08.28.02 [Foreman, Eat the Verdict]
I scored another convert earlier this week —
At last seduced my boss onto our side.
Oh, not that; the appliance that I speak
Of's not the toaster oven. No, this pride
Is for another chef who's made the slide
Into the camp of good George Foreman's grill!
A Foreman fan I've been for months now. Why'd
I take so long to let this grand thing fill
My happy tummy? Infomercials. Still,
The cheap price and cheap marketing disguised
A wonderful device that fits its bill
Of tasty, fast, and lean. I'm not surprised
If you have gone the yummy route I've gone.
08.22.02 [Idol Reverie]
How can a show so bad a recipe
Must have been used to make such perfect gruel
Become the thing this nation's folk must see?
Why are the television gods so cruel?
The two lame hosts look like they're still in school
And one judge inexplicably is mean
Beyond belief. Why do the millions drool
As a parade of amateurs on screen
Perform dull worn-out songs? Good lord, I've seen
Better TV by high-schoolers, and yet
All the attention paid it grows obscene.
A sense of taste cannot forgive this debt,
Nor can this awful program's sad, drab rule
Be pardoned for the sake of Miss Abdul.
08.18.02 [Gojira is Attacking Civility!]
A monster from Japan by name of Toho
Indignantly has dropped a legal bomb
Upon Davezilla, whose free-wheeling mojo
It would eradicate. Did this site glom
The creature-maker's money mill, its nom
D'affaires? Oh, please. No person with a grain
Of sense would e'er mistake this man's .com
For part of the big lizard's oeuvre. Sane
Observers also know the site's no bane
To Toho's revenues. Some speculate
A browser maker is in fact the main
End target of the legal move. Now, wait:
If Toho fears its cred and name are sick
Why doesn't it sue Roland Emmerich?
08.17.02 [The Accidental Deist]
(Which for a week can be perused for free)
Explores the puzzling, mesmerizing rhymes
Or reasons of Coincidence, to see
If big collisions of events could be
A plot or just the way that random chance
Is seen by those affected personally
By stumbles of an unpredicted dance.
Does human need to find patterns enhance
The pointless play of life? Thus it connects
A shape from scattered dots of circumstance
To make some sense. A studier suspects,
"It shows the stupid power of personal
Involvement" over being rational.
Once, in greater Washington, D.C.,
I visited Jack, but could not figure where
To find another friend I wished to see.
So I gave up, no energy to spare.
Meanwhile, a dinner treat I longed to share
Eluded me as well — could not recall
The name or locale of a restaurant there
That focused on delicious chili. All
The Web was put to work to break the wall
That kept the goodies from me. Finally,
We found a likelihood (too close to call)
Hard Times Cafe could be my eatery.
It was a different address in the end —
But we went in and saw my long-lost friend.
I was amazed and stunned; I shook my head
More than the day I went to Alcatraz
And (glory be!) an old co-worker said
Hello — he lives in Kentucky. It has
Been witnessed much, this accidental jazz.
But the conclusion I just cannot reach
Is that Coincidence's grand pizazz
Must be the God that many folks beseech.
I'm not the first to make this kind of speech.
Said Rush: "Why does it happen?" then "Because
It happens." So although it is a breech
Of etiquette, I have to flap my jaws
And say I see no God, no grand design
When unrelated things seem to align.
If you see cosmic matters differently,
That's fine so long as you do not impose
Beliefs of you on unbelieving me.
Wait, "unbelieving"? No, I now expose
That I believe and brashfully propose
Coincidence itself's the Higher Power.
For if it's lashing out, or in repose,
Coincidence propels our every hour.
As gods go, though, Luck doesn't earn a tower:
No church, no Latin prayer, no gutted goat
Can sway it. But this need not make you dour
That mighty Fate's aloof, immune, remote.
For if a deity won't cut a deal
That means that we can take the steering wheel.
08.15.02 [It Begins]
From out of nowhere, and yet all at once,
I was thinking, as I nearly never am,
Of poetry, at which I'm quite the dunce.
But one fine day it hit from all sides — wham!
A project scope my mind began to cram.
Consider: you get pearls from oysters, yet
You cannot ever get one from a clam.
Accordingly, is not a sure-fire bet
That half-dead mutant snails could helm a jet
Before an upstart novice could sustain
A weblog wholly upon sonnets set?
There surely must be thumbtacks in his brain
For him to dare to think he'd pull it off.
(The doubt is more than fair, so feel free — scoff.)
But let me share the sources of this scheme.
To start, when Jane's site I stopped to peruse
A note made thoughts of poems begin to seem
Appealing. EW gave me further news
Of pages where in no form but haikus
The spawn of Hollywood is oft reviewed.
And thus in idle thought I can't excuse
About poetic forms online I stewed
And realized firmly toward haiku they're skewed;
With such complete fixation placed upon it,
My unrepentant noggin reasoned, you'd
Assume instead that someone might try sonnet
In novel ways — no wait, a novel's prose —
To say and weigh what reaches eyes, ears, nose.
But lest I be remiss and further wait,
Let's credit one enormous latent seed,
A work by Vikram Seth, The Golden Gate.
In time and greatness did it well precede
This dubious trifle here. I swear you need
To read this thing. Its modern tale takes place
In San Francisco; its events proceed
Throughout the book through sonnets. Just in case
This notion scares, the fear please try to face.
The solid story's cast of players engage.
Though you may not know limericks from lace
I think you'll eagerly turn every page.
(How could I love Seth's effort any worse?
Just look: I've given it all of a verse.)
So since no weblog that I've seen devotes
Itself to sonnet form (but if there's one
I've missed, I send apologetic notes),
And since I crave some new creative fun
(Those muscles atrophy since Dojo's done),
Oh hell, let's take a shot. I'll lower the bar
By issuing disclaimer: days could run
A few without an entry, and you are
Aware I have another 'blog that's far
Less stringent in its word-arrangement needs.
I'll oft default to that so I don't mar
This work by forcing things in till it bleeds.
You see, I can already clearly tell:
To keep a sonnet going's hard as hell.
But damn torpedoes! Let no fear commenser
Try to dissuade me from my idiot plan.
Behold, with care I choose sub-format Spenser
Because I like the rhyme scheme, not the man
And I'm no Yeats, no Dickinson, no Jewel;
Maybe I'm not even Duran Duran
As practicers of poetry go. But you'll
Forgive me please, I hope, and be one who'll
Chance Vogon odds and come to see what dross
Or maybe even wonders sometimes spool
Out of these structured stanzas. It's no loss
For me to take a flailing stab at beauty.
My strange, neglected muse compels my duty.
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