This is part of a series of things previously written, these ones being born from university assignments and trying out different techniques. I particularly liked the way these turned out (and besides, I love sharing the goodness of geekery and other things!). For the series’ preface, read this.
Pushing Shoving Running
Pushing pushing pushing and never
pulling always driving until the force
transforms it into a
sharp boomerang which it always
does no matter how much you
force-coax it and you can push and shove and
pretend it’s not there all you like but
it’s a monstrous slingshot brimming with
work to finish tasks to check off things
to do and not do people to talk to
tears to lose
and hearts too
and the further you
stretch it from yourself, attempting distance
but achieving dilemma, the more it will sting as it
strikes back with force: a free reckoning from
the physics of life.
No more pushing and shoving and running
– only hurdles to run straight at with feet pounding at
the monsters that aren’t monsters, like bugs
squashed beneath your feet.
You sometimes sail over the hurdles
sometimes catch your toes on them and scrape your knees
but either way they’ve been jumped.
So do collect your $200 dollars, do pass GO,
and go, Go, GO!
Nostalgic, Entertaining, Scintillating
Red, black and square: mostly grey actually, with a darker portion circling a stripe at the mouth
where a grey and ridged square cartridge is fed.
Colours spark along the silicon circuits within and display 8 bits at a time, but if
the screen stays black and staticky, then take it out, blow in the exposed
bottom circuitry and re-insert.
Have you tried turning it on and off again?
Red, black and square: this plastic-cased system lets plumbers jump over green pipes to save peachy princesses, all while sitting at home and not standing in an arcade.
You grip the rectangle controller: move with the cross-shaped D-pad, run fast and jump with B and A, and pause your flurried playing with START.
Pssst! Pressing UP, UP, DOWN, DOWN, LEFT, RIGHT, LEFT, RIGHT, B, A, START
gives you 30 lives in Konami’s Contra.
Red, black and square: during gameplay, the “POWER” button must stay pressed,
for if depressed a dead black screen will consume your game progress.
To play tomorrow where today left off, you must leave the machine warmly whirring
and the screen frozen with “PAUSED”
and a short and fat, red overall-clad Italian plumber mid-jump.
Red, black and square: it’s been almost 30 years since a white-bearded 8-bit man
declared “IT’S DANGEROUS TO GO ALONE: TAKE THIS” to a green-clad hero before bestowing upon him a wooden sword.
It’s dangerous to go alone; take this NES. It is Nostalgic, Entertaining and Scintillating.
From Page to Age
a pen is grasped like a bottle
uncorked and words burst
and bubble and break
spilling across a page
wetting it softly and inky
the first word is a cry and
the first word is “mom”
they stand so delicate and
lime green still growing and
gathering words into sentences.
These start jumping into paragraphs,
the grammar red-headedly stubborn. The words
are still apple-y green but as they stretch along,
more colours are stumbled and wondered upon and
tucked into the page of sprouting moss green: a tad of
riotous red, a bucket of blushing rouge, a royal
account of purple, a grainy workbench of russet,
the setting sun’s gold, a sea of pondering indigo,
the hereditary Netherland’s orange, white to
back it all, and oily black only in specks soon
to be washed away.
The paragraphs have now come of age and grow into essays of beauteous scars, collections collected, and accompanied laughs towering forest green.
Pages are gently pulled apart at their perforations and pasted in a new notebook, laid near its origin. The black now splatters on its pages of growing colours and abiding olive green, vicious in its desire to cloud and choke, but cannot mix. The black keeps washing away, renewing and reminding there is a base of
The words are still avocado green, though tempered with their number and the desk it lies on. It’s growing, word by sentence by paragraph into a novel. Soon, a gust of breath will whisk this modest collection of pages away, sharing their strings of “there, their, and they’re” and “I am here”.
It’s not yet written; the outline is there and it’s still growing forever green.