I made war on the sea and became the waves.
I made war on the peaks and became the stone.
I made war on the heavens and became the sky.
I made war on my neighbor and died, flesh and bone.
Like your enemy
Where in these Chunks is Cubfan of the Convex?
Where in these chunks is Cubfan of the Convex?
Well, he builds around the island,
From Modern to Medieval,
He’s a sticky-piston-pusher from build height down to bedrock.
He’ll take you on a flight to the Convex Cathedral.
Tell me where in these chunks is Cubfan of the Convex?
Swipe your soul sand from the nether,
Make the village golems bubble,
From our redstone to Grian Tag, he’ll be dealing abuse.
I never Tennessee him steal from his base to the portal,
Tell me, where in these chunks is Cubfan of the Convex?
Tell me, where in these chunks is Cubfan of the Convex?
He’ll go from village to void space,
From the end to Iskall’s base,
From Mumbo’s to TangoTek’s fountain, and back!
Then he’ll ban half Hermitcrafters,
Run a gauntlet, jewel-encrusted,
Then he’ll have the Convex plunder,
And go prank Python’s Pots.
He put the mail in malefaction when he tampered with my postbox,
Tell me, where in these chunks is Cubfan of the Convex?
Tell me, where in these chunks, tell me where can he be?
From mob spawner to far lands,
From spawn via Pirate Land,
Tundra to jungle to iTrade to loot you.
Well he swims beneath the seas,
Just to sell immoral coral,
He’s a bubble-breathing brigand with a flair for dolphin speed,
His shulker box is loaded up with maps for his mural,
Tell me where in these chunks is Cubfan of the Convex?
Tell me, where in these chunks is Cubfan of the Convex?
Tell me, where in these chunks is Cubfan of the Convex?
Here’s me performing this terribly:
International Space Station
We saw the ISS tonight—it was really quite far out.
Reflecting sol’s more distant light, and as it arced its route,
It passed beyond some nearer cloud, and faded out of sight,
But dad and daughter didn’t frown, it really made our night.
City of Brotherly Love
In my heart I was glad, but the city preys at night,
So I was walking angry, looking angry,
Seeming mean past Ben Franklin’s darkened grave,
Past his mint too toward my hotel
When across the street I saw
A bus shelter sheltering someone,
Heaped defensively under dirty blankets,
Sleeping buried trying to stay warm,
I couldn’t see anything about the stranger,
Except that they too didn’t want to be disturbed,
And that they weren’t a bus.
We have bus shelters on every other corner.
Maybe we need more people shelters too.
Undersea Haiku
Kelp fronds seek the sky,
Only breaking the surface,
When their stalks are snapped.
It’s only a rental.
A rental car is worse than a rental home,
Because you can’t paint it the way you like,
Then paint it back when you’re done.
Two coats of primer
Should be enough for anybody.
Gratitude
Thanks, I say,
Over and over.
Thanks, I say,
But its never enough.
Not because others are ungrateful of my gratitude,
But because what I owe to others,
To their patience,
To their kindness,
Cannot be repaid with words,
or one word,
Thanks.
I say.
Above and past that,
Thanks, I must do.
Cold Rain
Cold rain, cold rain, blerg.
Cold rain, cold rain, brrrrr.
Cold rain, cold rain, blech,
Cold rain cold rain cold rain meh.
Face each other
There’s emoji for ?.
And emoji for ??.
But no emoji for condolences.
We need to offer those less iconically,
Reaching out, not just facing away.
We can’t just skim peoples’ past painful chapters,
We need to be on the same ?.
Not music?
What is the difference
between music and not music?
Where is the gap between song and sound?
Where is the space between rhythm and repetition?
When are textures just trappings and rests just respites?
Which structures must we shape and which may we suppose from our surroundings?
Is a dirge without melody merely a eulogy?
Do we weep without rhythm so we don’t attract the damned,
When our relentless laments don’t strike up the band,
When our notes have no pitch, and we write and pass by hand?
When the dynamics fall static and we’re scattered on the moans,
Or timbres take root above and cleave past our bones,
What music was left us, and what have we left?
What bassless ambitions will others recall?
What fortes of ours drove friends up the wall?
Why couldn’t we measure more time with them all,
Laughing and singing well after nightfall?
What’s stopping us now, where is our wherewithal?
Why can’t we make music from the soft cues around us?
Why can’t we shake our chains til the ringing unbounds us?
Why can’t we hear the earth, and join in chanting with it?
We can, we can, we can now.
A one, a two,
A one, two, three, four…