"outdo" poems
Loyalty
Is so hard to find
Because loyalty
Is so hard to do
It’s hard to be true
Every day and night
No matter what might
Have been better for you
And loyalty
Is so easy to say
But loyalty
Doesn’t always stay
When it comes time
To step up to the line
You might be surprised by
Who stays behind
Yet you still have to do
What you know is true
Even if you have been left
Out in the cold
Because loyalty
starts with you
But when it comes through
Nothing else can outdo
That feeling you get
Like you were dying
And yet you’re still alive
So you can select
The ones who will get
That feeling from you
But just don’t expect
The same in return
Because loyalty
Is so hard to find
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 7:34 AM UTC
Age 18
Friends are all getting them.
It seems the thing to do.
Besides they are real cool.
I think I’ll get one too.
Age 19
I only have one tattoo
My best friend now has three.
I think I’ll a couple more,
No one can outdo me.
Age 20
Tattoo’s are pretty awesome.
More awesome the more I get.
Why do all old people
Think one day I will regret?
Age 30
I kinda wish I didn’t have
This ink all over my body.
Instead of cool, I feel like a fool
Because I look so gaudy.
Age 50
What happened to my tattoo’s?
The artwork had detail.
Now I can’t tell what they are,
They really look like hell..
Age 65
If I were just eighteen again
I know what I wouldn’t do..
I wouldn’t decorate my body
with even one tattoo.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 9:37 AM UTC
Phrase ten.
To that boy who grabbed my *** or snapped my bra strap,
It was never cute or *****
In middle school it was annoying,
Now it's just creepy.
Phrase nine.
To that girl who thought it was really classy,
To spread rumors about my *** life.
What I do in bed does not involve you.
And if you want it to?
Sorry, honey, but I don't date haters.
Phrase eight.
To everyone who judges me because of my job.
If you are an adult,
I'm in high school.
If you are in high school,
I bet I have more money than you do.
And if not,
I have to actually earn it.
Phrase seven.
To everyone who thinks I am some genius.
I'm really not...
I fear for my future every day.
My grades aren't that hot,
But they're not awful.
I just don't go flaunting them in everyone's faces.
Phrase six.
To all of my friends who think it's their job to compare,
How awful their lives are to mine.
I tend to zone out when you start ********
I know, I am being a hypocrite,
Because I probably do that same thing.
But I kind of have a short attention span,
And very little tolerance for ********
Phrase five.
Aren't you thrilled that you are half way there?
To my sister, who has to slightly outdo me in everything,
I truthfully do not know if you realize that you do this.
I love you to death, but could you try to tone it down
Just a little bit?
Phrase four.
To my parents, who I know love me endlessly.
But to whom I often feel like a failure.
I know your other daughter is perfect,
But I am not her.
I am me,
And yes I have a little extra meat on my bones.
But frankly,
I'm not really ashamed of that.
Phrase three.
To my ex-boyfriend,
Who I still chat with time and again.
I do still love you.
But our relationship was toxic,
And either though neither one of us wanted to end it,
It isn't like we would have gotten married.
Phrase two.
To all my current friends,
You guys are beautiful.
And although sometimes I do not feel like I have
Enough of you,
I have just the right ones.
Thank you for making life to this point,
A little bit more bearable for me.
Phrase one.
To everyone who has judged me, called me a **** doubted me
And who thinks I am a lost cause,
Go **** yourselves.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 10:34 PM UTC
ruminating
cogitating
pondering
thinking
the subject matter doth
put the mind into a thought seat
is there sufficient verbs for me
to place on the paper's sheet
verbs by definition are words
which have an action
they on the reader
do have an impaction
so let's explore a topic
worth a thousand of them
how I'll express this piece
shall test my mind's stem
here is the matter I shall discuss
without any duress or manner of fuss
all over the globe there is much trouble
our planet is not as a carefree bubble
the inhabitants often observe strife somewhere
our corners of four not of an according air
were there to be peace and calmed relations
no concerns would beset our world's many nations
yet a propensity for war doth ever prevail
what sane men shall see the wrongs of this pail
verbs shall never explain man's idiocy
as he's ever involving himself in armory
yet a man who did advocate cordiality
lived with his brothers in true harmony
he was a meek man of the Indian land
a message of non-violence he did band
the lessons of history are never heard
man seemingly ever in the warring herd
the middle east is a tinder box of hell this day
exploding bombs and munitions all spray in affray
verbs of dialogue aren't put to good use
an ongoing lighting of the fuse doth suffuse
few statesmen of Gandhi's ilk now exist
so the torture and torment of war shall e'er persist
diplomacy has lost its edge around the globe
our planet shall remain bound in worrisome lobe
the count of verbs in this piece didn't quite reach a thousand
yet deaths in conflicts outdo that number by the thousands
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 5:18 AM UTC
Grandma had a clever dog;
She raised him from a pup.
And when he learned that he could talk
You couldn't shut him up.
His tail was just a nubbin
And he had a flattened mug.
He looked like a short boxer
So grandma named him pug.
Grandma told us what he looked like
For we never saw the cuss.
Her walking, talking, Pug Dog
Was invisible to us.
She said he'd always been around,
As far as she recalled.
Her mother told Pug stories
Before grandma even crawled.
Every family has traditions
And I guess I'd have to say,
Pug tales have been our custom
Right down to this very day.
When grandma gives a long deep sigh
And says, "Now, one day Pug. . ."
We know a story's coming
So we sit down on the rug.
We nestle up beside her
For a tale we've never heard.
And everyone gets quiet
So that we won't miss a word.
The stories grandma tells us
Of the things that dog can do
Can hold any child's attention,
Even fill a book or two.
Grandma's Pug tales outdo Rin-Tin-Tin
And even Scooby-Doo.
He's a smarter dog than Snoopy;
Smarter than Lassie too.
Pug has traveled far, to distant lands,
And even outer space.
He's done every thing there is to do
And he's been every place.
He always gets in trouble
For there's nothing he won't try.
He has traveled in a sub-marine,
Flown airplanes in the sky.
He has even been arrested,
More than once broke out of Jail.
But the family loves him dearly
And we always pay his bail.
Where grandma gets her stories from
I guess I'll never know.
But even down through all these years
Her Pug tales grow and grow.
I know someday when grandma sleeps,
And her life on earth is gone,
The Angels all will gather
To hear Pug tales all day long
Sep 24, 2010
Sep 24, 2010 at 4:49 PM UTC
Everyone's out to outdo everyone else
It's not even about meaning anymore
It's how much press coverage it gets
Whoever makes them "just" statistics
And there's no fantasy draft yet
Somewhere alone in his dark place
Ruminating his environment
Some bedwetting, fire starting, animal abuser
Infantilized by the hatred of maternal instincts
Projected on him
De-evolved
He likes the way she hurts him
She abuses open hand words
or clenched up fists of embarrassment
It just fuels his homicidal tendencies
His brains on the hate frequency
And he's ready to let the fantasy slip
Home is where the heartless host
absence of emotional ghosts
the boy
the man
the monster
He lost it
Family annihilator,
He took his mother out last
So she'd suffer through
the destruction of the ********
Her wasted wish
of abortion'd children.
This was before the news vans
This was before the first respondents
This was before the society outlash
Back to him alone in a dark place
In the depths of his disturbing mind
He sets higher stakes.
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 8:20 PM UTC
We are nudging out nature, in our selfish interest
Almost trying to outdo nature and create our space
A space devoid of any beauty, mechanical churning
Deafening noise, drowning us in the decibels
Haze from the industries, making our vision blurry
Oblivious to the perils, of where we are heading
Are we leaving or building a safe abode for our progeny?
We can live in denial and continue to march ahead
Trampling many natural dreams in the name of civilization
Or measure success in different parameters
As success can’t be at the cost of defeating the purpose of life
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 8:49 AM UTC
Waking among the concrete structures
Starting the day running around in earnest
For chores are plenty and time is handful
To begin a new one-hundred-meter-dash
Trying to outdo each other, in an imaginary race
Every stride we take, the concrete takes away our zeal
There is no cushion for the hectic lifestyle
Taking a toll on our mind and body
We seem to have reached somewhere
But end up at the same station, to catch the train
Inadvertently, packing every coach
Few faces we know from our daily commute
Lots of new faces add up to the crowd
We are an individual, but interspersed in the crowd
Waiting to get-off at the daily destination
The concrete pavements and the concrete buildings
Greets us gloomily, although modern architecture
Facades of glass reflecting off the chaos of life outside
Immediately, we are in a grind of the job
Lost in numerous presentations and graphical projections
The pie charts take the sweetness out of our life
Savoring only percentages, with sprinkling of peppery talks
Targets are set and client’s meet are arranged
To strike out a deal and sign-off the nuptials
It’s a marriage of client and service providers
Where brands are hogging the limelight
For us it’s the race to maintain our saneness
As it’s a daily commute through the concrete jungle
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 2:00 PM UTC
(For any family gathering during the holiday season)
My father had two brothers and four sisters, which meant there were numerous cousins. At least once a year, sometimes more, we would gather at our grandparents house in Joshua, Texas.
Come Sunday morning, the ritual of preparing the Sunday dinner would begin. Now, back then, in the 40's and 50's, it was "old school." The women went to the kitchen(led by grandmom), and the men would go outside, brace themselves against the fenders and hoods of their vehicles, conveniently parked beneath a large Texas Pecan Tree; lightup their cigars, cigarettes, or pipes, and start telling lies and yarns(much the same thing), each trying to outdo the other. The children running around the open yard, or going a hundred yards to the railroad tracks to place coins, mostly pennies, dimes, nickles(maybe a quarter,if you got an allowance), on the track rails, then wait for the afternoon/evening train. A lot of coins got flattened on those tracks.
And while the men waited.......a manisfestation began to occur........................
Aromas that would make a king cry.....
"Salivating"
Becoming impatient
Fried chicken
Baked chicken
Becoming more impatient
Laughter....
Coming from the kitchen
Roast Beef
Mashed potatoes
Lord, don't let'em forget the gravy!
Lightly braised stringbeans w/buttersauce
Fresh baked Acorn Squash
Okra
All prepared with, the 'secret ingredient'.......
" Love! "
copyright: January 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 4:52 PM UTC
you know you take
words and some cement and glue
and you make them all stick together
into verse and poetry;
and you gather love like a rolling stone
and you blow wild seeds in the air
and you’ve got fine diction
and refined sentiments
and it’s made into a poem
and it all makes sense
oh baby,
it all makes too much sense
you work like Vivaldi
and make poems about seasons
or you work like Goethe
and pour roaring poetry
to outdo Shakespeare
and you frighten Edgar Allan Poe;
and you have great insight
like the Buddha or some Great Prophet
or Only One Savior
and you give us mighty fine inspired poetry
pure, pure spirituality;
or you just take Revelation
like the countless mindless followers
the Great Being has been plagued with since Inception
and you make verse
and oh, it all makes sense
it all makes too much sense
and you take my foibles, our foibles
and your poems
laugh at them
or you put fine words together and string beads of harmony
like a millions-dollar necklace
Richard Burton might have offered Liz Taylor
oh you know you make poems
that come across time and cyberspace
and they all maketh perfect sense
but
how about
baby
you and me make verse
that knocks out sense and makes no sense?
poetry that takes the mickey out of meaning?
no, not for a change -
but forever?
no, not for entertainment
but for nonsense?
so that senses is knocked senseless
and we escape you and me
to North Caledonia
to Paradise of rhythm and senseless-beauty
and we have a beat
and we have a pulse
and the street gang says in awe:
Oh, hey
see these two babies move
they’ve got the style
they’ve got the swing
Yeah, they’re a fine couple of babies!
so we got no sense
and sense-less is meaningless
so we got no sense in nonsense either
or senselessness for that matter
we got nothing baby
(well, nothing on as well)
but plenty of rhythm and sway
we drop all fine subjects
that determine our lives
so we are all freed of lies maybe
(we don’t know what will happen)
and we got the spirit of poetry
beyond sense and line and word and form and intent and purpose
and that gets all the universe rocking
(no doubt, there’s enough rock already)
baby
in one baby-making sway
how about that, baby?
you and me
abandon sense
and dance naked between planets and stars?
Sep 25, 2010
Sep 25, 2010 at 5:21 PM UTC
Something about cold lips makes me warm.
Something about your voice sighing a swear
Into my neck, makes me grip the bed.
Something about you makes me moan.
Imagine me pressing my hand into your nape
And dancing down your back.
Your skin is so special
I can't pull away.
Tattoo your body onto mine,
So we can do this forever.
Play me soft, now loud
Let's make music with our bodies
Chaotic choruses under moonlight
Shaky strums finding our song
Just right.
The silence in between kisses is golden when
I can hear you begging for more.
Let me explore so I can find my favorite spots,
And yours.
Something about my name on your lips
Gets me shivering.
Something about your body rips
Me apart and puts me together again.
There's something about you
That no one else can outdo.
There's some things that you do
That no one else knows how to.
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 1:04 AM UTC
Prelude,
Skin was scorching,
Prickling our naked ankles.
Whispers of passion—amounting to the indefinite.
Excitement overriding fear.
Your smirk—it was scorning my wit, but all the while I was spinning—
Trying to outdo you.
Challenging the norm of lovers before me, despite those many warnings.
And yet, here I am, brushing against your infamous lips,
Having more intentions than I care to share with you,
Because I will be the exception.
I, a determined revolutionist bent on transforming your philosophy.
The inevitable vulnerability, the alleged helplessness found by your touch—
You were all talk, and nothing I couldn’t handle.
_____________
Interlude,
Something encroaches now.
A force unplanned.
It violates me. It breaches the wall of my veins.
Slithering, swimming —
A parasitic force of which I was convinced I was immune.
Biology’s symbiotic model; forever tainted by our act.
For many a love was given in primal flesh, yet goes unrequited in spirit.
I believed I could break this cycle.
I, the revolutionist
Believed I could topple your deeply set pride.
I believed I could crack your shell and pull out the viscera,
Bleeding, pulsating in between my fingers, and let the mass slide from my hands
To fall upon your chest, floundering in plain view.
I imagined that your eyebrow would raise, your lips would part to form a
Contorted grin, you would sigh, and then admit,
“Nicely Done.”
I believed you would be impressed.
I believed you would be impressed…
______________
Epilogue,
Wit is waning.
Skin is cold, rotting… and wasting.
My beautiful body is rotting.
And I cannot admit that you were right,
Lest I would rot more quickly.
Still unyielding to your claims,
Only so you not think of me as fragile,
Not because I think I may win.
Clinging to the hope that you may someday learn to love
This broken, yearning body.
This fallen revolutionist—
All along a convenient satiation of flesh.
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 17, 2011 at 5:07 PM UTC
I wear her disapproval
on the worn-out sleeves
of a warned-about dress
and look smaller in it than anything else.
It makes me more of a mess
than I was already, it's lack of fit
will always outdo how well
I can fit into anything else
I could ever possess.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 10:08 AM UTC
No More Sweets
I've managed to outdo myself,
I've made a failing grade,
my sweets no longer thinks of me,
its a zero centigrade,
sure, I knew what I did was chancy,
complete collapse was high,
but nothing ventured, nothing gained,
is the motto I go by,
I still hold the view of high regard,
in every single thought,
the chance was taken, I was mistaken,
in what it was I sought,
and now my thoughts blow in the wind,
they are torn and scattered,
any possibility, of this reconcile gone,
as if it really mattered,
I will return again someday, my head held high,
walking busy streets,
until then, I'll mourn in peace,
knowing no more Sweets.
Gomer LePoet...
Mar 12, 2010
Mar 12, 2010 at 3:48 AM UTC
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
One thing I would miss,
the elegiac street names.
angora, moyamensing,
escaping my red-berry throat
as if terms invented by a willow tree,
its ancient, parched lips defining first utterances.
from her droning tongue,
terms incomprehensible.
the closest we’ll come to some ‘true name.’
she speaks in our words now. they enter us from all around,
words seeping in through porous flesh.
she reveals my truest intent.
looks at it through her leaves,
but will not tell me,
because she has none of the authority to do so.
to you, i want to look like home.
arms, peripheral walls.
unfortunately, inside you’ll find the wings of the stately home cordoned off,
closed to the public.
my great tragedies lie in the thought of you having no curiosity about the events of those rooms.
feel free to do with the house what you’d never do anywhere else.
you’ll find no temple here.
no servants’ prayer room populated by makeshift pews.
let so many fall from its windows howling with competitive laughter,
each guest trying to outdo the last.
to see who can be the most clever about getting the joke.
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 1:41 PM UTC
Amiss! Amiss! Amiss!
Something is chronically amiss
With my beloved country
Spiritually and physically rich
But apparently presented as poor
Billions of our money given wings
Like hawks that disappear
Soon after chicks are forcibly stolen
Trillions stashed down the drains
To fertilize parched lands
Where hussies and gigolos live
Plants of greed
Nursed and nurtured by the elite
A few insatiable pigs
That profess religion
But know not God
Mothers strive to outdo fathers
I weep, I weep, I weep profusely
But there is none to console me
And now my heart has a new guest uninvited
A nagging excruciating pain
Would I pass on weeping
With no solace coming?
Nov 2, 2010
Nov 2, 2010 at 10:11 PM UTC
Pictures last for centuries
Some still feel regret
Love, laughter, memories
For the feelings that never left
Tangible emotions
Enfold your heart and soul
Rewind back to the time
When love was warm as coal
Happiness at its pinnacle
All stars became aligned
Empty it was to be cynical
For love, you are sublime
Pictures are a sentiment
Feelings sealed in the heart
Liberated at the excitement
Tracing back from the start
Picture back in time
To a delightful happy me
Her cheek pressed up to mine
We smiled and count to three
It flashed before my eyes
For no love could ever outdo
After three years I realize
That love, I always loved you
Pictures only last for centuries
Take advantage never
Make fulfilling memories
So love can last forever
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 1:46 AM UTC
A Perfect World!
As the sun shimmers the cloud... appears you with a shine of light...
It's going to be a beautiful day Madam...as I see.. An Angel just its presence... bright...
I love seeing that smirk on that beautiful face...how lucky am I.. to see that beautiful sight...
To Life... To Love and To Care... for you.. nor do i see distance... nor any unreachable height...
I don't see any signs of pains... neither do I hear any chants of anguish...
I see a full presence of hearts... and an innumerable souls and wishes to cherish...
The World Is a playground without boundaries... and we never get too old to be too childish...
This is To the day that starts and ends with a playful smile... and to smile...for everything that comes along with...
A helpful hand when needed one... and an extra pair of legs when wanted to walk along with some...
people that never leave when their time has come... isn't it wonderful to see... a wish come alive when asked for one?...
One doesn't need to beg for food...or lie to see happiness is some...
To those wishes that were left for wishes to be wished... and to those screams that left a few songs...unsung...
Why try to outdo others when you can outdo yourself as a human...
Look at the brighter side of you...when you are agonizing a soul just to have some fun...
Leave the life to be unexpected... but its your choice to tag along with it... when it takes the wrong turn...
To the tears that didn't get the care to dry... and to those arms who were left unheeded...life is bitter than its literal terms...
A "Perfect World" may be a illusive presence of mind that could never be in the realm of human reality...
As a Man runs from problems to wars and to crimes and to mischievous and finally to cruelty...
He forgets that the real problem is The Man himself, But...what could be done to apt his morality?...
Try to be a better human than you were yesterday... and see how that dream turns into a sheer...reality...
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 5:14 PM UTC
Tonight is for reflection.
Not the kind found in a mirror.
Which of course I have none. Mores the pity. I would love to see how splendid I look in my new shirt with French lace and ruffles. Under my sapphire blue waist coat and buckskin riding breeches. All I can clearly see full of, would be my boots. The softest leather and a shine to see ones reflection in. Sigh, But not mine.
Where was I.. Ah yes, I was waxing philosophical.
One can never be too busy to better ones self. Thus
my new clothes.
Let's see...reflection.
While looking back upon my long lived life as the Prince Of Darkness. I realize, I have been selfish. Not
once have I invited others to my humble home. Not once have I hosted a party. Not once have I allowed others to witness my grandeur.
Tonight, I vow to remedy that. I will have a party. One to outdo all the others which I have had the privilege to crash.
Hmm. Perhaps I should start a bit smaller.
A dinner party!
For the intimates of intimates.
Let me see. Who to invite?
Reginald Wadsworth! He's a jolly chap. No. He was a late night snack a few days ago.
Hortense Mayweather! She is always in good humor and a fair conversationalist. No. She had the misfortune of crossing my path last month while I was woozy from battle blood loss. A fight with a tresspasser left me a bit worse for wear. But Hortence fixed me right up.
I've got it! General Clayston! He makes for such a fun curmudgeon. Oh, He died of old age.
Hmm........
Oh look! The Carlstayton's are hosting a party tonight.
Looks like I will be dining out.
~Lord Kellington
Oct 22, 2010
Oct 22, 2010 at 7:07 PM UTC
You quickly admit fault, admirable!
I await my chance, to outdo you;
**a competition would ensue,
to showcase faults, ouch!**
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 2:12 PM UTC
Trace the stars with your fingernail and tell me you don't see her face
Let five seconds pass and you could swear you almost feel her embrace
Oh little wonder of wonders how I wonder how you are
Whispering into your starlit ear that I pray you don't venture far
'Cause pardon me for still dreaming, but miracles are very much alive
And that's just what it would take for me to catch your twinkling eye
As I sit here on solid ground and the grass that's not so green
I crane my vision up and could swear your image winks at me
And I believe
See comets collide in natural fireworks that outdo the attempts of man
Try to comprehend the universe and realize it takes more than one lifespan
Then take it all and put it in the wonder that is this simply wonder-full girl
Feel your heart rush up to your neck and your pace stop as she reconfigures your world
Hear the cymbals chime each and every time those crazy comets choose to crash
Marvel at the millions of natures home-cooked mysteries in a single eyelash
Don't get too overwhelmed by the waves of passion that engulf you each time she passes
Just pop the cork, let the cool champagne run, and make sure there are no empty glasses
And know I believe
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 9:37 PM UTC
Stars above
be witness
to this love.
I give to you,
a gift to you.
Value in it's infancy.
All the way to infinity.
Ancient exchanges,
always finding ways
to outdo what it outdoes.
Up, down, all around,
in the air we breathe.
Needless to say,
in the words we heed.
And if it's words you want,
then let there be wars above
fought over nothing more
than a force of nature.
Pushing ever onward
in a race against Time and Space.
Opened with the skeleton key.
Through the door.
Now I see...
Free.
Or so we seem to be.
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 10:55 PM UTC
If you want to reach new heights
Or your former goals outdo
You may need to consider
Doing something new for you
If all you’ve ever done before
Has gotten you just so far
Try something that’s new for you
In order to raise the bar
What we’ve done is easier
And habits tend to flow
But if you want prosperity
Old ways might have to go
Stretch beyond your comfort zone
And take this truth to heart
Your new ways can be habits soon
You simply have to start
Apr 16, 2022
Apr 16, 2022 at 11:16 AM UTC
It’s Hard Not To Be Optimistic: An Updated Sonnet to Science
by Michael R. Burch
“DNA has cured deadly diseases and allowed
labs to create animals with fantastic new
features.” ― U.S. News & World Report
It’s hard not to be optimistic
when things are so wondrously futuristic:
when DNA, our new Louie Pasteur,
can effect an autonomous, miraculous cure,
while labs churn out fluorescent monkeys
who, with infinite typewriters, might soon outdo USN&WR’s flunkeys.
It’s hard not to be optimistic
when the world is so delightfully pluralistic:
when Schrödinger’s cat is both dead and alive,
and Hawking says time can run backwards. We thrive,
befuddled drones, on someone else’s regurgitated nectar,
while our cheers drown out poet-alarmists who might Hector
the Achilles heel of pure science (common sense)
and reporters who tap out supersillyous nonsense.
NOTE: I am a fan of both real science and science fiction, and I like to think I can tell the difference, at least between the two extremes. I feel confident that Schrödinger didn’t think the cat in his famous experiment was both dead and alive. Rather, he was pointing out that we can’t know until we open the box, scratchings and smell aside. While traveling backwards in time is great for science fiction, it seems extremely doubtful as a practical application. And as for DNA curing deadly diseases ... well, it must have created them, so perhaps don’t give it too much credit!
Submitted to U.S. News & World Report
Dear Editor,
While I’m usually a fan of your magazine, as a writer I must take to task the Frankensteinian logic of the excerpt I cited, and I challenge you to publish my “letter” as proof that poets do have a function in the third millennium, even if it is only to suggest that paid writers should not create such outlandish, freakish horrors of the English language.
Somewhat irked, but still a fan,
Michael R. Burch
Keywords/Tags: science, fiction, quantum, physics, Hawking, Schrodinger, cat, DNA, infinite, monkeys, typewriters, Shakespeare, lab, animals, new, features
May 8, 2020
May 8, 2020 at 4:11 PM UTC