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"harkness" poems
Trolling Amazon I found my inner Kurtz Harrison foreswore my bear totem: darkness Lady gal pal taught me soul-mating hurts Martha Muffins vinyl v. Kirby’s Agatha Harkness Saved my twins made them productive Mutating FF X to Avengers indie 80s on me take Man-starring all the boogie children say code this grandpa Gaiman Miller Moore Morrison invade Waid Wrightson Kaluta Jones Smith put bronze to paint McKean Sienkiewicz Mack Maleev mimic The Studio Now let’s gallery our portals strung from kid dimensions Makers engaging history NOW NEW 52 intervals starstruck Spread indie throughout known multiverse in craft crooks While nursing nannies coddle light corners scuttling roaches Bell & Schrödinger's cat transport trainspotting to a fine art
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Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 12:03 AM UTC
Eureka a-ha Pop
O Captain! My Captain An agent of Time Set out on a mission, That went all but fine. Two years of memories All down the drain Two new friends left him Near as soon as they came After a battle between Dalek and man This in a sense, Was his last stand. He came, he conquered He fell, and rose Abandoned by friends To fend for his own Back in time he went, And stuck once again, Our Captain seemed doomed To live on his own The immortal was cocky, Lived life to its best Though after a few hundred years, He'd soon beg for rest. O Captain! My Captain! What's brought you dread? Is it the fact that you went From human to a head? He was merely a face. The Face of Boe, he was called. His long lived life, Lived with flaw. Alas, it seems, All things come to an end. And with the Time Lord and companion, Our Captain was dead. O Captain, my Captain! Though plans were never followed through, We all met you with one line: "Captain Jack Harkness, and who are you?"
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Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 4:25 PM UTC
o captain my captain
Another college tour, another favor. This time it was an old schoolmate, George and his parents who were taking the official tour. I was going to babysit his little sister Mary (5) while they walked around. It was good to see someone from home and sad in a way. For a moment, I had a tugging feeling, like there was a hook deep inside me and the reel was back home. When I first saw George I remembered a time, in 10th grade, before COVID. I was leaving school early and waiting to be picked up. Twenty track boys, fresh from their daily run, were lounging, seductively around. George, in particular, in a pose rather like Michelangelo’s Adam. *** I remember thinking at the time. I smiled at that long-ago tableau. “What?” George asked, he was watching me. “Nothing,” I smiled, “Just looking forward to babysitting” Mary and I exercised to a video, had a pizza delivered and colored - crayons aren’t easy to find in the modern college environment so we used high-lighters to create delicate, watercolor-like masterpieces. As we drew, Mary said, off-handedly, “You’re really nice,” as if the nature of my character had been in some dispute. Still, I still felt warmly complemented. When the tour was over, we were walking up science hill toward their car and the sun was declining to sunset. “How do you like it,” George asked, confidentially, head lowered, voice low enough not to be overheard by his parents who were walking a few yards behind us with Mary. “There’s a LOT of reading,” I said, shruggingly. “but I’m keeping up.” Last year I was a junior, this year I’m in college. It seemed absurd. How do you conjure a vision for someone of what college would be like, when college experiences are so individual? The writer's dilemma, interpreted by a babysitter. As we reached their car, the caroling bells started ringing (5pm) from Harkness Tower.  It was the perfect send-off. Again I felt the pull of homesickness but my phone plinked and the emotion didn’t even last as long as dusk.
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Dec 8, 2021
Dec 8, 2021 at 7:39 AM UTC
babysitting
Another college tour, another favor. This time it was an old schoolmate, George and his parents who were taking the official tour. I was going to babysit his little sister Mary (5) while they walked around. It was good to see someone from home and sad in a way. For a moment, I had a tugging feeling, like there was a hook deep inside me and the reel was back home. When I first saw George I remembered a time, in 10th grade, before COVID. I was leaving school early and waiting to be picked up. Twenty track boys, fresh from their daily run, were lounging, seductively around. George, in particular, in a pose rather like Michelangelo’s Adam. *** I remember thinking at the time. I smiled at that long-ago tableau. “What?” George asked, he was watching me. “Nothing,” I smiled, “Just looking forward to babysitting” Mary and I exercised to a video, had a pizza delivered and colored - crayons aren’t easy to find in the modern college environment so we used high-lighters to create delicate, watercolor-like masterpieces. As we drew, Mary said, off-handedly, “You’re really nice,” as if the nature of my character had been in some dispute. Still, I still felt warmly complemented. When the tour was over, we were walking up science hill toward their car and the sun was declining to sunset. “How do you like it,” George asked, confidentially, head lowered, voice low enough not to be overheard by his parents who were walking a few yards behind us with Mary. “There’s a LOT of reading,” I said, shruggingly. “but I’m keeping up.” Last year I was a junior, this year I’m in college. It seemed absurd. How do you conjure a vision for someone of what college would be like, when college experiences are so individual? The writer's dilemma, interpreted by a babysitter. As we reached their car, the caroling bells started ringing (5pm) from Harkness Tower.  It was the perfect send-off. Again I felt the pull of homesickness but my phone plinked and the emotion didn’t even last as long as dusk.
Continue reading...
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O Captain! My Captain An agent of Time Set out on a mission, That went all but fine. Two years of memories All down the drain Two new friends left him Near as soon as they came After a battle between Dalek and man This in a sense, Was his last stand. He came, he conquered He fell, and rose Abandoned by friends To fend for his own Back in time he went, And stuck once again, Our Captain seemed doomed To live on his own The immortal was cocky, Lived life to its best Though after a few hundred years, He'd soon beg for rest. O Captain! My Captain! What's brought you dread? Is it the fact that you went From human to a head? He was merely a face. The Face of Boe, he was called. His long lived life, Lived with flaw. Alas, it seems, All things come to an end. And with the Time Lord and companion, Our Captain was dead. O Captain, my Captain! Though plans were never followed through, We all met you with one line: "Captain Jack Harkness, and who are you?"
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Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 1:48 PM UTC
Oh Captain...
Blue baby born to a future with no past, Time with "mother" was no time at all So many paths to be taken Where could life sustainabley last? A soft floor, learn to crawl A foreign language to be foresaken But in the light there is always darkness Isolation follows groups Past issues should be resolved first Adoption only after harkness Otherwise, prepare for hoops This is the beginning of my beautiful, cursed
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Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 5:29 PM UTC
Chapter 1; The Adopted Boy
You are the edge of the universe, The boundaries of my existence, A place where students love to converse, But only from a distance. I had to write a poem, But I didn’t know what about. My mind was at a tipping point, So I settled upon a pout. I lay on the soft green blobs, As I pondered the task at hand. My head began to throb, for it felt like a bag of sand. And in my hour of darkness, I did not wince nor cry aloud. For then I heard a harkness, That pushed me off the ground. My teacher said a sound, That made my heart abound “The stairs that lead to nowhere” Now that is quite a title, I chose to use it for my poem- The words are the most vital. You are the edge of the universe, The boundaries of my existence, A place where students love to converse, But only from a distance.
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Oct 4, 2020
Oct 4, 2020 at 8:22 PM UTC
The Stairs That Lead To Nowhere