Tag Archives: poet

Search Engine Optimized Poet – Safe Space

:::Bongo Drum Beats:::

Hey there all you hep cats and hep kittens. Come on down to the East Randomtown Java Bean, where the poets always stink and the cups are never clean.

Next on the mic is the one and only Search Engine Optimized Poet…the only rhyme-smith whose beats bring in the web searchers’ feets, ya dig?


Safe space!  Whoa, safe space!

The world is in a state of disgrace!

People want to speak their opinions, directly to my face.

As if there is a divergence of opinion amidst the entire human race.

Race!  To my safe space is where I will go.

For it is a place where no one can tell me, “No!”

Go!  Away is where YOU will be found.

For I should not have to hear different points of view while I am on sacred safe space ground.

Frowned!  That’s what I did, just the other day.

When you stuck a micro-aggression without trigger warning in my way.

At bay!  That’s where I want ideas that are not my own.

Cry long and hard I will if you make your different opinion known.

Phone!  I beg of you, do not use it to bore me,

With your thoughts while I’m safely ensconced in all of my safe space glory.

Story?  Sure, I would love to hear one.

But it’d better end with, “And then everyone agreed with me” before it is done.

Won!  This battle of hearts and minds is what I achieved.

For I managed to tune out any opposing speech that would leave me aggrieved.

At ease!  It’s how I feel now.

Now that I’m going to pet a therapy dog, a therapy cat, a therapy horse and a therapy cow.

Wow!  This therapy coloring book is better than listening to others speak their minds.

You go on without me.  I must stay here and stay within the lines.

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Search Engine Optimized Poet – What is the Meaning of Life?

:::Bongo Drum Beats:::

Hey there all you hep cats and hep kittens. Come on down to the East Randomtown Java Bean, where the poets always stink and the cups are never clean.

Next on the mic is the one and only Search Engine Optimized Poet…the only rhyme-smith whose beats bring in the Googler’s feets, ya dig?

Life! Whoa, life!

Why oh why am I here?

Oh how many nights I have spent,

Trying to find the answer in a beer?up-korora-beatnik-800px

Cheer…for those who know what they are meant for.

Jeer…at those who sleep through life and snore.

Bore.  I don’t want to be an SEO poet anymore.

I want to spread my wings and soar.

My existence should not be such an arduous chore.

But seriously, what is all of this for?

Am I here to play Pokemon Go?

Surely the answer is “no.”

Am I here to watch reality TV?

Surely there must be something better to see.

Drat. I need to pee.

Pouring out existential wisdom and also spent Diet Shasta Orange  into the porcelain throne.

“What is my purpose?!” is the query that I moan.

If you run a dream bank, I’d like to take out a loan.

But alas, that statement I must edit.

For I have run out of credit.

Irony, thy name is life!

For by the time I have figured out thee,

One thing will be for certain…

…you will be done with me.

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Search Engine Optimized Poet #2 – Why Do Men Have Nipples?

Nipples!  Whoa, nipples!up-korora-beatnik-800px

Why are there nipples on a man?

It’s not like they can squirt milk into a can.

Or can they?  A Google search for this info is now a part of my plan.

Flan?  How do I make it?

And your coffee.  How do you take it?

Is a Keurig easy to use?

Which brand of java should I use?

Booze.  Which kind is best to get me drunk?

Will the city dump take all of my junk?

I’m in a funk.  Because I want to know whether or not it will rain.

And which is the best laundry detergent?  Tide or Gain?

Who is that stuck up dude who used to play Dr. Frasier Crane?

Oh search engine, there is so much for you to explain.

Like why are there bubbles in champagne?

Maybe to help me celebrate.

What is the best site to find a date?

How many oranges come in a crate?

Does anyone remember that old TV show, “Sister Kate?”

Wasn’t it only on air for a year?

Where can I find the tastiest beer?

There are so many things that I fear.

Like what do I do if I get bitten by a gnome?

Will I be ok?  Should I just go on home?

Foam.  Where can I find a pillow made out of foam?

Did E.T. ever phone home?

Of that film, I am very fond.

Speaking of movies, who was the best James Bond?

Do gentlemen really prefer blondes?

How do I take of my fern’s delicate fronds?

I wish there weren’t so many questions floating around inside my mind.

Oh Internet, sweet Internet, I really am in a bind.

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Walt Whitman’s O Captain! My Captain!

Written to honor President Abe Lincoln after his assassination, Walt Whitman’s  O Captain!  My Captain! compares the end of the Civil War to the end of a long ship voyage, and Lincoln to a journey weary Captain. Makes sense, as Lincoln did guide the nation through some very choppy seas.

O Captain!  My Captain!

By: Walt Whitman

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

The poem is often used as a tribute to leaders in general, and was prominently featured in Dead Poets Society, starring Robin Williams.

Fun fact – a Walt Whitman poetry book carelessly left on a toilet tank would go on to play an important part in AMC’s Breaking Bad.

So, good for you, WW, you honored a great president, and you were featured on a cable drama.

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What Will Your Verse Be?

All week long, I have wanted to write something about Robin Williams. With his zany, madcap energy and mile-a-minute comedic riffs, he was the very last person you would expect to check himself out early, wasn’t he? Much has been speculated on as everyone tries to figure out the why of it all – depression, drugs, a Parkinson’s Disease diagnosis. Truth be told, only he knew why and he didn’t choose to share with us the reason.

And that’s ok. He shared with us so much else.

For several months now, I’ve been trying to figure out my own voice on this blog. It is primarily a book blog, to share with you my thoughts on the latest novels I have been reading. Alas, life often gets in the way, weeks go by and I find that before I know it, much time has passed and the next book I planned to read and talk to you about is just sitting there on my shelf, growing dusty. Work, family commitments, general duties of taking care of myself and others – the business of life, it more often than not comes first.

For as long as I can remember, I have always dreamed of being a published author. Double Alas, it has yet to happen. Such is life. I find myself often wishing that I could go back in time – back to the days when I was picking a college major – and become an English teacher. That way, at the end of my life, if my dream of getting published never pans out, I could at least say that I spent my time on this planet being involved with something I love – reading books and talking to people about them. Maybe in a smaller way, that’s what I’m doing here.

Robin, you were an alien, a genie, a wacky doctor, an unconventional President, a down on his luck shrink, a DJ in Vietnam, and yes, you were even a divorced man who had to stoop to the level of dressing up like an old British nanny just to see his kids. But for the purposes of our little online community of literature lovers, your stint as an English teacher is what I’ll leave my readers with today:

The “What Will Your Verse Be?” Speech from Dead Poets Society (1989)

We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love – these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, ‘O me! O life!…of the questions of these recurring, of the endless trains of the faithless..of cities filled with the foolish, what good amid these, O me, O life?’ Answer: that you are here; that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?

As always, fellow Bookshelf Battlers, thank you for reading. I wish you the best of luck in finding your verse.

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