"lieutenants" poems - Hello Poetry

The attendees are told, in a manner befitting a high mass You have been finally set free, (Although, in truth, free is a very large and entirely vague word), And the message is sent forth from all comers in all corners: Vendor and visionary alike, German socialists who left university to ride boats for Greenpeace, First lieutenants doing their level best To appear at ease in civilian polos and khakis, But no matter the vessel, The message is still the same. The tyranny of cables and storage space is dead, It is all but shouted from the lecterns, (Although it is noted, in small print and sotto voce That there are certain requirements In terms of hardware and licensing) And it is stated by Those Who Know In tones which neither brook nor invite contradiction, That they have surmounted, all Hadrian-like, The alpine divide separating mere data and magic. Two or three blocks down the street from the convention center, In a narrow storefront housing an exhibition of ether-only comics Which have broken the nettling constraints Of editors and syndication, There sits, under a somewhat opaque And slightly scratched piece of plexiglass, A yellowing comic strip of uncertain vintage, In which a frowzy cat, Free of the constraints of panels, gender, and standard grammar, Is the recipient of a mouse-tossed brick Whose flight, unfettered by physics, probablility, indeed time itself Ends striking its mark right between the x’s of the eyes The projectile itself an inexplicable alchemy Of confusion, mirth, frustration And the impossibility of an undeniably pure love.

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Aug 20, 2018

Aug 20, 2018 at 9:29 AM UTC

wk-kortas

in re: cloud computing and cartoon cats

The attendees are told, in a manner befitting a high mass You have been finally set free, (Although, in truth, free is a very large and entirely vague word), And the message is sent forth from all comers in all corners: Vendor and visionary alike, German socialists who left university to ride boats for Greenpeace, First lieutenants doing their level best To appear at ease in civilian polos and khakis, But no matter the vessel, The message is still the same. The tyranny of cables and storage space is dead, It is all but shouted from the lecterns, (Although it is noted, in small print and sotto voce That there are certain requirements In terms of hardware and licensing) And it is stated by Those Who Know In tones which neither brook nor invite contradiction, That they have surmounted, all Hadrian-like, The alpine divide separating mere data and magic. Two or three blocks down the street from the convention center, In a narrow storefront housing an exhibition of ether-only comics Which have broken the nettling constraints Of editors and syndication, There sits, under a somewhat opaque And slightly scratched piece of plexiglass, A yellowing comic strip of uncertain vintage, In which a frowzy cat, Free of the constraints of panels, gender, and standard grammar, Is the recipient of a mouse-tossed brick Whose flight, unfettered by physics, probablility, indeed time itself Ends striking its mark right between the x’s of the eyes The projectile itself an inexplicable alchemy Of confusion, mirth, frustration And the impossibility of an undeniably pure love.