One Hundred Poems, Volume II, Page 3

  #Gamergate as FBI priority

  Go to Twitter and search for #GamerGate,

  Go to MSNBC to hear Kathrine Clark prate,

  And I guess according to her this poem is hate.

  But the fact is that #GamerGate is a great click bait,

  There is a variety of opinions about it at any rate,

  So anyone with a head in their arse can blate.

  Thus the congresswoman gave her slate,

  A litany of horrible things with no weight,

  Without a single fact for us to hear and collate.

  Without realising it is not a task FBI alone can sate,

  She went along and demanded for them to act and berate,

  While what she needs is CIA to reach what she longs to negate.

  It is not just white male Americans that write on #Gate,

  Pretty much everyone takes a part in this debate,

  What #GamerGate does is just conflate.

  Even if one does not like the Twitter gait,

  Desire to send people to Guantanamo to wait,

  Is a little bit too much even from a feminist oblate.

  The interview showed incapability to interrelate,

  How men can be abused freely and it is great,

  I am aghast for this open sexism and hate.

  4/5th Direction

  Four fifths face crossroads,

  The tears of adolescence and mocking toads.

  The agony and joy ever so surreal,

  But all the hearts will eventually survive and heal.

  So check the posts on social media,

  As they shed off their sorrow and false anemia.

  Some years ahead this will repeat,

  A different band and you laugh on the back seat.

  Space Monkey

  Only an insignificant speck causing trouble,

  Now stands alone and forgotten amidst rubble.

  No more than a monkey armed with a silver staff,

  Yet somehow it terrifies us with its harrowing laugh.

  You have my command to fire,

  Let the orbital lasers sing in choir,

  Let that beast finally burn to cinders,

  Let the remains disappear as flinders.

  What, how can it be,

  What is that light we see,

  Oh no, embrace for...

  Old School Western

  Here I stand waiting,

  The clock is ticking,

  Heading to twelve,

  Ready to delve,

  And the kid,

  Rises to bid,

  Gun at his side,

  Head full of pride,

  He makes his draw,

  His death has no awe.

  Stereotypical Fantasy Villain

  How could I judge,

  When I understand your grudge,

  My action was no nudge,

  And it spurred you to this long trudge.

  So this is your chance,

  Draw a weapon and take your stance,

  Where is the gait of your prance,

  Stolen by fear you feel under my cold glance?

  So try and try as you wish,

  To me you are no more than flapping fish,

  Heed my heel for I shall squish,

  And now there is no one l-urk...

  ... What?

  ... How, impossible...

  ... No...

  No.

  Another World

  A cloud of solar dust,

  Formation of burning rust,

  Is what we would see on Earth,

  But we have travelled galactic girth,

  We see what has never been seen before,

  How a solar system spreads before,

  Twin stars and eight planets,

  Will you just look at that,

  And take of your hat?

  ( It looks silly. )

  Early bird

  I will sleep for ten minutes,

  I love you hun but good riddance,

  I need my face to face with a pillow,

  Wake me up again and anger shall billow.

  The Dead Fields (For a fantasy novel)

  Wind blows on the barren fields,

  Cold and I wonder if this is all it yields,

  Painting of brown dirt and yellow straws,

  Gnawed clear by the monster's maw,

  It is a disaster before winter,

  Not a grain left to splinter,

  And they turned for me,

  For what I do and see,

  But there is nothing,

  Nothing until spring,

  But how could they last,

  When faced by winter's frost?

  For what it's worth

  For what it's worth,

  A job in an organization is berth.

  For what it's worth,

  What we usually experience only once is our birth.

  For what it's worth,

  Is a sentence a pessimist describes as dearth.

 

  For what it's worth,

  We can assume most humans were born on earth.

  For what it's worth,

  You have acquired some extra girth.

  For what it's worth,

  There is an advice to unearth.

  Pillars of Eternity

  This really is a blast from gaming past,

  Something no one would have asked,

  A bucket of icy water to your brain,

  A diamond under a surface plain,

  Barrage of choices to be made,

  Options so carefully weighed,

  You do not know which to take,

  So it might take a moment or eight,

  As you choose whether to save or maim,

  While not bound by the binary choice of shame.

  And yes there were some issue with the poetry in game,

  Some wild accusations and declarations of blame,

  As some misread the target of a poetic jest,

  I guess it is okay as not all are blessed,

  With wits in their mind and basic empathy,

  Thus the poet behind the poem showed clemency,

  The offending rhymes were changed to a brand new set.

  Because this game is better than such low need to sweat,

  From a forced attempt to make it appear squalid,

  When the game itself is only solid,

  A package of tactical fun,

  A burst of fresh air under the sun,

  And I for one can only wait for the sequel,

  Because Pillars of Eternity offers experience unequal.

  I hate you

  I witness your tantrum,

  It is a bit of a conundrum,

  To hear those cries of dislike,

  Like a baseball bat used to strike,

  Verbal violence swung at its finest?

  But is it not still rather spineless,

  Because you could say more,

  To hurt and make me sore,

  To tear my fears open,

  And turn me broken.

  "I hate you."

  With no means to scoff,

  You are upset and pissed off,

  So your phrase of three words,

  Holds true for roughly two-thirds.

  The word hate could be swapped out,

  Replaced by any other shout,

  So I love you still,

  No ill will.

  Headache

  As I feel this pulsating pain,

  I face my opponent to verbal gain,

  How it is slowly driving me insane,

  Striking in surges of waves that fall like rain,

  Pounding and striking my mind ever and ever again,

  In my eyes I see the red spread from my vein,

  How I would give anything to abstain,

  But here it is and lingers on its reign,

  I struggle to hide and contain.

  Let me see

  A phrase both helpful and whiny,

  Used to fix cars
and see undergarments tiny,

  That explains the power of context,

  How the meaning depends on what we project,

  This leads to understanding of media,

  So we are not forced to absorb others' uremia,

  With news reports at best defective,

  It is most important to understand perspective,

  To gauge and measure the weights,

  That define our current information rates.

  Culture of rape?

  What turns a boy into a man,

  If not the act penetration of a woman?

  To some a sign how there exists a culture of rape,

  A fate which no woman could ever hope to escape.

  But here sits a lone adolescent boy in a locker room,

  Hearing those vivid tales of what the world presumes,

  How the only way to become a real man is by having sex,

  How it is required to be part of the group instead of a reject.

  So the pressure weights on his little shoulders,

  Day by day crushing him like heaviest boulders,

  Everything around tells only of one thing,

  Have sex or you are nothing.

  Insecurities he must hide as it is himself he hates,

  And if that boy happens to be straight,

  He can never admit to being gay,

  He cannot be seen that way.

  Thus his choices were all made for him,

  The very moment when someone showed interest in him,

  Surrounded by peers it matters not what he thinks of her,

  If he fails now he fears there will never be a chance another.

  Thus a moment of fumbling at best awkward,

  The boy sweats under blanket but remains cornered,

  His entire heart consumed by fears and social pressure,

  And then lies next to a stranger wondering if this is pleasure.

  It is supposed to be a milestone in his life,

  Yet the feelings of shame and dirtiness cut like a knife,

  So he huddles and gathers his clothes before sneaks away,

  He would have felt better masturbating; but it is something he can never say.

  Thus while his supposed success is greeted with praise,

  He is left alone with his doubts and both mind and gaze in haze,

  So he reasons to himself that sex is only a mechanical act,

  And some never discover truth behind that false fact.

  So if you are both a pedophile and a woman,

  You can claim to turn a boy into a man.

  And by the fault of their gender,

  They will have no defender.

  Not even a choice.

  So, any thoughts on the culture of rape?

  Hugo Awards 8.4.2015 4/8/2015

  I once wrote a science fiction book,

  It is out there if you want to have a look,

  And since nominations today became a hot topic,

  I wonder if I could get one on grounds philanthropic,

  As I assume that the Hugo rocket nomination,

  Would certainly bring a beneficial sales elation,

  And since my book is practically free to read,

  I am sure I would be a great enrollee.

  But who am I to kid,

  It'll never be for me to bid.

  (It is kind of too late.)

  Were I to sell renewable energy

  A politically loaded topic if there ever is one,

  But I always want to think of the long run.

  So I turn my gaze towards the sun,

  And no matter where I go; I cannot out run.

  So regardless of the monetary cost,

  Let us invest on the sun fingers crossed.

  Because our sun shall outlive us all,

  Past the moment last of us finally falls,

  Let us claim the endless energy of eternity,

  Let us redefine the pinnacle of modernity.

  Let us reach towards a brand new eclipse,

  The power of the sun on our finger tips.

  135 downloads

  I shiver to think,

  I dare not to blink,

  I go ready my drink,

  And raise it for a clink.

  Water in a big red mug.

  Far more than I ever thought,

  Is this that which I sought,

  Something I wrought?

  Water in a big red mug.