Saturday, April 11, 2015

Spam poetry - 2

Stabshank is sort of full
so a few of these guys
will be put into temporary holding cells.

The injured rioters are carted off to the infirmary
and then I await your next batch of prisoners.
I create a morgue too - I should.

Despite their detailed biographies
Cadwader started rioting
due to a food shortage
and Pritchard escaped
because I foolishly
opened his cell door.

It dawns on me that everything
that's happened so far
has been a consequence of the environment
not the prisoners.

I have a business proposal for you.
Contact me for more details.
Generate business ideas.
Interested & don’t know where to begin? 
I promise You, This SECRET Will Make You Rich!
A secret so easy it will blow your mind!

You got to get it now though.
I'm only letting in 200 subscribers
and 108 already signed up.

Your email client cannot read this email.
To stop receiving these.
Click here now.

The Millionaire Maker Team

Argwing Kodhek Road,
Nairobi, Kenya

Poem nr.1: remix from the comment spam on my weblog.
Poem nr.2: remix from may spam mail.
See also:

Saturday, April 4, 2015

The memory of the puddle

Quelli che son partiti - non son tornati
sui monti della Grecia - sono restati.

A puddle along a sidewalk somewhere in Russia was caught on a dashboard camera. A forgettable fact without consequences. Humble but still beautiful. The morning atmosphere, the cold, the sunrise. The contrast of clean reflection and dirty mud. A gift from the world, from modern technology. Recorded, stored and presented. We can be thankful for that.
If God is omnipotent and omnipresent, does he remember everything? Nothing should escape his/her attention.
What is the price of two sparrows ... one copper coin? But not a single sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it.
Could it be that "not a single puddle evaporates without God remembering it"? Maybe the image of this specific puddle has been restored to us from God's memory. One small demonstration of the beauty of creation. We can be thankful for that.
Is it fair to an author when a whole book is interesting but only the last few sentences make an unforgettable impression? Is it fair to read the last few sentences as a stand-alone poem?
and what happens isn't a word,
just like clouds aren't words,
or the man driving by with his arm out the window isn't a word.
But they happen.
They all happen and then they're gone.
Clouds, people, buildings, laughter, darkness.
It all happens, and then it's gone.
The piece of yellow paper in the street.
The sounds of children in the distance.
It fades away completely.
The puddle in the sidewalk and the memory of the puddle.
And then it’s gone.
But it's not forgotten.

Tent Rotterdam - aspect_ratio
American Purgatorio by John Haskell - Google Books
American Purgatorio - Amazon
American Purgatorio - Review
American Purgatorio - Reviews
The Possible Ties Between Illness and Success by Carlo Zanni
Carlo Zanni - Review and other artworks
The Possible Ties Between Illness and Success - Information