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"overwatch" poems
Welcome Back To This, Your Isle The rabbits beneath the deck, Even the pesky deer who eat the shrubbery, Sea creatures, living and spirits of the dead, Lying on the paths and in the creeks of Silver Beach, All inquire: Was it better wherever you went? Were the: Bears, hiding in the forests outside Berlin, Eagles, double headed, of Russia Herring, fried, creamed, wined, From the vendors on the docks of Helsinki, Riga, Visby and Tallinn, Salmon, smoked and cured in Stockholm, More impressive, Tastier than our striped bass, Island cohorts of yours, who waited patiently For their chronicler to return? Did the Little Mermaid and her Dolphin Guardians of the Port of Copenhagen Welcome you more warmly than your friends, The ospreys, lizards, turtles and owls Who overwatch your steps and safety When hiking in Mashomack Preserve? Are the interlacing tidal creeks, Woodlands, fields, salt marshes and the ragged, Irregular but charmed coastline of this cherished island Any lesser than those of Scandinavia? Are the sea-going ferries that transverse the Baltic Sea and the Gulf of Finland, More poetic than the Menantic or the Lt. Joe, Who carry you swiftly home to us? The National Geographic people say that in Tivoli Gardens, The Amerikaner (ha!) waffle ice cream cone Is one of the ten best in the world. Guessing they have not made it yet to the Tuck Shop for some Moose Tracks! Were you unaware that our isle settled before Peter the Great ever envisioned creating the grand Boulevards of his capitol, St. Petersburg, Route 114 was a traveled forest path, By settlers and Indians, not serfs. Of the Treasures, the Gold Room of the Hermitage, The Amber Room of Catherine's Palace, Wrote not a single word, we observe. Your attentions, they did not deserve? The answers all, self evident. Here, surrounded by the gentle breezes of Long Island Sound and Gardiners Bay, Sweet and salty flavors of the Peconic atmosphere, Words unlocked, from your eyes to the page fall, Smudged by joyous tears, for the muses of the island Have embraced you yet again and rebirthed Inspiration, within their comforting, sheltering grasp. Silver Beach July 22, 2012
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Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
Welcome Back To This, Your Isle
Welcome Back To This, Your Isle The rabbits beneath the deck, Even the pesky deer who eat the shrubbery, Sea creatures, living and spirits of the dead, Lying on the paths and in the creeks of Silver Beach, All inquire: Was it better wherever you went? Were the: Bears, hiding in the forests outside Berlin, Eagles, double headed, of Russia Herring, fried, creamed, wined, From the vendors on the docks of Helsinki, Riga, Visby and Tallinn, Salmon, smoked and cured in Stockholm, More impressive, Tastier than our striped bass, Island cohorts of yours, who waited patiently For their chronicler to return? Did the Little Mermaid and her Dolphin Guardians of the Port of Copenhagen Welcome you more warmly than your friends, The ospreys, lizards, turtles and owls Who overwatch your steps and safety When hiking in Mashomack Preserve? Are the interlacing tidal creeks, Woodlands, fields, salt marshes and the ragged, Irregular but charmed coastline of this cherished island Any lesser than those of Scandinavia? Are the sea-going ferries that transverse the Baltic Sea and the Gulf of Finland, More poetic than the Menantic or the Lt. Joe, Who carry you swiftly home to us? The National Geographic people say that in Tivoli Gardens, The Amerikaner (ha!) waffle ice cream cone Is one of the ten best in the world. Guessing they have not made it yet to the Tuck Shop for some Moose Tracks! Were you unaware that our isle settled before Peter the Great ever envisioned creating the grand Boulevards of his capitol, St. Petersburg, Route 114 was a traveled forest path, By settlers and Indians, not serfs. Of the Treasures, the Gold Room of the Hermitage, The Amber Room of Catherine's Palace, Wrote not a single word, we observe. Your attentions, they did not deserve? The answers all, self evident. Here, surrounded by the gentle breezes of Long Island Sound and Gardiners Bay, Sweet and salty flavors of the Peconic atmosphere, Words unlocked, from your eyes to the page fall, Smudged by joyous tears, for the muses of the island Have embraced you yet again and rebirthed Inspiration, within their comforting, sheltering grasp. Silver Beach July 22, 2012
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whispers the stubbly face of the old grandpa, or I'll blow fierce little airs all over your rigidly pretending-to-be-asleeping cute little facey, then tickle your kissable little lips and make farty noises for the rest of the day she, irresistibly, bursts out laughing like the roaring lioness she be, whose cubs might be threatened, and laughingly squeals, oh poppy! it's all your fault, you grumpy old poet, you made me put the *** in my peej's! and how his son, the father, on permanent overwatch, growls below annoyingly, "great, now we'll be late," and threatens to tell the attractive single second grade teacher, upon whom he has a semi-secret crushing, to which we two devils scream out, "oh please, oh please" knowing she will find it quite charming, and maybe even him, tooing, the single attractive father-man who, could be ripe for a twoing >< and poppy twinkles, thinking that no matter what you call it, that thing, is all-around and in~between us while he changes the young lady's sheeting
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Sep 18, 2025
Sep 18, 2025 at 2:31 PM UTC
A Love Poem, but of course! "wakee, wakee, you little fakery
sink into the silence nothing left by nothing a silent trip adviser to blame the past on levels of induced mindless consumption that dealt with the singularity breath ghost located in page after page after page of longing caress and sniff and smell the burning rubber sensation of ice melted fire drops dealt to deal with dealing memories forgave in the think tank calm in the blue raindrop frisky frisk touch of soul felt with eyes wide open and a heart made of gold to last ever last in the synaptic convulsion that twitches and squirms of a mental addiction love and pain and parlor trick injections did i mention the hopeful twist of a sudden quick thinking passing love is love actually and codeine is a moment of unloved passive regret o d on your section of unblinking overwatch i snorted the powder to happiness everlasting cuddle with my corpse i want to be the little spoon and feel your heartbeat in my back pressed selfishness to hold my soul and revel in the passiveness of unthinking let me lick your inner soul and taste the salt of a lie left on cracked breathless lips
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Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 8:14 PM UTC
little spoon
I hear the world is full of pain, Flooding, terror, acid rain; Music, theatre, laughs and art, Whiskey, coffee, beer and darts, Rainbows, glaciers, hiking trails; Rare Pepes and EPIC FAILs, Overwatch and Pokemon Go; Donald Trump and Bernie Bros; Dreams, and Drugs, and Rock n' Roll, Dharma, Love, and the eternal soul, The Holy Quran and the Higgs boson Tajwid in Geneva, QFT in Tehran. Yet day by day I sit and type Edit, grep, compile, pipe All that a system smoothly might run Ashes to Ashes, Zero to One ''' npm install; grunt &; restart nginx docker run -d me/interests; pkill sleep; pkill *** nice 14 nutrition; rm /etc/cron.daily/exercise pkill -STOP judgment; scp foodler:'**/{burger,fries}' ~ ''' It's rather ironic that this metal you see, Seems quite a better multitasker than me Whereas It stops its world to switch one task for others My open descriptors always overflow my buffers Whereas it take new patches with a simple 'apt-get' My resolve for upgrades I quite often forget And when its health checks fail, we regrow the ASG But my self won't reboot. et memento mori.
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Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 8:35 PM UTC
a sysadmin's lament
Before he was here He would have said, "bereft of feeling," Now he says TBI Before he was here, Overwatch was a game. Now it keeps him and others alive Before he was here He was a conscientious vegan. Now he's an omnivore, Devouring vacuum sealed inorganic meat byproducts. With vigor Before he was here Musty was the damp basement smell-- endearing, familiar Now it's the infection smell -- nauseating, familiar Before he was here, There was good and evil, Now there are only shades of evil Before he was here She was there, Always. Now she is gone, Forever. Before he was here Death was distant, clinical Now it's cloying, visceral He doesn't know if he'll be able To return to the time before here He doubts it.
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Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 1:29 AM UTC
Perspective
Have you fixed it yet? Is the coding sequence "Survive"?   Hold on. The coding sequence is something else! It's more like "Karma" + "Infinity".  All life now and in the future is affected by it... Say again, over? [static]... My vision is blurred, I no longer have overwatch.. Bravo Company, this is Delta. Do you copy? We order the military forces to take action... I can't see. This is a different kind of war... we're taking casualties, but we are making progress, progress, progress, progress....
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Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 11:48 AM UTC
Source Code: Survive...
Sitting alone I am prone. Holder of death Watching his last breath. Protector of life
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Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 7:37 PM UTC
Overwatch
The kingdom stretches out as far as the eye can see, Riddled with the regret of long distance, Ruined sanctuaries and remnants of a civilization that valued the bonds between both of us. I made a promise to the queen, That all of us would make a sacrifice, And yet as things progressed faster, We must confess that we professed too much about wanting and not enough about vices. If I could give you the world you want, Would you still steal the moon for light or would moonlight steal the sight of the world you sought? Some day I'll know, Someday, you'll be right and I'll reap what I sow, Past present, You were at once my present and now you've declared you no longer want my presence. To whom it may concern, To have everything, is a disease, A lesson I must learn. A casual reminder that what people must live on can easily be replaced, That I could be easily replaced and I am no longer a remnant of the kingdom, Yet to some, I am revered as the prince. I tried my hardest to make this worth it, To make this journey fit to the grip of the wheel of this ship. Will you keep this afloat? The thought of you once brought me peace, Now the nightmares...they will not cease.
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Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 1:55 PM UTC
Overwatch
*strained and molded midnight brain encounter unknown cell tower overwatch spill water catch twenty two revolver tribute merganser interceptor ravenous soul sport epic fail condominium Brick island overlook star gazer Kansas revolt lear jet appetite ebony sincere lambasted trivial revolution correspondent irregular depth californian intrinsic substitution despondent calibrated ocean going counter measure*
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Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 1:24 AM UTC
One a.m. Word Association