First of all - you should just do a thing
because that thing to do is right.
But if it takes a second poke
Let it ride just once I might.
But a third- beware the consequence
You know I know you knew it.
There will be hell to pay - you lazy bum
If you don’t goddamn go forth and do it!
Get it? :)
Wishing for you, yearning,
Looking upon you and reading those horrifying words.
Why? Why do you do this to me?
Those five words I dread each time I spend time with you:
“Unable to Connect to the Internet.”
I know I have sold my soul to these corporate gods
And they own all the content in my head.
I should be a good girl and let it go
When other mortals claim my thoughts instead.

But here’s the thing....

Idea struck I’ll make a grand proposal
Or write some forward thinking code myself.
Be complimented for my Dionysian passion but
They deem it impossible and place it on a shelf.

Discouraged I’ll admit defeat
Even while it burns like a Promethean flame.
Then years down the road I’ll discover
My work rewarded under a naysayers name!

<soothsayer>
But wait a sec, before we get all self-righteous, girly - let's be totally honest.  

Yeah, you might have predicted a couple things years before they took off - and nobody believed that they could ever work.  Yeah, some guy took your dead code and put it in another product and that product ended up taking off.  Yeah - nobody gave you any credit for thinking of any of it first or for giving them the original idea.  But - dude - clearly you didn't want to own or drive these ideas anyway, you didn't keep trying when someone shot you down the first time you brought any of them up.  You just enjoy sprinkling pixie dust ideas around and then get offended when nobody remembers where they came from.

And let's get real -  cookies are for closers, princess.  Cassandra's a loser who didn't try hard enough to sell her ideas too and it drove her freaking insane.  Is that who you want to be?  Try again.
</soothsayer>

It's probably partly (or all?) my fault
Shameless self promotion is my Achilles heel
And once the ideas are dismissed as crazy
My confidence to own them loses all appeal.
  
Rather than courting madness in lack of praise
That I wish to call on Zeus and all his might
I should take five steps back and look again ..
Isn't it still pretty cool to know that I'd been right?

Can't it be pretty great to have inspired epics -
And made suggestions that will influence history?
Can't it be enough to know my contributions mattered?
Forget Cassandra - I'll be Calliope!

<soothsayer>
But if you can't get over your pride
Remember you have one wild card -
Next time you have that great idea -
Just patent it - or create some prior art!

Also - please stop comparing yourself to tragic Greek princesses and muses, it is pretentious.
</soothsayer>
The soothsayer knows me too well :)  

I do have this inner conflict though with wanting credit and praise for things when I only mentioned them but didn't actually push them through.  Need to work on confidence in the face of adversity I suppose, or settle to just give my ideas away for free for the greater good without getting bitter about not getting credit.  Working on it! :)
Gordon Ramsay decided to pay a visit to Mel's Diner.
When he criticized Mel's food, Mel gave him a shiner.
Now Mel wears an eyepatch because Ramsay jabbed him in the eye with a fork.
He hated Mel's beef and had to have his stomach pumped when he ate Mel's pork.
Ramsay didn't like the waitresses so he told Mel that they had to go.
After years of faithful service, Mel fired Alice, Vera and Flo.
Flo was so angry that she was chomping at the bit.
She told Mel and Gordon Ramsay to kiss her grits.
Ramsay finally had to give up on Mel because his food is so terrible.
Ramsay's job is to help restaurants but he can't perform miracles.
This poem was inspired by the 'Alice' TV show
Padded Paws
Quirky Smile
Tip Tapping Claws
Skipping Fool
Knotted Fur
Jumping Attention
Everything Else A Blur
Funny Puppy
Extension of Love
Beyond Enough
Love I Hold
For The
Quirky
Funny
Puppy
Romeo
What is right,
Is not left,
It is pushed,
Face first into a wall,
As slowly,
It begins to fall,
It isn't usually used,
And if it is, it's abused.
Because people use it to mess around,
So right format is bound,
To not be useful,
It is old not youthful,
But in the end,
It will still be there,
At the perfect moment,
At the right time.
Continuing the format poems, now right format.  This is the RIGHTful end!
Mr Uku 7d
My friend Sue
Did a great big poo
In the middle of the street
Cos she couldn’t find a loo

Now she’s locked in jail
Where she poos in a pail
So please learn a lesson
From this very sad tale
The lesson is, don't poo in the street.
Some people have been trying to find the metaphor in this poem. There isn't one. I don't understand them. It's just about poo.
Dude - totally don't read or watch Thirteen Reasons Why
again - unless you seriously want - or need - a reason to cry.

Like every day.  Like a freaking ugly-cry sob-monster.  For 13 days.  

Dude, come on.  Remember the times.

Remember how you'll cry for like for a week after you think it's an awesome idea to buy the soundtrack from iTunes and listen to that Lord Huron song on repeat eleventy-hundred times.

Pick a comedy special (or anything else) instead.  Netflix has like a mega-jillion of them.  Poll your friends which ones don't suck and make a list.  Hell, rewatch Black Mirorr or Arrested Development.  Or totes - Flight of the Conchords! You have choices, dude.  

I know it's an amazingly well written book and a brilliantly done series.  Don't rationalize based on your cinematic expertise.  Reliving your high school experience and temporarily undoing years of therapy isn't worth it.  Don't be a dummy.  

Keep your eyes on the prize.  Remember there's always money in the banana stand and that they are illusions - tricks are something that whores do for money.   You can use your time so much more wisely.  Damn it, how long has it been since you watched This is the End?  It's time to bust that classic out, dude.  You can't beat Rogen and the guy from How to Train Your Dragon.

Get it off your kindle now.  Don't think you won't regress because you already read and saw it once.  Write a program or tell Alexa to show this warning if you try to pick it off Netflix.  Or better yet, write it to redirect to Parks and Rec or 30 Rock.  Remember how you're going to Knope and Lemon your way through your career.  Get inspired, don't get sad.  Don't think back on loser high school and how traumatic it was.  You're better than that dude.

Dude, simply be amused by how many times you called yourself dude.  Isn't that way more fun than crying for 2 weeks?
I've been toying with rewatching 13 Reasons Why - I watched a year ago when it came out - even though it affected me unlike most anything I've ever watched before ever.  This is not really a poem but more of a humorous attempt to talk myself out of it.  Both the book and series are very well done - but if you can identify with the subject matter it is easy to get back into a bad kind of headspace.
I hitch a ride on the Battle Bus,
Everyone else jumped out, I must.
I deploy my parachute below,
I glide my way to Moisty Meadow.
As I land I slurp some shields,
Extra health and a pistol I wield.
I loot the houses and kill the squads,
Which would not be possible without my mods.
I run from the storm throughout the game,
I post on the 'Gram that I won for fame.
Everyone that saw my Victory Royale,
Commented below and said "Dang, Wow!"
Now that I won, I'm the coolest around,
I walk down the halls with a figurative crown.
Aaron LA Lux Feb 15
Met a girl on Tinder,
fck it we’re all Winners,
not thirsty but I’m starvin’,
so baby tell me what’s for dinner,

what’s in the oven where’s the lovin’,
give it all to me raw no apologies no filter,
it’s V-Day I’m as depressed as I am on my B-Day,
still giving you raw lines uncut with no filler,

and yeah Love gives life,
but she’s also a killer,
stupid Cupid’s got me dreaming lucid,
still I feel salty as a Biblical pillar,

like Lot’s wife in that one verse,
in Genesis 19,
yeah I guess lots is how much love hurts,
get healed then hurt again,

kinda like my life on Tinder,
swipe left swipe left swipe right,
kinda like Duck Duck Goose or Musical Chairs,
not looking for a lifetime just looking for a night,

a temporary solution to a permanent problem,
some foreign aid in the form of a band-aid on my bleeding heart,
can’t fix the problem but sure can relief the symptoms,
at least for the night when we forget this earth and get lost in the stars,

so I’m searching,
swiping on that Tinder app,
hoping to find true love,
or at least something that resembles that,

because my hearts got some holes,
and I’m hoping someone can fill them,
like my souls got some demons,
and I’m hoping someone can kill them,

what’s happened to society,
and how’d we all get so lonely,
especially in the age of social networking,
everything seems superficial even this poem feels phony,

like when I get liked on Tinder,
and I reply with “We matched want to meet up”,
and I pretend I’m fine with no worries,
when really I’m feeling totally beat up,

Jesus,
don’t know if I can come step back from this ledge,
feeling frozen paralyzed like a bad app,
when you can’t scroll so you just refresh,

and get a whole new lists or prospects,
a whole new set of potential matches,
another chance to build something grand,
out of the burned past and all it’s ashes,

and that’s when,
I come back to the present,
now where were we oh yeah,
it was Valentine’s Day and I was on Tinder again…

Met a girl on Tinder,
fck it we’re all Winners,
not thirsty but I’m starvin’,
so baby tell me what’s for dinner,

what’s in the oven where’s the lovin’,
give it all to me raw no apologies no filter,
it’s V-Day I’m as depressed as I am on my B-Day,
still giving you raw lines uncut with no filler…

∆ LaLux ∆
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