Hello Winter, Hello Frostbite
Hello Winter, Hello frostbite.
Here I am on frozen tundra.
Snow is very entertaining—
watch my car slide down the hill; it isn’t stopping.
I went hiking to the grocer’s
The snow was over my galoshes.
It took me nearly half an hour
To get my groceries from the store into my car.
I went slipping, they went sliding.
Those weathermen must be lying.
They say there is global warming—
tell that to my canned goods, which are figuring skating.
Go away, oh Winter, Frostbite.
I hate the snow, I hate the night.
Don’t make me live in a place where
it all freezes—even nose hairs.
Hope you don’t expect a volté,
For my attitude to sway
In favor of this cold season.
Such expectations show a distinct lack of reason.
Camp Granada
Page Not Found
Here is the ‘net server’s head
whose circuits are made of gingerbread
when the indexing day comes
Google will find six crumbs
stooping by the monitor
waiting for webpages to load
as the other webpages did—
you imagine its surprise
bellowing through the ethernet
Where is the page that is dead?
to Google in a tiny voice,
i am Page Not Found a circuit said
whereupon its fellow five
circuits crackled as if they were alive
and number two took up the song:
I am Fatal Error and you did wrong
cried the third circuit, i am Redirected
and this is my little sister Permanently Gone
with our big brother Access Denied
don’t punish us, for it’s Webmaster’s fault
and the last circuit with some shame
whispered unto Google, my name
is Error in Syntax and with the others i’ve
lost the page that isn’t alive
E. E. Cummings, “here is little Effie’s head”
The Mods Put a Stop to Zephyr’s Antics
Who returns and rants, we think, seeks to scathe.
How can you cut us down, when there’s no sharpness to your wit?
Martial 8.29
PurpleZephyrUnicorn Returns Under an Alias
No one knows what poetry is who calls my pieces
journal entries. Oh, they are epic, those who write
of roosters rutting in the yard or Ariadne wailing
by her brother-beast. My poems don’t presume,
don’t posture with extravagant images. “Craft,
diction, sonics, blahblah admire this.” I concede
plenty praise those, but everyone reads mine.
Martial 4.49
The Forum Rolls Its Eyes
Oh, come now, PurpleZephyrUnicorn.
You said Give me the truth, tell it straight,
I can handle anything. We told it right.
We try again: the truth? You don’t listen.
Martial 8.76