Writing

A poem! Woohoo!

Here’s a poem I wrote a few days ago as I thought about the coming Singularity… I call it:

Post-Singularity

Remember us, the nameless ones,
Who used to have a face.
Who built and worked and wondered
And then left without a trace.

Remember us, the troddened ones,
Who suffered pain and fear,
And questioned all existence
For the sake of one child’s tear.

Remember us, the stupid ones,
Who thought of nothing new
Because just living was a chore
That took all day to do.

Remember us, the ugly ones,
Who were not bred the gene.
Who dreamt the feel of symmetry
And dreamt of being seen.

Remember us, the wrinkled ones,
Who so young met death.
Whose love and faith could never fade
As could our needed breath.

Remember us in sun and moon,
And see us in the stars.
We never thought the world was yours,
We thought that it was ours.

——————–

Oh, and here’s another short one from a couple years ago… still a few words I’m not sure about, but whatever… ’twas written for a fantasy story I’ll never write…

Wake

You can’t imagine what they imagine,
Can’t see the things they see.
Your worlds are both too far apart,
There’s too much in between.

But someday you will know, my son,
You’ll learn to tread the wall.
There are things you cannot dream
And you will see them all.

By S P Hannifin, ago
Writing

Uh… poetry

God, I Want to Live Again

I stood before God’s front
and I prayed and said amen.
God said: “What do you want?”
God, I want to live again!

I’d wanted to be dead
with the pain I went through then.
And yet I somehow said:
God, I want to live again!

The fears, the hate, the why’s,
the dark places I had been,
and yet I somehow cried:
God, I want to live again!

And I looked down at the earth,
at where I lived back when.
Now I know what it was worth.
God, please, let me live again.

——————–

I’ve been feeling kind of bleh lately, too mentally tired to do much.  It’s probably my terrible diet and lack of exercise.  And I’m still waiting for the manufacturers to finish making my album.  I wonder how dads feel waiting for their pregnant wives to give birth?

Anyway, I wrote that poem.  I’ll probably be embarrassed by it later, but for now I like it, since I just wrote it and am feeling sappy.  I’ve written far worse anyway.

I was looking for some of the old horrible poetry I wrote back in middle school.  I had posted it on a website called Poetry.com, but it looks like the self-publishing company Lulu has taken it over.  And thus, my poems from back then are gone.  Which I think is mostly a good thing.  I think there was only one poem out of 10 or so that I was really proud of.  The old Poetry.com used to also sell self-published poetry books, but they were much more schemish about it.  They’d send you a letter congratulating you, making it seem like your poem went through some difficult selection process and if you gave them around $50 you could have a copy of the poetry book they’d like to publish you in!  Of course, unless you are knowingly self-publishing yourself, being published should never cost you money, but I think plenty of people fell for the scam.  Still, it wasn’t a bad site for just hosting your poetry, except you couldn’t edit or delete your work once it was posted, which was dumb.

Anyway, I went ahead and posted the poem to the site for a chance to win $5000.  Oh yeah!  Woohoo!  I can’t wait to win!  Maybe I’ll post a couple more later.  By the way, I usually detest poetry, but when I’m feeling sappy, and I mistake myself for happy, my mind will get all snappy, and though I might write crappy, I won’t sleep or take a nappy until I get my thoughts unfurled and write a poem for the world.

OK, that was lame.

Does anybody want a peanut?

By S P Hannifin, ago