"lovelace" poems
See you our server farm that hums
And serves HTTP?
It's spun its disks and done its sums
Ever since Berners-Lee.
See you our mainframe spewing out
The Towers of Hanoi?
It's moved recursive discs about
Since Babbage was a boy.
See you our ZX81
That prints the ABCs?
That very program used to run
With Lovelace at the keys.
Magnetic floppy disks and hard,
And tape with patience torn,
And eighty columns on a card,
And so was England born!
She is not any common thing,
Water or Wood or Air,
But Turing's Isle of Programming,
Where you and I will fare.
Dec 16, 2010
Dec 16, 2010 at 7:23 AM UTC
An odd fellow
With an unusual pallor to his face
Contrasting purples and burgundies
Of questionable origin
A stern expression
Features set in stone but
Yielding at times to the cracks in his morality
Not a particularly striking man
Just appealing enough to open any chamber room
He should desire
Women flock to him and then
Draw away once they recognize
The corruption in his heart
As though his dreams and afflictions
Were hollowing him out
He lived
Still as the unspoken worries
Feasted on his being
Painfully aware until
The last instance
In which he permitted himself
To
Speak
Her
Name.
Feb 10, 2011
Feb 10, 2011 at 2:59 PM UTC
international women’s day is not only to celebrate strong female leads, nor only to appreciate the accomplishments of the likes of Harriet Tubman and Ada Lovelace. they have both contributed to history, changed the course of life, and allowed us to live in the world we live in today, among other women who have fought and have proved their place in this life. these women fought stereotypes, and marked their names in history.
but today is also for the weak women; for the immigrant mothers who are separated from their loved ones, for the exploited workers in Bangladesh, India, etc..., for the women being trafficked on the borders, for the young girls forced into early marriage, for the women harassed and silenced in fear, for the ones you hear about daily but only in theory.
let’s celebrate women as a whole, because this is much more than achievements and titles, this is a fight for rights, rights that exceed historical achievements that occur once a decade. here’s to more titles, to more love, to more understanding, and to equality.
Mar 8, 2019
Mar 8, 2019 at 3:29 AM UTC
To Lucasta, Going To The Wars by Richard Lovelace
Tell me not (Sweet) I am unkind,
That from the nunnery
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 11:32 AM UTC
I run into you on lit-up Lovelace lane
On April seventh, waiting for the train
I take you to a restaurant for a glass of champagne
And as I drunkenly talk to you
Words come out, not from the brain, no, no
Not from the brain, not from the sane.
“Oh, the odds of seeing you here;
The coincidence that might appear
to be nothing more than god’s plans
or a coincidence made to rest in his hands
Angel,
I have seen the way
your eyes dulled upon their betray
Angel,
look at me, pure and divine
look at me,
like you’re a heart wrapped in vine
leaves and leaf by leaf I peel
and peak beneath your teal
dress and distress is an understatement
to myself as I stumble on pavement
And god-like would be more like an insult
to the way your laugh sounds; like a cult
of beauty
and feminism
and that lonely wind of sadness
oh God, bless your laugh, God bless
Talk to me,
these echoes are not enough
to satisfy my ears, I honestly can’t bluff
about the way I am desperately in need to hear
you talk, the words leave the lips, the words sincere
the words trail down the hips…
the words dissolve into clips…
the words fall like, snow
into my ears…
And…
I forgot how to think…
But you appear in the blink
of the eye, the sound of a cry
that brings me closer to heaven
and I am silent, I am the raven
I am deaf
to everything but you,
I am deaf
Between you and I
I struggle with rhymes
and I’ve never really loved how my words
were with a twist of the mind, paradoxically absurd
You leave me hanging on the
tip of your tongue
and crushed inside
the muscles of your lungs
please take me out;
there are still a few verses I haven’t
sung.”
p.t.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 1:27 PM UTC
I danced with the ecstasy flowing along
those who came before.
Singing the morning sunlight.
enticing the best foot forward.
I danced along the coast of joy.
never knowing I was looking beyond the mountain cliff.
My blood went first for my heart crease to bleed.
My flesh went next for it lost it's purpose
My soul went last for I had nothing left to give them.
My life was a magician's mystery
I've given it the perfect exit.
I lived with those who came before me.
I leave all behind for those that will follow me.
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 7:09 AM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
Feet for stepping,
You don't have to step all over me,
Break your leg if I have to,
You annoyingly,
So induced with so much feeling,
To put me down willingly,
We were all born to die scientifically,
Not enough love in this world,
If this is his world,
Why does his world,
Keep overthrowing , twirling in curls,
Pregnant teenage girls,
Homeless people on the street,
What if world beyond the universe,
Hung like a leave on the tree,
That gives life,
Don't let it fall.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 2:57 PM UTC
The blank page lies before me, the hour being late.
As Inspiration is lacking,perspiration takes its place.
My deadline approaches and I have barely writ a line.
My Muse finds this amusing and I find her most unkind
Crumpled ***** of paper mark how I spend my time.
Clearly I am no Durant behind the three point line
All I have accomplished is to waste a pad and ink
Indeed why do I bother; who cares what poets think?
Her hand upon my shoulder, Her lips upon my cheek.
Her eyes are importuning, there is no need to speak.
She lures me from my garret; she takes me to her lair.
Her perfume- intoxicating. she has me in her snare.
I know what you are thinking; that I should be more devout.
Dedicate myself to writing, cut the "monkey business" out.
I am no fan of Lovelace now, nor was I one before
When my Lucasta calls you will not see me off to war.
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 10:45 PM UTC
Five women transcend
the stag cinema of hoary
yore Shauna Grant, the first
glamorous **** bucket,
paved the way for Dorothy
Stratten, the first Playmate
superstar: Anastasia Blue's
Russian underground cult
of Gonzo; Julie Robbins
thriving fan base; Candy
Barr, mother to them et al,
first **** star & premier
stripper. Amber Rayne who
crossed over to mainstream
always the dream, following
legends in the field such as
Marilyn Chambers & Traci
Lords. If there were pageants
in hell, the one who would
take the crown would be Linda
Lovelace, whose effect upon
the culture is felt to this day.
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 8:37 PM UTC
Fable XIV, Livre IV.
« L'excellente caricature ! »
Disait un jeune coq en riant aux éclats :
Un chapon, malgré l'aventure
Qui l'oblige au moins *** de tous les célibats,
Vouloir être chef de famille !
De poussins quelle bande autour de lui fourmille !
S'il était sincère aujourd'hui,
Il conviendrait, le pauvre hère,
Qu'entouré des enfants d'autrui,
Il croit quelquefois être père. »
« - D'accord, dit le Manceau, mais quelquefois aussi,
Conviens-en, l'ami, tu crois l'être ? »
« - Compère, autour de nous je ne vois, Dieu merci,
Qu'enfants auxquels j'ai donné l'être. »
« - Poussé par le plaisir bien plus que par l'amour,
Lovelace de basse-cour,
À demi, je le sais, tu leur donnas le jour.
Mais quel soin les a fait éclore ?
Sous ton aile, en naissant, vinrent-ils se ranger ?
Dans le besoin, dans le danger,
Es-tu le protecteur que leur faiblesse implore !
Entre eux et toi jamais fut-il rien de commun ?
Pas un ne te connaît, tu n'en connais pas un.
Séparons-nous ; et puis, observe
Vers qui les conduira l'instinct reconnaissant.
Tu leur donnas la vie... une fois ; et moi, cent ;
Chaque jour je la leur conserve.
Les doux soins dont tu te défends,
C'est la paternité. Prodigue tes caresses :
Tu peux avoir eu des maîtresses,
Mais tu n'as jamais eu d'enfants. »
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