"macintosh" poems
with an Apple Macintosh
you can't run Radio Shack programs
in its disc drive.
nor can a Commodore 64
drive read a file
you have created on an
IBM Personal Computer.
both Kaypro and Osborne computers use
the CP/M operating system
but can't read each other's
handwriting
for they format (write
on) discs in different
ways.
the Tandy 2000 runs MS-DOS but
can't use most programs produced for
the IBM Personal Computer
unless certain
bits and bytes are
altered
but the wind still blows over
Savannah
and in the Spring
the turkey buzzard struts and
flounces before his
hens.
9.8k
I sit here on the 2nd floor
hunched over in yellow
pajamas
still pretending to be
a writer.
some ****** gall,
at 71,
my brain cells eaten
away by
life.
rows of books
behind me,
I scratch my thinning
hair
and search for the
word.
for decades now
I have infuriated the
ladies,
the critics,
the university
suck-toads.
they all will soon have
their time to
celebrate.
"terribly overrated..."
"gross..."
"an aberration..."
my hands sink into the
keyboard
of my
Macintosh,
it's the same old
con
that scraped me
off the streets and
park benches,
the same simple
line
I learned in those
cheap rooms,
I can't let
go,
sitting here
on this 2nd floor
hunched over in yellow
pajamas
still pretending to be
a writer.
the gods smile down,
the gods smile down,
the gods smile down.
Black Sparrow "New Year's Greeting" 1992
8.6k
I went down to watch the ocean this morning - well, Long Island Sound anyway. My last chance for a while, classes start tomorrow. I wonder sometimes how I can be refreshed by that gray, drizzly, melancholy harbor - locked in winter’s intemperate grip - but I am.
The salty air seems thicker and richer, the sky bigger and wilder. There’s the relaxing sound mix of wave and gull. The ugly brown pelicans bickering like old, married couples, as a lone fisherman, in his yellow macintosh slicker, sorts his boat lines under the watchful, hopeful, hungry eyes of floating black-backed gulls.
Maybe I should become a sailor? Besides, I hear it’s a great way to meet guys.
Jan 24, 2022
Jan 24, 2022 at 10:51 AM UTC
i given nothing
i abandoned
i adopted
i dropout
i garage
i Apple
i NeXT
i Pixar
i Apple
i pilfered i
i invented i
i produced i
i market i
i retail i
i am i
i am
i
i tech beauty
i consumer fetish
i whom you love
i sleekest widgets
i Toy Story
i Macintosh
i macbook
i Lisa
iTunes
iPod
iPhone
iPad
i more
i rebel
i genius
i visionary
i entrepreneur
i world changer
i exceptionalism
i capital market hero
i bigger then business
i cool capitalism
i myth
i "the man"
i worker
i employer
i boss
i thief
i savior
i billionaire
i venerated
i vanity
i Buddhist
i prophet
i redeemed
i 1 in 300 million
i America
i sing the pathos
i am the creed
i define the ethos
i Steve Jobs
i amassed riches
i accolade crowned
i ingratiate world
i virtue
i success
i creativity
i favored
i Midas
i bedeviled
i tested
i afflicted
i retire
i human
i mortal
i succumb
i eulogized
i leave legacy of i
i am an MBA case study
i employed workers
i peddled intrepid product cycles
i subject of amusing anecdotes
i am heroic corporate folklore
i grew pods full of music
i incite kids to thumb phones
i captivate consumer imagination
i built rock solid balance sheet
i erected toxic Chinese factories
i enriched investors
i am the cool corporate brand
i inspired a million unused i apps
i hipster capitalism
i imposed my will
i insisted
i am that i am
i cannot take it with me
i leave blue jeans
i leave NB sneakers
i leave black collarless shirt
i will be asked what
i did with the time
i was given?
i did the best i could
i played the hand dealt
i parlayed it into a royal flush
i filled it up with i
i ask why
i am no more?
i leave the world
i am no more
Godspeed Beloved
Steven Paul "Steve" Jobs
(February 24, 1955 – October 5, 2011)
jbm
Oakland
10/6/11
Nov 4, 2011
Nov 4, 2011 at 10:40 PM UTC
A Tribute
A king takes supper on a creaking deathbed. Featureless, winged creatures zoom by the dark condensed windows. Micro parasites build adobe headquarters in his soft tissue. Reaching for a plate, he groans the terabyting howl that’s prescribed with chemotherapy. Qwerty and light from the drugs, he stares at the apple on his tray. Lost in its curves, he finds himself trapped in a safari of memories. A dream devolves upon his downtrodden mind….
The canopy is populated with twittering, angry birds. Pools of social blood attract flies to the googolplex degree. He stumbles through the dell, suspicious forest while a tremulous, fiery fox stalks behind his echoing footfalls. Pixar apes swing from trees chased by grisly, disney men with guns and trucks. A large eye tunes the darkness and blinks red upon an aging mountain lion in shadow’s brush.
The sony rays belight foliage in auspicious, plaid-orange hues. This amazon of experience plugs the wanderer into a hard drive of intelligence – a gateway to an encyclopedia of wikis and browsers, expanse enough for any backdrop rooftop audience to be faux-enthralled and eager. There are grumblings in the distance of another engine tromping the scope in search of something new and useless. A rumorous bat upsets the plagiarizing tide of the Atlantic Pea Sea. A snake slinks out of the blossoms clinging to the vines among a macintosh tree and bites the salty flier of the washboard night; cyber venom invades his veins.
The average, homeless, bounding, warrior awakens to find a cold supper on his lap and another syringe in his arm. His remaining gums support his teeth as they bite into the apple. He swallows, sighs, and rests his balding, crescent, once-handsome head on the white pillow. The green fruit tumbles gently out of bed and mutely rolls to the floor.
With that, Steve Jobs is dead.
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 12:03 AM UTC
Red Yellow Green
So many colors to choose from
And than so many different types
Big Macintosh, Granny Smith, Golden Delicious!
But in what way will you have it?
Will it be a pie, or a **** or maybe a fritter? So many ways, so little time in the day to make it all!
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 10:14 PM UTC
The Toadstool Goblins are at it again
soon as the sun goes in and it starts to rain
they have eaten all my cabbages
I think they are going for my sprouts
I think I may set a few beer pits up
they can't get enough of the stuff
they drink their fill, then can't stand up
then in they plop and drown in the swill
Well off I must go with macintosh on
down to the store for some beers
sink the traps for the blighter's
then when drunk they fall in
I will hold my can up and say cheers
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 7:25 AM UTC
When you sit atop the clouds.
Will you peek through the glistening white strings of cotton.
To peer upon the shining smiles of the ones that you loved.
Maybe you will avoid their glances to the sky.
Maybe you will avoid them all together, and never watch their eyes, once more.
That even in the cloudy paradise of fluffy cotton candy.
There is pain that seeps into the pores of your fleshy, pudgy being.
Even while surrounded by pure existence.
Those ones still hurt your inside the most.
Not because of what they've done, but because of what you've done.
That after your final shadows has crossed the earth beneath .
You knew that your final bow was the greatest blow you ever dealt the, ones below.
Forever left to faded shadows and corrupted memories.
Signs that were hidden beneath your vague expressions.
Only thing left was the one time you cried out your pain to those below.
A simple ode to those lovely faces, typed out across your Macintosh .
The world through a looking glass
Only shattered for a brief moment before the show came to an end.
A simple message,
I'll watch you from the clouds above.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 5:56 PM UTC
Mr Kalashnikov I'll ask you nicely
Please don't point that thing at me
Laszlo Biro how nice to see you
Without you where would we be?
Mr Molotov may I remind you
You are in polite company
May I present the Earl of Sandwich
Do partake of his wares
And special desserts are served soon after
Presented in person by Anna Pavlova
The Duke of Wellington brought in some mud
Mr Macintosh is expecting a flood
Candido Jacuzzi and Joseph Pilates
Appear to be making friends
Henry Shrapnel and Joseph Guillotin
Who invited them?
Ferdinand von Zeppelin,
Perhaps you would like a schnapps?
Mr Winchester, Mr Colt, Mr Gatling, Mr Lewis
So many gunmen I'm alarmed I confess
May I trouble you Mr Hoover
To help tidy up the mess?
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 4:00 PM UTC
1984, my new Macintosh 512K gleamed before me
So modern. I was on the cutting edge cusp of the techno revolution
I remember the sound it made as you put in the start up disk
That disk was so small, like smaller than a 45 record and stiff like a credit card
We were all so techno.
Everyone who was anyone in my dorm had ditched their IBM Selectrics for a Mac.
I couldn't type, so this was a total just plain survival
Being able to sleep through the sound of that dot matrix printer pounding out
a paper you'd just finished at 9 AM for a 10 AM class became a dorm life skill
I got an i-phone today. It's so kool and modern
I am so techno and I look around the
Verizon store and wonder how quaint a picture of this place will look
in 50 years.
What will be new then?
This store will look like the computer that filled a warehouse to send astronauts to the moon.
And it's that technology that gave me the i-phone
What lasts?
Ideas, meaning, poems, concepts, stories, universal truths...the same things
the ancients could carry with them from camp to camp
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 7:44 PM UTC
Beautiful Water
Sweet Spring of Life
You are more than enough as Thee
Each moment I touch
and retouch your beginning
Willingness to Peace
A moment in time
Shared
Memory
Trickling thru
An orchards flare
Of
Apples picked
Macintosh then
First Learnings
Of the Truth
Gladiolus on the Side
Beauty Freed for
A Mothers Love
Ladder
From
Sustenance
To Grace
Something Sweeter Now
Maple Syrup
Tapped
by Wooded Gate
Johnny
A Real Hero
Changed the World
Kindly
And with Love
One Thought
His Pure expression
Always the Same
Gods Good
Life
Guitar String
For the Earth
His Arrow
Split the Heart in Two
An Apple
Felled
To the Ground
Witness
To a World UNComing
Mournful Courage
Put Away
A soldiers
Duty
Paid
Prince
of
Brotherhood
St James
You Now
Are Made
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 7:35 PM UTC
Last Best Shot
July 31, 2020
8:07am
*the morning sunlight. high enough to lighten first café & the future.
warming, mellifluous, biding good tidings, a head, ahead for the day.
sun-in-sky-low, so trees stand taller, shadow-makers, just for now.
grass blotched, pockmarked, alternative hints of hope & mystery.
the bay wave waters stilled, unrolled, unroiled, no-thrashing, omen?
is this wellness? is this a green tea soul and soil infusion, calming?*
*my mind wanders to that remains unaccompanied, unaccomplished.
unwashed breakfast dishes, miles of mail urgently unattended.
poems half-composed, some decomposing, resurrection on the list?
these unwashed word-shards, cry out, if not today, then when?
passerby’s, yachts, kayaks pause, turn, all bow-me-pointing asking?
is today their finale, burial by deletion, or their* last, best shot?
my reflection, neutral-neutered mien in 19oz. Blue Mountain
black coffee, in a Canadian Macintosh porcelain mug, provides
no clue, accident or incident, but inquires: why the adrenaline?
Aug 2, 2022
Aug 2, 2022 at 8:37 AM UTC
you are the Ambrosia of my mind
the apple of my eye
crisp and Red delicious
a Macintosh in waiting
Granny Smith is exuberant
over our Gala to toast the Empire
I see a Pink Lady in Fuji
Honeycrisp in every way
you are the Envy of Pazzaz
playing Jazz in Cameo at the Braeburn
in front of Lady Alice in Holstein
like a Hidden Rose
though Janagold is **** mixed with sweetness
your Liberty embraces Gravenstein
akin to a Pacific Rose like an Opal
enjoying Winesap instead of Mutsu
Andreas Simic©
Apr 18, 2022
Apr 18, 2022 at 7:05 AM UTC
Of elegant languor
with a tint of sepia
melancholy
The romance of
vague longing
and nostalgic bloom
a fading chrysanthemum
perhaps
Taking the promenade
panama hat and shades
suit sewn by hand and
long corporate umbrella
Macintosh and overcoat
by turns repel the
damp and cold
Cognac by the fire
and wistful glances with
widows in the hotel bar
Strolling on with
meaningless purpose
toward Edwardian
disaster
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 3:32 AM UTC
Her hands lay gently joined,
her breathing breaching the fortress of a bedroom’s silence
clasped as one, in the very early morn,
her fingers move in motion, wavering, *********
recalling a violin instrument, an unseen youthful memory,
her internality rumbles with a quiet litany,
an indecipherable host of jumbled mumbles,
a cacophony accompaniment to her quietude of steady breathing
I,
study her, as I have done so many mornings prior,
once more, capriciously slipping back inside/beside our bed,
to restart My Sunday morning quiet-like, for as is my wont,
have awoken with the morning dark, treading room to room,
filling my Winslow Homer’s Macintosh mug, with 19.7 fluid oz. of Jamaican beans freshly ground, an instigating odor, a fragrancy
most contradictory, soothing, nonetheless, a steadying, yet a
blaring wake-up call
She, clad my in-her new festive plaid pajama top,
a creamy fabric that begs for my I-dare-not stroke,
is easy prone and that,
pleases me, for I wish to bed beside her, letting her rest
till her mind texts her body, no more! or the mumbles grow
grow nagging onerous and stirring and when her disposition is
well-disposed, she stirs too,
after her fashion
with a dancer’s grace, her arm slowly rises, resting airborne,
fingers arrayed, splayed and Balanchine arranged, (1)
pointing upwards,
lingering until
the arm falls impromptu, sudden,
as a crescendo striking an apex,
her risen hip-mound,
imitating a bell’s clapper woke reverb,
and she sleeps no more…
<>
Sun Jan 15 2022
in the wee daylight hours
Jan 28, 2023
Jan 28, 2023 at 10:35 PM UTC
Today the Sunday special brief
iCloud online worship session, I did attend
(via remote support)
found me feeling pampered,
when adept technical support
didst figuratively bend
over backwards, thus aye defend
glorious, righteous,
and zealous Gurus who did expend
their religious fervor, without proselytizing
and sanctified dedication they proffered
as if this secular chap hapt tubby
a long time Facebook friend
diligently persevered amidst
my woeful yelping alarm
where bot sized wetbacks, setbacks,
and drawbacks,
required a secret char
which this netizen vaguely understood
as unfair be-tidings disallowing
thyself to purchase additional farm
ming out iCloud storage
in the deleterious harm
akin to buggy ah mush swarm
comprised documents
(painstakingly slaved over with zest)
plus sundry data necessitating mooch ***
legal tender (probably every
last red cent of mine) to in vest
concerted efforts of
at least one expert to test
her/his mettle in an attempt
(dim prospect) performing an in quest
to retrieve valuable data lost amidst a nest
of inaccessible "lost" information
(bantering with computer
jargon more so jest
with no intention to "FAKE"
trumpeting minimal knowledge
judiciously impressed
upon thine fifty plus
shades of gray matter, at my be hest
expressing scant cumulative
disc cussing duff frag
minted understanding lest,
a personal goal
to incapsulate in poetic best
not abandoning frustration
with this Macbook Pro
cuz, positive experience
wrought with Apostles eye attest,
so rather then vent
my spleen in vein
hie desisted
to rage against the machine,
and tack toward being urbane
thus, rejoicing with a cherry,
hearty, and mighty byte hooray,
asper driving,
exercising, and foisting
gentle circuitry vis a vis
neurotransmitters and neuromodulators
nudging pull-ups
within cerebral terrain.
Jul 1, 2018
Jul 1, 2018 at 7:17 PM UTC
Crisp, sweet Macintosh, the word
flushes cheeks and brings smiles along with
flavors of apple sauce and pie.
Memories swim through thought along with taste
Fall leaves surround the trunk the
sweet smell of orchards, giggles surround
the rows of fruit.
Fresh appreciation rolls over taste
buds of flowers producing barrels of
golden delicious ready for picking in mid-October
firm crisp sweet and juicy
reach up into the leaves grasp firm
with a little twist and the gift
from above is one of a kind.
Nov 1, 2011
Nov 1, 2011 at 8:08 PM UTC
Top notch legal scholar Erin Go Braw
(less concerned about being fair versus
abominable, irrevocable, and execrable
unforgivable oversight most holy "M" & *****
cabinet of high priests,
sans spelling chieftains ready to claw
your person to bits,
and they presage remote clemency
which decision told, when Jeff Sessions
decides final punishment to draw
now, (see excerpted lines
visited with glaring flaw
"Benediction For Lord Apple Macintosh"
where ...bot sized wetbacks, setbacks,
and drawbacks, required a secret char),...
intimates a "hee haw"
and rock'm n sock'm pull no punches
square at yar triangular jaw
YES, on account misspelling,
whence Grammarian Jude Law
at the least aims (to topple a prospective
title of eminence grise), banning access
to such undeserved
catbird seat, sans Rhetorical perch
laughing while ja plaintively call for maw
**** Oxford English Dictionary - but naw
can do, and hence paw
mister trumpeting
"FAKE" wordsmith raw
flesh will turn into....
unreadable print until closing text
that elaborates how holiness felt vexed.
To ye (a freshly minted scalawag),
these 20/20 eyes bulged agog
while steaming with invective
at what attempted
to pass as sacred poetic blog
when thee (Matthew Scott Harris),
now pronounced, an illiterate,
immoderate, and inveterate å!@#$%∑
with a severe cerebral clog
(meaning prefrontal lobotomy
not out of the question),
you m~r mangy whelp of a she dog
(my humble apologies to canines),
less deserving than being
whipped near death's doorstep flog
after henchmen (strongly
resembling Alaskan BullWorms
guarding this royal hutch,
herein Cupertino, California.
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 2:46 AM UTC
My bones are crying on you, my eyes are
suffering from the weight of the skin –
we are the wrong man and woman to be in love,
I think and ask why you cannot just want me
when her body is the closest thing to a
beach without waves, mine a Rainy Sunday.
Oh, everything drags and pulls –
I will long for you through every hole I have
until there is a funeral for my sexuality,
a snuffing rose petal cradled close to my soul.
She is asking why you cannot only love her
but I just ask why you cannot want me –
an answer ends in Macintosh red, the final bite.
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 9:48 PM UTC
The poster read:
“Gone Missing”
The come-back-kid
has failed to show.
The Old Man saw him,
******* by the Rainbow Factory
wall, against the wind,
like a prayer no longer given
to the prism-surfing life.
He said,
“The come-back-kid, might
Not come back”..
He wrung his
swindled heathen, left
with haversack and Macintosh,
hummed ballad in a Sea-King crown,
the colloquy of shepherd lore.
head far too full to sing,
Caught riding
in a burnt out car of
rude December archetypes,
an engine feathered Westerling,
to think.
He went
to where they bury boats,
Where mud larks perk
for potsherd farthings,
red-shanked in the gallon slob
oblivious...
Far off the Ness
He’ll watch them go..
... on meteoric dawn patrols,
a contrast to his built-in
obsolescence.
In provinces
of platitude
He’ll form no evanescent tie,
invoke his tattooed waxwing
back against their lactic
saccharine, to beg
the notion die...
But leavened light may carry,
A bold ceramic dialect
that skitters off
the short-sun marsh
dissipates in linnet banter
winnowed from the winter barley
crossing out the county lines..
The come-back-kid
will not return,
a blue-eyed, fell, Promethean.
Disfigured by the absolute
He’ll beat his way
unrecognised.
Jun 24, 2019
Jun 24, 2019 at 12:30 PM UTC
Red
Red is Mondays, swirling in a poisoned cloud
Like the aether
Ready to grab my hand
And throw me into the middle of the week
Before I know
What it is exactly that I have touched
And before I am ready as well
Red is apples
Macintosh melancholy
And candle wax galas
Red is an explosion
Of dark magic
Red and black, the perfect duo
Twisting and weaving in their dance
All low notes
And timpani rumbles
And middle C
And like the dueling harmonies
Red is too loud
Too bright
And at the same time
Always present
Always safe
Red is blood
In the same way my emotions are of pearl
Luminescent and shifting
If you see them
Something’s wrong
Jan 15, 2019
Jan 15, 2019 at 10:26 AM UTC
Adapting re
voluntary reading
to the future, when we've
nothing to do so, sub-con
science frictions call all men liars.
I am by no means chief,
I came from the Calebland Productions,
early Eighties,
Macintosh and Appletalk, and Silicon Beach
grand brainstorms insisting if we heat it
the entire idea of dust as us and our mites…
just willing to revolve with the planets will
enough all those old winds that twisted
like we did last summer,
wind up like
those ones, wow, so real.
Northwest Passage is open, and yet,
none acknowledge life in full control,
something literarily evolving
where the crawdads eat the corpses,
Bayou Blue, Barrios and Pepitons,
cheri mio, we had some fun,
we all sung, on that by
you seem to agree, we won.
we won the evolutionary war,
mankind, wombed and un,
ever so long ago, none knew, we did
but time is a bit of a Ouranos cycle,
looks like a great ocean churning gyre,
of which the last swirling tide reminder
fit to an old spider web designer,
loser backslider
with a gambling wife,
who took a chance on me,
what do we see, but what we get,
generously, love is there
for the looking for,
and for remembering finding, and
really, when a man
from the molds
that made our we this kind of old man,
an individuated
NPC, in a cast of thousands,
acting stand in assistant to the
assisting intelligence time accounting,
massive messaging, is a thing
are you aware…?
your connection can self correct,
your bluetooth can whistle
in your ear,
eh,
we made it up.
The loss, we, laughed and made it all up.
Apr 24, 2024
Apr 24, 2024 at 4:11 PM UTC
I
Was there on a visit.
Helen, was in the bedroom
Gordon, was sitting in his swivel chair.
They were like grandparents to me.
Their lounge was decorated in the style
Of Charles R. Macintosh.
Helen came into the lounge and told
Gordon off about leaving a glass by
Their bedside...it was musty.
I laughed to myself
They were, though wise, a typical couple
And
I enjoyed their company
Very much.
I began to cry.
Helen came to me and asked, ' What's wrong, son?'
'I am happy to see you both!' I replied.
'Then, why cry? said Helen.
......' Because... You're both dead!'
Helen, and Gordon, looked at each other
Puzzled...I woke up.
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 6:20 PM UTC