Ninja be nimble,
Ninja be quick...
Ninja jump over
a dynamite stick.
Ninja not fast enough...
Now ninja got to
sit down when he go.
Turned that in for a poetry assignment in honors English in 9th grade. Got a perfect score on it, from a teacher that created a final exam that was so brutal only THREE students that year got a score of over 70 (the pass/fail threshold at the time) on it.
If a packet hits a pocket on a socket on a port,
and the bus is interrupted at a very last resort,
and the access of the memory makes your floppy disk abort,
then the socket packet pocket has an error to report.
If your cursor finds a menu item followed by a dash,
and the double-clicking icon puts your window in the trash,
and your data is corrupted cause the index doesn't hash,
then your situation's hopeless and your system's gonna crash!!
If the label on the cable on the table at your house
says the network is connected to the button on your mouse,
but your packets want to tunnel to another protocol,
That's repeatedly rejected by the printer down the hall.
And your screen is all distorted by the side effects of gauss,
so your icons in the window are as wavy as a souse
then you may as well reboot and go out with a bang,
'cuz sure as I'm a poet, the sucker's gonna hang!
When the copy of your floppy's getting sloppy in the disk,
and the macro code instructions cause unnecessary risk,
then you'll have to flash the memory and you'll want to RAM your ROM.
Quickly turn off the computer and be sure to tell your Mom!
ezra takes a pounding
"the brain is a terrible thing to waste"
I hastened to add my two cents
at our usual parlor mental-aerobics
sunday evening, digesting Pound while
cake was served a la tuffed maid,
skirted the main point, which of course
as anyone could figure by now, was
was he or wasn't he?
crazy, that is - or merely eccentric
we tee heed in unison
figure it was all the pondering
nonsense! growled Father, Nutcase the First,
gesticulating, digit drawing in air
drowning in another downing of cognac -
we drew breaths of agitation, then renewed
relentless endless debate, head to head
"he was crazy's" behind Mother
"was NOT!" alone stood Father, High Priest
of Art, expounding in countless ways
idiosyncrasies of the Misunderstood -
clearly demonstrating that fine line
number of discourses on Pound I've lost count,
what's more, five women against Father, hardly fair,
we are no closer to did he or didn't he,
it's been a real trial for us all -
we are nearer St. Elizabeth's than truth
and poor Muse! fled, screaming, tearing its hair!