"peggy" poems
It was the time of my Auntie Bee summers
I was small then
She had a parakeet that landed on my head
and a bathtub too
with water so deep!
and legs and claws!
**** thing nearly chased me down the stairs!
She lived in slumbery Windsor Locks
where bugs hung-out in the haze
of teenage August
I played in the tall weeds
with a shoeless Italian boy
who ate tomatoes like apples
and cucumbers right off the vine!
He was ***** free and foreign!
We played— reckless, abandoned
behind the gas pump, under the tractor, in the barn
and through the endless fields
I didn’t know....
His name was Tony
I ate pizza with him—the first time
At Auntie Bee’s I had to go to bed at eight
but I could watch night flowers
bloom on wallpaper
She came in to say good night
slippered, shadowy, night dress slightly open
and I peeped her *******
like Tony’s cucumbers!
I had never seen my mother’s wonders....
Night spread its wings from the old fan—
a bird of tireless exhaustion
whipped, whipped, whipped to death in its cage
tireless exhaustion
tic-tocking in time to a wind-up clock
stretched out on the whine
of the overland trucks
Route Five through the night of an open window
In the grape arbor below—
tremulous incessant
crickets crickets crickets
tremulous incessant—insides of a child
a summer child
not yet ready for the fall of answers
Auntie Bee had a daughter—Maureen
I followed her everywhere I could
I was small then--
do anything for a stick of Juicy Fruit
I followed Maureen through my dreams
of being sixteen
and woke to Peggy’s “Fever”
while she tied her sneakers
against the mattress by my head
I followed Maureen (in my mind)
tanned and bandanned
to work in the fields of shade tobacco
with all those Puerto Rican boys!
She knew where she was going!
I was small then
...do anything for a stick of gum
“Mauney! Mauney! Mauney!”
...through the goldenrod of roadside
through the smell of oil that damped the dust
I followed Maureen’s white shorts
and chestnut hair...to the corner store
I followed the way the boys smiled
the way the screen door slammed
on her bright behind
the way her lips taunted and took
the coke-bottle’s green
I followed Maureen
I swear, I tried for hours to get that right!
Must have been Peggy Lee’s “Fever”
Maureen ties her sneakers in my face
Flaunts her years above my head
She has that look—
“We kids don’t know nothin”
(Little turds” that we be)
…followin’ Maureen
through the goldenrod of roadside
tic-tockin’, beboppin’
“Fever— in the morning
Fever all through the night….”
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 11:30 PM UTC
by
rgpage
in times long past young lovers dashed
to reach their secret space.
to kiss and ***** and plan and hope
their future's goals are placed.
never mind their path be lined
with unknown strife and pain.
their love is strong they'll carry on
with carefree youthful gain.
they don't see their life to be
past cupid's hot embrace.
as hot breath blends with kiss' deep
young lovers start their chase.
young love is hot and secrets not
shall block their youthful nest.
when young men dare and young girls share
young lovers start their quest.
its saturday night, dad's packard's right
with half a tank of gas.
with comb to hair in the bathroom mirror
he's thinking 'bout his lass.
its only been a week gone past
his greatest dream came true.
he staked his claim, with hopes on high
and pinned his Peggy Sue.
they talked of passages young men take
to cross that great divide.
to walk the way of their father's
and yes to take a bride.
in the grown up world so long past school
the grown ups just don't see.
teen love is true and made to last
the way it was meant to be.
he got on base with his varsity pin,
the base is numbered two.
this place before he'd never been
he hardly knew what to do.
his body went through changes great
his thoughts a swirling brook.
he cupped his prize with shaky hand
when before he could only look.
tonight's the night he's waited for
yes perhaps go all the way.
to walk with those who've beat love's quest
to become a man this day.
the time is ripe as is the night
it's planned in every way.
she won't resist his manly charms
WHAT MONTHLY FRIEND?
how long does she plan to stay?
and what's her visit to do with us
away from the lights of the city?
who is this friend to ruin this night?
his plans be dashed more the pity.
Dec 2, 2011
Dec 2, 2011 at 11:44 AM UTC
It sings to me
On the dark side of midnight.
The deep, throbbing song
Courses through my veins.
It robs me of sleep
With its hurtful music;
Woven throughout me a
Sadistic opera of pain.
Screeching aria’s fill my
Head with brain-snapping sound,
While the chorus accompanies
With low, deep down thrumming.
Once begun, this opera of horror
Will sing for hours at a time.
No breaks allowed for this
Captive audience of one.
It sings until satisfied
My body won’t be worth a ****
Wrung limp from the awful music
Of the tortuous performance.
Sung to me from the dark side of midnight.
4/1/11 (c) Peggy Montgomery
Apr 1, 2011
Apr 1, 2011 at 5:17 AM UTC
“you should watch for what’s good and say so, watch for what’s bad and say that,
and be afraid of neither observation.
If you lose your temper, lose it; if you find yourself unexpectedly moved, admit it.
Keep your tools, compass and gyroscope,
clean, dry and level.”
Peggy Noonan,
columnist, author
<•>
good
Christmas Eve advice
getting harder to find,
wheat from chaff, and all that,
what’s sensible,
what’s defensible,
and what actually feels
A~ok!
as in
perhaps, it actually could be,
pause to think,
correct?
and:or:heck,
even right
so if you read the above ,
take it from a couple of senior geezers,
you just got a holiday freebie!
yeah, yeah, keep your powder dry,
just ain’t the same, sorry…
we talking tools and fools here,
them that keep you
on a course
of your owned free choice,
with an assist,
to know your position & to
never to lose your balance
when everybody is
instantly
telling you what to think,
take that long pause,
use your tools,
to pick the problem up,
Rubik’s cube it,
twist and shout,
when the
solution emerges
‘tis the season for
preaching and overreaching,
but use this quietime pause,
look internal,
and keep your instinct and
inside tools oiled,
and mind open, clarified
wish you then, clear eyes, open ears & love;
wisdom, that’s up to you,
but, you’re a billionaire for sure,
use the grey cells you were given
thoughtfully & well,
and keep on looking for
‘what’s a good way,’
which is always an
everlasting work
nat lipstadt
Dec 23, 2024
Dec 23, 2024 at 11:24 AM UTC
I have become a gran again,
To a special girl,
Shes's got warts on her face,
And a squashed-up nose,
And she trots at a fast pace.
She's cute and she's brown,
Apricot to be correct..
I love her so much
Even when she's being greedy,
Which is most of the time
But we keep her in line
As pugs tend to go fat..
And we don't want that,
I find it a joy
To have her stay,
My cat isn't impressed
And does her best
To ignore Peggy the pug,
I hope one day
They will be friends,
As I care for them both,
The love from a pet
Is unconditional,
Their loyalty knows no bounds
To stroke a pet is therapy they say
I know being with Peggy makes my day
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 6:58 AM UTC
There was a girl named Peg Leg Peg,
Called her that because of her wooden leg,
She was known as the best in town,
Guys would come from miles around,
You see, Peg’s leg could detach,
For better access to her ******
And though it wasn’t ***** that bite,
There was the occasional termite,
But this did not seem to deter,
All the guys who called on her,
And though there were occasional cracks,
About how she held her stockings up with tacks,
All the guys would practically beg,
To put another notch in Peggy’s leg.
04-19-10.
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 7:32 PM UTC
I'm so good
I'm so free
I'm a girl
don't look at me
I hate it here
all that I see
I wish you all
would die
I'm so bored
I steal for kicks
to get some dough
I trick some tricks
my boyfriend
sent me ***** pics
so gross I thought
I'd die
Peggy's preggie
so is Sue
those two are hoes
what else is new
I met a guy
they call him Blue
so hot I thought
I'd die
my parents are
a stupid joke
they're both so dumb
I wish they'd croak
I can't believe I'm
so **** broke
I hope you all
will die!
©2011 Lyn
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 9:59 AM UTC
I have two purrfect sweethearts and I'm smitten.
They are yellow and they're my two new kittens.
One of my babies is a girl and the other is a boy.
There's nothing like pets to bring a person joy.
They're beautiful, adorable and tame.
George and Peggy are their names.
I love to stroke their soft fur.
When I pet them, they purr.
They've taken a shine to me and owning them is something I'll never regret.
They're two purrfect sweethearts and they're wonderful pets.
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 5:30 PM UTC
_New York
after a trip to Mexico, & not finally explored_.
In 1991, shortly before he died,
Motherwell
remembered a "conspiracy of silence"
regarding Paalen´s innovative role in the genesis of Abstract Expressionism.
Upon return from Mexico, Motherwell
spent time developing his creative principle
based on automatism:
"what I realized was that Americans
potentially could paint like angels, but that there
was no effective creative principle around,
so that everybody
who liked modern art was copying it;
Gorky was copying Picasso;
******* was copying Picasso;
De Kooni
ng was copying Picasso;
I mean, I say this unqualifiedly,
I was painting French intimate pictures or whatever:
All we needed was a creative principle,
I mean something that would mobilize this capacity
to paint in a creative way, & that's what Europe
had that we
hadn't had;
we had always followed in their wake
& I thought of all the possibilities
| [ ], [ ]
of free association—because I also had
a psychoanalytic background
& I understood the implications of—let's just say it
might be the best chance
to really make something entirely
new which everybody agreed was the thing to do;"
Thus, in the early 1940s, Robert Motherwell
played a significant role in laying the foundations
for the new movement of
Abstract Expressionism (or the New York School):
"Matta wanted to start a revolution, m [a movement w/in
Surrealism].
He asked me to find some other
American artists that would help start a new movement;
it was then that Baziotes
& I went to see ******* & de Kooning
& Hofmann & Kamrowski & Busa & several other people;
& if we could come with something;
Peggy Guggenheim, who liked us said that she
would put on a show of this new business;
... so I went around explaining _the theory of automatism_
to everybody because _the only way_
that you could have a _move - - - ment_
was that it had some _common_
_principle_. It sort of all began that way."
In 1942 Motherwell began to exhibit
his work in New York and in 1944
he had his first one-man show at
Peggy Guggenheim’s _“Art of This Century”_ gallery;
that same year, the MoMA
was the first museum
purchase one of his works; From the mid-1940s,
Motherwell [ ], [ ]. ( )
became the leading spokesman
for _avant-garde art in America_;
his circle coming to include
William Baziotes,
David Hare, Barnett Newman, & Mark Rothko,
with whom he eventually started the Subjects of the Artist School (1948–49). In 1949 Motherwell divorced
Maria Emilia Ferreira y Moyeros and in 1950 he married Bettie
Little,
with whom he had two daughters
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 11:18 PM UTC
Unmanned, like a bull bereft of all;
a flaccid decoration without use;
at least if thee had what I have
thou could be a woman; ******
hiding your treasure for marriage
and hypocrisy. And leave me
with empty decoration; rings
without sense, dresses without purpose.
Go about your business thou say
I want nothing to do with thee now;
yet not a month ago it was all Peggy this,
Peggy that; such are the changes
of the seasons. I do not want to give birth
to an empty ache; wet nurse it; teach it
its father's worth; I cannot tell the ache
how we loved, how we met, how we joyed.
I cannot sit round this mughouse days
and months I must out into the world
roll in the smell of Man again
with a jug of ale in one hand
and earning a stony crust
from some wight with a jangling purse.
And forget the bull that was castrated.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 1:23 PM UTC
Wakey Wakey, rise and shine
greet the morning with a smile
wide awake and feeling fine
dancing with this boy of mine.
Twisting on the kitchen floor
the monkey, the jive and many more,
the mashed potato, the hustle too
he follows my lead with a giggle or two.
There's a hound dog, a jailhouse, some blue suede shoes
as we Rave On with Buddy and Peggy Sue
Reet Petite makes an entrance and whips up the crowd
"Turn it up Daddy, I want this real loud!"
Then on to the Land of a Thousand Dances
even the dog's grinning wide as she prances
we take Three Steps to Heaven and meet Cathy's clown
then on to the next one, no time to sit down.
So I'll fry up the bacon as my little bug jitters
and poach us some eggs with some sweet 'tato fritters
as I sing of Lucille, Maggie may and Delilah,
then Shake Rattle and Roll to those Great ***** Of Fire.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 3:33 AM UTC
Let’s not forget our childhoods
Like playing in the rain, getting drench, and loving it
The scene I remembered most, was i watching Peggy the small dog,
in the window across the street.
While, the neighbors keep up their lawns, and areas neatly pruned
With the dull chopping sound of the cutlasses, early in the morning:
I generally held a book close to my face, while reading
But somehow, on that day, I kept staring at the house across the street
I don’t remember if I had done my chores or not,
before the lady in this photo came home that day for lunch.
For her, it was all about keeping up appearances,
Dinner at six, all school shoes must be polished before seven
and our Immaculate uniforms, must be hanging on the ironing board.
And no matter what,
all lights must be out before ten o’clock.
“Don’t forget to say your goodnight Prayers, she would have said”
Lately I've been thinking about childhood a lot
Suddenly, my thoughts turned to my first soap opera, Peyton Place,
Woody Allen, Mia farrow, and all my childhood memories came to a haul with…images of my friend Dolly Benskin and her daughter Paige:
Paige die at an early age: which haunted me for years..
why so young?
I use to love smoking candy cigarettes, but not between my toes
This morning of all mornings,
bonds with the carpet fibers is a piece of candy
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 8:58 AM UTC
Got a problem?
I can make thousands
millions
all up in the ceiling
mosaic tiles
blue and gold
holding down the albums
memories so soft and sweet
buttercream to wisdom teeth
picking out the files with an ax
and you can ask
any fella on the street
what he thinks
he'll say he doesn't,
we're honest by nature
nomenclature
soggy,
**** sapiens forever
loving bones and gorillas
never feel ya
quite the same
as that time in the attic
with the static
in our brains
it was insane
the way we thought our thoughts
touched touches
with more
would have scored
had it not been for the spiders-
frisky little things
squashed em long ago
and that's why they don't have wings,
unnecessary condition
apparitions to trife
made a foxy wolf lick his chops
take Peggy for a wife.
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 5:33 PM UTC
We watched three DVDs of Elvis
on the Ed Sullivan show,
Just to find you waving in the crowd
for a quarter of a second
It was brief
But to see you so young
And gentle and light
Was worth the hours
Of black & white tv
And jokes that are no longer funny
The first night I met you
You asked me if I was a writer
And I asked how you knew
You said it takes one to know one
I read your poetry for three hours
In Indian style on your living room floor
While you ate crackers from a ziplock bag
And talked about the love of your life
And the way his chest felt
The first time you used it as a pillow
You told me not to cry
When Elijah dumped me
You said pain is everywhere,
I'll miss out on life
If I let it consume me
I turned to leave your room
On a random Sunday last December,
It was cold and wet and dark,
And I was tired,
You grabbed my hand
And stopped me in my tracks
You said "learn to relax"
And then you held me still
Until you saw the anxiety
melt out of my eyes
I asked you why you
Bother to keep the car
Even though you know
You'll never drive it
You asked me why
I bother to love the sick
Even though I know
They're dying
You told me "don't close the blinds,
The world is beautiful"
Last time I came to say goodnight
You kept making plans,
Where you'd go after you left here
Even though "here" was certainly
The last place you'd be
I never understood
Why you kept pretending;
Pretending there was more
I get it now, Peggy
I know
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 11:38 PM UTC
*“Up above my head
I hear music in the air
I really do believe
I really do believe
there's a Heaven somewhere”*
--Rhiannon Giddens
*“Is that all there is?”
--Peggy Lee*
An old philosopher told me this:
“About heaven.
Let’s say there’s more than one.
There’s the one where souls
are lurid with perfection,
piled into bliss,
dreaming of change.
“There’s the one people search for
to fit the story they tell themselves.
I looked for it. I watched the sky.
I found only words. Blue sky is
a blank page. Clouds are garish metaphors.
“Then there’s one that follows you.
Don’t look for it. You can’t find it.
It’s not a place or a path.
It dances at the edge of things
like old photos or a young face
that lives remembered in its older one,
an eternal moment always at hand
trailing like a thought balloon,
a shadow cast by nothing,
forever unfolding, never now.”
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 10:08 AM UTC
A mother’s hands cool fevered brows,
Warm little hands when cold winds blow.
A mother’s hands wipe away tears of pain,
And applaud the actions that joy brings.
A mother’s heart grows with each child,
Making room for each new life.
A mother’s heart knows soaring heights,
As well as the most anguished pains of night.
A mother’s smile can show such pride,
Or hide the disappoint from her child.
A mother’s smile is the warmest around.
To bask in one is worth heavens crown.
A mother’s love is a special thing,
Offering acceptance, comfort and peace.
A mother’s love cannot be earned,
Tis’ a love that blooms before a child’s birth.
And when a mother holds her newborn babe,
The love she feels explodes in her heart.
Each mother makes this very same vow.
To protect and love forever whether near or apart.
Happy Mother’s Day to all the Mother’s around the world.
copyright Peggy Montgomery 4/26/11
Apr 26, 2011
Apr 26, 2011 at 2:47 AM UTC
My hero, my heart, in your arms I sigh,
To listen to you breathe, your pure passions heat,
In creamy dreams of sweetness long gone by,
And taste your precious kisses; wild wonder sweet.
To open mine eyes in moons’ silver light
And see your face next to mine in our bed;
I would shower you with love in deep night.
Beautiful warrior; who chose me to wed.
But alas, I lie alone and in tears,
Dreaming of you in my arms through night dark.
For a warrior goes to fight without fear,
Leaving his love pining for his sweet spark.
I will wait forever, in this, my fate.
For you, my hero, my lover, my mate.
copyright 4/25/2011 Peggy Montgomery
Apr 26, 2011
Apr 26, 2011 at 2:49 AM UTC
When Great
Mystery invites you
At your cherished
Last days to cross
The bridge from
One Sun's realm
To another one ~
All your true beauty
Resplendently reveals
In a hug, in gentle whispers
To our little ones ~ wisdom secrets
Gained within abundant years. . .
And how good they are, bringing
Colourful intuitive drawings
Sweet children's creations
And suddenly when
You talk with them
I see your older brothers kindness
And his wisdom upon your face
They shimmer with love
And strange silence
Sensing illness
And suffering
Waving goodbye
You give a gentle caress
Removing one untamed tress
From well known forehead
With your beloved tired hand
All that really matters at the end
Is how many breaths you have
From Mother Earth to Ancient Stars
That on your life journey
Good memories
Of blissful moments
Are all that's important
Skiing on sparkling snow slopes
Together, Travelling, having
A great laugh after visiting
Venice and Peggy Guggenheim
Museum, Train moving,
Reading some splendid poems
About life's happiness, homeland, bread,
Mother's love
Grandpa's and Grandchild's
Sacred connection
Singing a native song
About our most cherished tree
A tune you make without words
And you sing with vowel sounds
And we sing with tears in our eyes
Holding hands in silence
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC
"we never touch people so lightly that we do not leave a trace" (peggy tabor millin).
watching daytime tv, oprah yelling at audience members for going through the express checkout with fifteen items,
your hand rested my thigh, keeping it, keeping me, warm.
you lifted your hand.
tiny lines left in my skin. pressed from your palm.
mirror image palmistry.
Feb 4, 2010
Feb 4, 2010 at 11:35 AM UTC
My hope is high, my expectations low.
I want our feelings to grow.
To miss you when you are gone.
Then talk till dawn.
I feel ablaze,
I need your gaze.
Your eyes on me, keeping a connection.
While we think of every direction.
It points anywhere, our future.
What a beautiful picture.
Do you see it too?
Don't let it be another peggy-sue.
For me, it will never end.
Why would I give up my best friend?
All I want is to give you everything.
"I love you" everyday I'll sing.
What a day it will be.
When we promise to see.
I wipe sweat off my brow,
I'll wait for now.
Jan 9, 2022
Jan 9, 2022 at 3:51 AM UTC
Feel great, feel cool, feel nice. Nice people, nice things, nice ice. Ice cream, ice blocks, ice cubes. Cube, pyramid, cone, sphere. Circle, circle of life, what comes around goes around. Ring around the rosey. Tulips, daffodils, daisies, pansies. Scared, frightened, freaked. Surprise, happy, content, friends. Social, shy, outgoing. Going out with friends, going out of town, going to bed. Sleep, cozy, pillows, blankets, nighttime. Stars, moon, owls, darkness. Dark hair, dark chocolate, dark night, Dark Knight. Batman, Superman, Cat-women, Supergirl, Flash. Quicksilver, Scarlet Witch, Captain America, Iron Man, Hulk, Hawkeye, Black Widow, Thor. Pepper Potts, Peggy Carter, Jane Foster. Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, William Shakespeare. Elizabeth and Darcy, Romeo and Juliet, Jane and Rochester. Love, tragedy, comedy. Happily ever after, never, future, past, present. Wishes, desires, wants, needs. Thoughts, actions, words, deeds. If, when, now, how. Questions, answers, research. Study, work, write, draw. Art, paint, opinions, facts. Math, history, grammar, science. Religion, faith, beliefs, devotion. Marriage, together, apart. Separate, different, change. Old, new, used. Abandoned, left, alone, useless. Useful, helpful, needed, wanted. A place, person, thing. Adjective, verb, adverb, noun, pronoun, proper noun. Mad Libs.
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 1:24 PM UTC
A lady name Peggy did claim
*** with me, not the same
finger she greased
for greater release
her men, they never complained
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 12:51 PM UTC
*Rita
Sullen, sultry but delectable nevertheless
She looked at me like an adjudicator
And my confidence sank way down low
I became a blubbering idiot
Whimpering like an orphaned puppy
Theodora
Bereft of height but redeemed somewhat by her face
She looked at me like I was the answer to all her prayers
And my disdain for seekers of things personal shot through the roof
I became this despicably insensitive yuppie living only for music
And her pining heart sent her home early upon a light breeze
Maria
clear complexion with the tone of ripe yellow peaches
She walked out of a shower into the sunshine like a subject of art
When her gaze touched my doting eyes I was lost forever
And my obsession with beauty and allure was well and truly fanned
I became a frequent visitor at the altar of romantic slaughter where dreams die
Elsie
Dark, with dancing eyes and a bobbing ***** replete with femininity
Elsie tortured me with her hungry look then huffed like she was breathing her last
My infatuation with girls that treated me like a killer of their hearts began here
I desperately wanted to reciprocate her take-me-now urges under the June sky
But alas, these things were never meant to be; she was just a maid and I was on the way up
Peggy
Tall and sweet with articulate eyes and a younger sister that spoke for her
She was not one to play hard to get and declared her love like it was a blessing
She made my ego grow in leaps and bounds and had a figure like an artist's model
I was stunned by her loving openness and could have tied the knot if I could
But circumstances, as always, altered cases and we went our separte ways for good
Clementine
Succulent like the clementine, her namesake, she aired her feelings out for me to see
She had a bigger sister who treated me like I was what her sister needed in perpetuity
Clementine and I shared a secret that we kept from my besotted cousin
My love for intrigue and convolution henceforth was my driver in matters of the heart
And I grew into this heartless beau who needed to be rescued from his own folly
And today in my armchair under the leafy avocado pear tree I sit and wonder where I lost it*
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 7:58 AM UTC
(for Peggy, with Alzheimer’s, 1996)
Absent spirit:
Soothe our hunger for consolation
In the presence of this woman
Who asks for none.
May the colored shapes we have become
Stand apart from these walls--
Where sun after sun has tiled
A catacomb of days--
Distinctly enough to radiate our love.
Banish our loss.
Dissolve the bitter mystery of why.
Forgive our numb embrace
That enfolds this slumping body
Whose eyes reflect glass,
Whose mind quests beyond a dark door
Searching for a land of lost names.
Give words to her passage.
Resolve the twisted path she must follow alone,
The cratered wastes she calls across,
Seeking a land of kindred beings with cognate powers
That name her as their own and exult.
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 3:37 PM UTC
I’d heard a story in that proverbial once upon a time
(Though its origins are hazy, at best, to me now:
Perhaps something my son heard at Sunday school,
Or part of the never-ending nattering
From the marketing guy at lunchtime,
Maybe cackled by the crazy, toothless blind guy on the 16A bus)
Concerning the programmers who’d worked on a project
In the earliest days of nano-technology,
Creating software for their relative monoliths,
Australopitchecuses of artificial intelligence,
Serving as prototypes for some envisioned universe
Where tiny drones served the whims of some doctor or researcher
Operating unseen and omnipotent behind some microscope or monitor.
The trials went quite smoothly, almost flawlessly,
The models impeccably doing what binary switches
And if-then-else statements decreed,
But the researches noticed that
Just before they executed the final bit of code,
The models would invariably exhibit
A slight hesitation--almost imperceptible, infinitesimal even,
But clearly occurring, nonetheless.
They’d assumed, quite naturally, it was a mere matter of de-bugging,
Some misplaced comma or parentheses among the thousands,
But they reviewed the code any number of dozens of time,
Only to find it was clean as a whistle.
What’s more, they’d found that while the vacillation appeared
At the same point in the process,
It didn’t happen at exactly the same time;
Indeed, they cropped up, relatively speaking, months, even years apart.
One of the white coats jokingly referred to the pause
As the machines “Peggy Lee moment”
(You know, ‘Is that all there is?’)
But no one else involved the project saw the humor.
They’d decided to ignore or accept the quirk, though it was rumored
That it drove a few of the programmers to near-madness,
With one or two of their number bolting the project without notice,
Entering monasteries with the intent
Of shutting themselves off from the outside world
For the rest of their days, and its existence was buried
In reams of footnotes at the end of their final report
(Though as I said, the tale’s source is unclear,
And I am inclined to regard it as apocryphal.)
Dec 22, 2016
Dec 22, 2016 at 10:00 AM UTC