue Collar Workers
Blue collar workers feeling used.
And being replaced,
By a robotic hasted pace.
Blue collar workers feeling used,
And moved...
From an assembled human touch,
To programmed computers...
More effective as tools.
Blue collar workers feeling used,
And moved...
From positions that were sacrificed,
To improve what they do.
Automated are these times,
And cheap labor too!
Booted by computers that leave nothing to do,
For the blue collar workers,
Feeling used and abused.
Delete.
Don't need.
Delete.
Don't need.
Booted by computers that leave nothing to do,
For the blue collar workers,
Feeling used and abused.
Blue collar workers feeling used,
And moved...
From positions that were sacrificed,
To improve what they do.
Automated are these times,
And cheap labor too!
Delete.
Don't need.
Delete.
Don't need.
Booted by computers that leave nothing to do,
For the blue collar workers,
Feeling used and abused.
Delete.
Don't need.
Delete.
Don't need.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Its All About The Pentiums
Its all about the pentiums, baby
Uhh, uh-huh, yeah
Uhh, uh-huh, yeah
Its all about the pentiums, baby
Its all about the pentiums, baby
Its all about the pentiums! (its all about the pentiums, baby)
Its all about the pentiums! (its all about the pentiums, baby)
Yeah
What yall wanna do?
Wanna be hackers? code crackers? slackers
Wastin time with all the chatroom yakkers?
9 to 5, chillin at hewlett packard?
Workin at a desk with a dumb little placard?
Yeah, payin the bills with my mad programming skills
Defraggin my hard drive for thrills
I got me a hundred gigabytes of ram
I never feed trolls and I dont read spam
Installed a t1 line in my house
Always at my pc, double-clickin on my mizouse
Upgrade my system at least twice a day
Im strictly plug-and-play, I aint afraid of y2k
Im down with bill gates, I call him money for short
I phone him up at home and I make him do my tech support
Its all about the pentiums, what?
Youve gotta be the dumbest newbie Ive ever seen
Youve got white-out all over your screen
You think your commodore 64 is really neato
What kinda chip you got in there, a dorito?
Youre usin a 286? dont make me laugh
Your windows boots up in what, a day and a half?
You could back up your whole hard drive on a floppy diskette
Youre the biggest joke on the internet
Your database is a disaster
Youre waxin your modem, tryin to make it go faster
Hey fella, I bet youre still livin in your parents cellar
Downloadin pictures of sarah michelle gellar
And postin me too! like some brain-dead aol-er
I should do the world a favor and cap you like old yeller
Youre just about as useless as jpegs to hellen keller
Its all about the pentiums! (its all about the pentiums, baby)
Its all about the pentiums! (its all about the pentiums, baby)
Its all about the pentiums! (its all about the pentiums, baby)
Its all about the pentiums! (its all about the pentiums, baby)
Now, what yall wanna do?
Wanna be hackers? code crackers? slackers
Wastin time with all the chatroom yakkers?
9 to 5, chillin at hewlett packard?
Uh, uh, loggin in now
Wanna run wit my crew, hah?
Rule cyberspace and crunch numbers like I do?
[...] Read more
song performed by Weird Al Yankovic
Added by Lucian Velea
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Grave Retrospective
Possessions' progression obsession
poor more, more than best less, must draw
conclusions mistaken, impression
that wealth over health sets the score
for worth on our earth where aggression's
too often condoned by the law,
where success seems a sterile succession
of trangressions that ravage rapports.
This seems tantamount to retrogression
where blunderbuss plunder makes war
where arrogant ego expression
is excuse for abuse all abhor.
Who lusts for a trophy procession
to celebrate, victory's roar,
finds vain remains reign, dispossession,
cyclic atrophy squanders life's store.
Where vice is held virtue, concession
signals weakness, destruction in store,
where thinly disguised indiscretion
pours rewards upon traitor or whore,
where equity's lacks intercession
from power base raw's bloody maw
it is hard to ignore the suppression
of freedom, true rue rotten core.
Where equity finds no reflection
in the eyes of corrupt judge explore
when and how most lost sense of direction,
surrendered control, and deplore
political moral defection,
dereliction of duty, closed door,
or puppet string rigging election,
democracy hard to restore.
Once life's flow more than permanence counted,
Nature guided intemporal tide,
no need for race, steed to be mounted,
no seed but would blossom beside
scheme stream of unconscious connections
as each was in all, all in each, -
no need for trace, gain, greed, projections,
for constrictive force frontiers of speech.
Once no part of the whole was discounted
as second-class link in life's chain,
each link was completely accounted
as interdependent to gain
from Time time to evolve, never static,
[...] Read more
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Rated X
Blazing steel on the horizon
In the desert
Forces like the ultimate poseidon
The arrival
Although it burns your eyes
The government denies
Rated x
Not allowed to know
Its rated x
No files to show
The men in power call you liars
Its suppression
They say you never saw it so forget it
All oppression
Theyre passing on the lies
The bunkers full of files
Rated x
You better not care
Its rated x
The facts are somewhere out there
Can we ever trust each other
To believe in
They keep the information under cover
Its not needed
The legacy is born
They classify us all
Rated x
Not allowed to know
Its rated x
No files to show
Rated x
You better not care
Its rated x
The facts are somewhere out here
Rated x
Its rated x
song performed by U. D. O.
Added by Lucian Velea
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Oh, the Sight Entrancing
Oh, the sight entrancing,
When morning's beam is glancing
O'er files array'd
With helm and blade,
And plumes in the gay wind dancing!
When hearts are all high beating
And the trumpet's voice repeating
That song, whose breath
May lead to death,
But never to entreating.
Oh, the sight entrancing,
When morning's beam is glancing
O'er files array'd
With helm and blade,
And plumes in the gay wind dancing!
Yet, tis not helm or feather --
For ask yon despot, whether
His plumed bands
Could bring such hands
And hearts as ours together.
Leave pomps to those who need 'em --
Give man but heart and freedom,
And proud he braves
The gaudiest slaves
That crawl where monarchs lead 'em.
The sword may pierce the beaver,
Stonewalls in time may sever,
'Tis mind alone,
Worth steel and stone,
That keeps men free for ever.
Oh, that sight entrancing,
When the morning's beam is glancing,
O'er files array'd
With helm and blade,
And in Freedom's cause advancing!
poem by Thomas Moore
Added by Poetry Lover
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The 'Poem' Project
Trying to convert poems, one format to another, plenty of headaches and bother.
A good friend helped with the issue, probably wished he hadn't agreed to.!
We weren't exactly the 'computer generation', as we tried to find a solution.
After all it couldn't be hard, so we thought, a lesson we'd be taught.! !
Discussing the problem, telephone and email, it became the 'holy grail'.
Formatting, copy, paste and scans, ideas, theories and part plans.!
Information read, advice requested, the 'poem' project we underestimated!
Errors, glitches, testing and trials, through scratching heads and 'gritted' smiles.
Bad and some good luck, we'd get a bit cocky, then again we got stuck!
Short lived success and celebrations, then frustrations and exasperations.,
One step forward, then three or four back, deep breaths, and a 'renewed attack'.!
Down loads, files, programmes, amid the the mental tantrums.
At our wits end, those computers sent us round the bend.
Those silicon chip sods, laughed at us like demon 'gods'.
At our attempts to solve the issue, as frustrations grew!
Settings and defaults, oh memories of old 'nuts 'n' bolts'! !
Those days were long gone, back to deciphering the silicone,
Frowns and mental anguish, those digital rascals had a 'death wish'.
Finding a solution mattered, in the process we got our heads battered.
On and on we battled, until the problem was settled.
Success came of our endeavours, against those callous computers.
It had been haphazard, hours on the mouse and keyboard.
Mentally battered and physically drained, our 'mouse fingers' strained.!
Twitches and withdrawn faces, those contraptions put us through our paces.
Our 'thousand yard stares', ready are our slippers, gowns, rocking chairs.
For that rest home and T.V. room, we may be occupying very soon.!
poem by Guy Lipmore
Added by Poetry Lover
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Stephen Frye
Steve Frye,
is it possible to run
a private equity firm
without causing harm?
without investing
in slaughterhouses,
ecocide, and arms?
Is it possible to write
books without highly graphic
descriptions of violence?
Is it possible to write books
without a main character
who advances strip malls
and porn corporations,
sports teams with spectators
guzzling beer,
casinos which fleece the sheeple?
Is it possible to write books
without giving the villains
Irish, Italian, and German names..
as if you are still fighting WW2?
Is it possible to write books
without a commercial for animal
flesh in every chapter?
Is it possible to discuss the
JFK assassination without
impugning the character of
truthseeker Jim Garrison?
without promoting the CIA
lie that Oswald was
a Russian Marxist?
Is it possible that the FBI
and its author pawns
can admit the truth of
the past? Hoover's
role in JFK's murder,
Mark Felt's role
in the Watergate frame?
Mueller's role in
the crucifixion of ELF
nonviolent activists?
Mukasey's role in
waging illegal
and violent wars?
[...] Read more
poem by O. Anna Niemus
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Man is not a machine... Although man most certainly processes information, he does not necessarily process it in the way computers do. Computers and men are not species of the same genus... However much intelligence computers may attain, now or in the furture, theirs must always be an intelligence alien to genuine human problems and concerns.
quote by Joseph Weizenbaum
Added by Lucian Velea
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That's the new way - with computers, computers, computers. That's the way we can have the cell survive and get some new information in high resolution. We started about five years ago and, today, I think we have reached the target.
quote by Lennart Nilsson
Added by Lucian Velea
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People don't understand computers. Computers are magical boxes that do things. People believe what computers tell them.
quote by Bruce Scheneier
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REALIZATION OF ROMANIAN COMPUTERS - In the period 1955-1957, ROMANIA designed and built its first digital electronic computer (1957, CIFA 1 computer), by a team led by Victor Toma, at the Institute of Atomic Physics (IFA ) - Magurele Bucharest. After 1970 followed the construction of Romanian electronic computers FELIX C series at the ICE Felix Electronic Computers Factory based on licenses purchased from the Dutch company FRIDEN and CII, a French private company created in 1966, within the French government project Plan Calcul, in the time of Charles de Gaulle.
Marin Vlada in ROINFO Romanian Informatics 2018-2022
Added by Marin Vlada
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Back Door Side Door Front Door: Which Door Might A Confucian Take?
for René Etiemble (Jan.26,1909 - Jan.2002) *
Barely a few speechless moments before your first words
burned the « Coplas por la muerte de su padre »:
‘Nuestras vidas son los ríos
que van a dar en la mar,
que es el morir;
………………………………
y llegados, son iguales
los que viven por sus manos
y los ricos.'
Is the open back door which emboldens courage
No untarnished name to be remembered by
No selfless mate to lay by your honour
No issue laying about themselves for your prize
Decidedly it was a door of stealth
As if choosing it you let it be known
you were only merely passing by
and stopped to hang your hat here for a while
Yet you let your kin and callers believe
your whims were worth putting up with
your mischievous tantrums and gripes
merely the mental athlete's unwinding antics
The poïetic birth pangs of imminent glory
just the mounting stones in the monumental lighthouse
that ages from hence would pick forth
your works your unfathomable literary resource
You upheld dozens who did leave behind a name
a lasting name not quite torn from solitary pain
Yet who could deny you could have bettered their fame
What undisclosed pain you harboured in your brain
Oh so strangely were you endowed with the intelligence
of the Chun Tzu - that uncanny eagle's scan
To rout out of the mazes of your students' past lives
just that one passqge through their Tierra del Fuego
But then you who completely espoused the rigours
of that step by step mounting of respectful steps
Were unsparing in your demands of adherence
to old Master Kung's hierarchical obedience
An open hand ready to sign any cheque
to succour the caller's needs
[...] Read more
poem by T. Wignesan
Added by Poetry Lover
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