Poetry

I know I've been remiss in posting, family matters filling up the scant available time I have for such frivolities as this blog.  So, here for your bemusement, confusion and consternation is a bit of verse I composed as a kind of celebration of my dear ol' pappy. Happily, he's still cranking along... perhaps I should say calculating? 

How He Got His Middle Name

Deep breath and hearken to the still of the night

Whilst this horror’s summoned to light

A tale rife with bleakest misery will unfold

How a moniker befamed an ignominious knave

That braved a word with steel of cold

I first discovered his charmings amidst

Piles of fine amulets

Mechanacious hypertrophy, seamed of lead

And studded with quixotic Cuneiform plunder

Spewing photons from a swelled head

Not a full recognite, dared an inquiry non sequitur

That did unhinge a great fury

An unchecked flight of haphazard sine and cosine

Might all have congealed to form that one great notion

Now lost to the unrelenting entropy, so sublime

Forces unleashed like pi over nigh

What to do with the fly in his eye

And dashed his best livery on a quavering child

That was at once he as nonce was he when

Recoiling in grief and transport to the wild

Where a cruel game of spiders beheld

The fairies flitting hitherto unknown dementia

Points awarded on tabulated transcendentals

Gasp and twitter among the desperados

That pit wits and wisendom ‘gainst mere mentals

His febrile hubris consumed the dealer’s gauntlet

But ante bespake and no asset of surety

Rifled his pants pockets and searched through his mane

No squanderous opportunitous captionous, vapor!

Two still in his quiver, offered a name

No sooner it spat, the gorgon would prevail

Decorated with the carcasses of a thousand mutilated inequalities

Dripping with quotients and remainder entrails

The calculated blood of ruminant millennia spilled all about

The contest lay before him in great gory details.

“Well, it seems we have a goer,” the witch hazel opined

Whereupon multifarious dice shot up in ballistic permutations

Wasting no infinities he drew tabula rasa with a preemptory grumble

Yea, though his mental capacity no match for that ventral mendacity

Pi to the Pi under Xi before Chi, lay intestate! and he crumbled

Oh, and the sobbing.

“Don’t feel so bad, my calculating lad” was all he now had

And with that arose penitent, a head thick with frothing

Collecting the prize, his nemesis lulled, “You challenged - you lost.” 

In that space now, I leave nothing.

Oh, ye integers of heuristic truth

So smug and pedantic in the seats of your youth

Consider expansion or regressive subtraction

Pour it all on with pomp multifaction

But sans your own nom, where ‘er ye may roam

Thou shalt know null satisfaction.