linguamecca

Bandwidth Limerick 8/31/11

2011-08-31T01:11:00.006-04:00

My internet'd been on the blink.

Pages loaded normally in just a wink

They said, "Comp'ter's on the fritz". But, I knew it's their bandwidths.

Agonizing work stretched on for some weeks.

But, like Mafia, I avenged my dead Wi-Fi.

For music, I blasted my Hi-Fi.

Dust'd off my pen, typewrote papers and then,

Snapped... and they screamed of nuked ISP on SyFy.

Though, clearly it was to no avail.

Those efforts reached b'yond the pale.

So now fuss, fight, damage or sue, it seems no matter what I will do

Access seriously sucks from the jail.

Inspired by Chris Curtis, Delta College

The Unseen Force- Honored (Administrative Office Professionals Day 2011)

2011-04-26T12:30:00.001-04:00

The Unseen Force- Honored

D. Segura

4/26/11

Of the forest and the trees,

we have no luxury

in our work

of dwelling on just one or the other.

We must also observe

and preempt and respond to

everything in between

which lurks;

waiting.

We are supported

by an oft

unseen force.

This phalanx of experts

enables our efforts

to care for the forest

and to tend to the trees

and collect the fruits

of her bounty.

Usually the first

to step into the fray

and frequently

the last to be celebrated,

but their contribution

is vital to our mission.

For without their selfless

wielding of so mysterious powers,

the trees would go unpruned,

the paths would go untended

the needs of the fauna would go unmet

the whole forest is lost.

So, today we raise up those whose

place should already be on the pedestal.

While always revered,

today they take the place of honor.

Today the unseen is seen;

the saviors of both

forest and trees;

heroines and heroes to all the rest.

The Year's Race Winds Down

2010-10-29T22:10:00.002-04:00

A leaf lands

a season ends.

A red-brown checkered ground

flags the race as over.

It started

with millions

of green flags waving,

revving summer's engine.

2007 Thanksgiving Haikus by others at the Turkey Trot

2008-11-20T14:07:00.003-05:00

Untitled

Brent Gilbert
Pilgrim Unbuckle
Thanksgiving turkey and pie
Tryptophan Heaven

Why Jim, Why?
Rashad Baiyasi
Silently we cry
Why oh Why in the world
Was our skit sooo long?

Untitled

Mark Robertson
Thankful for Autumn
Thankful for my family
Thankful Jim is Done

Untitled

Linda Krukowski
Feathers in the wind
Turkey entrails litter the ground
All for gluttony.

Untitled

Anonymous
Grateful Gluttony
Asphyxiating in pie
Celebrate Football

I Can’t Breathe
By: Julie Cramton
Horn-of-plenty Day
Brings a belly stuffed tonight
Filled with misery

Family
By: Anonymous
Potatoes, Turkey
Thankful, Grateful, Tradition
Gather, Celebrate

Untitled

By:Mike Garlick
Gifted with Blessings
Tryptophan Yawnings, Beltloosed
Celebrate with Thanks

Untitled
Samatha Bradbury
Morning, noon and night
Turkey, stuffing, yams and corn,
LazyBoy sleeping

For More Thanksgiving Haikus, See below or in older posts

O Turkey, My Turkey

2008-11-20T13:52:00.002-05:00

O Turkey, My Turkey!
Daniel W. Segura-Whitman
11/20/08

While most literati know that Walt Whitman’s famous poem “O Captain, my Captain!” was written to mourn the assassination of Abraham Lincoln, few know that he borrowed the format of the poem from another. Years prior to the death of Lincoln, Whitman wrote a very similar ode to the turkey at the centerpiece of his Thanksgiving dinner.

O Turkey, my Turkey! Your shortish life is done,
You eat every scrap and much corn, so the fat entrée we sought is won
Port Wine is near, dinner bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While hungry eyes prayerfully kneel, is Turkey stuffed in preparing;
But O Heart! Gizzard! Liver!
O the juicy drops of drippings,
Whence from my gravy springs
There on the platter my Turkey lies,
Roasted for childrens’ droolings.

O Turkey! My Turkey! Plump up and hear dinn’r bells;
Brown up- for you the oven is warmed, for you a tummy growls,
While leaves fall, the harvest is plucked and the table’s a-crowding,
For you they call, that hungry mass, their eager faces yearning;
Here O Turkey! Dear dinner!
That axe that cleaved your head
It's some dream that on the stump,
You’ve fed our family… pre-packaged, processed ahead.

My Turkey needs not answer, breast, legs and thighs are brown;
My mother saves me a wing, but white-meat is renown;
The family is seated safe and sound, our dinner close to done;
From fragrant kitchen arrives a matron bearing potatoes, squash and bun;
Exult O Thankful diners, and ring O dinn’r bells!
And I, with sharpened knife,
Slice the breast… as my Turkey lies,
Browned… bereft of life.

The Saddest of Truths

2008-04-28T20:29:00.003-04:00

The Saddest of Truths
Daniel Segura
4/28/08

The bluest of blues comes not from the broodiest of youth
but the sagest of the aged for they’ve seen that untruth not sooth
shall send to war the liveliest of life
spreading the blight of fight’s strife.

As the richest debate the merits of might
over the rightness of Man’s rights
to send our youngest to fight,
the lowliest will lose their dark life’s only lights.

The quick bearers of military’s braun
shant keep their futures for long.
They’ll enforce the brutality of might
as they raise their arms and take sight.

And the World’s future has lost
at the greatest compounding of cost
those who could’ve worked to unleash
a flood of Love’s tidings and real peace.

Submission to A Prairie Home Companion

2008-04-08T00:29:00.006-04:00

For the Love of the Flag

Daniel Segura 4/1/08

In Wind’s fierce gale, the Stars and Stripes stand right.

Day’s darkest grey and Tempest’s toughest blow

shall incite her to rise her fullest height,

Signing and singing her freedom below.

No small token, she’s more. She’s a lover

of Blue’s fight for justice beyond station

of Red’s thoughts of shed blood and true valor,

and White’s quest for democratization.

Detractors’ derisions shall lend no fear,

nor Pol’tic’s divisions cause a divide

for her great strength’s so awesome to revere

and Framers’ vision shall ever abide.

So, long may she wave much more than just cloth.

In breath and in life, we’ll pledge her our oath.

Thanksgiving Haikus

2007-11-13T17:05:00.000-05:00

A Purpose Driven Life
He has a Purpose…
To give up his waddle for
Bourgeois haut cuisine.

Squanto
Pilgrims were humbled.
They wouldn’t starve this winter
thanks to their Squanto.

Turkenkhamen
Cranberry embalmed
crispily mummified in
his own fatty jus.

The Axe and a Prayer
For Mr. Turkey,
no mercy for him, but Grace
is offered for him.

Administrative Office Professionals Day

2007-05-01T17:29:00.002-04:00

Happy Administrative Professionals Day 2007
Daniel Segura
4/25/007

You try me at my desk,
But I’m never there or just hiding among the mess.

You grab me in the hall,
But I’ll hardly give you time at all.

You have an issue and need instruction,
But I’m gone before the introduction.

I am running to a meeting
And messages overflow my seating.

It’s ok, though, you are the real expert.
Turns out I am just the extrovert.

You get so much done, I am amazed.
Your great abilities leave me truly dazed.

I have learned so much from you
Even among all there is to do.

I just wanted to take a moment to say
“You are appreciated every day.”

I am celebrating you today
This Administrative Professionals Day!

Thanks!

Creator's Kin

2007-01-04T11:25:00.001-05:00

Creator’s Kin
D. Segura
5/25/2006

We are Creator’s great-grandchildren,
Not his first thought but third or fourth.

Our Mother is his dear grandchild.
She sprang from the fruit of grand-dad’s youthful loins

He has not lost his beauty
But continues to grow, to expand.

We were born only yesterday
But have already done so much to upset her.

As babes we snuggled her,
In awe of Momma’s beauty and bounty.

We worshiped the milk and honey
Of her bosom and life she nurtured.

Our Patriarch has, at times, spoken
And we have, at times, listened.

He now speaks words of peace,
But is saddened by our attitude toward our ancestors.

Mother doesn’t look so well.
She should be stronger for middle age.

Worry wrinkles have emerged on her brow.
Her hot-flashes have grown worse.

Her indigestion rumbles and belches.
She coughs from the dust stirred by her children.

She’s been showing her age
As we’ve matured to our trying teens.

She’s balding prematurely
And lost much of her color.

Perhaps, when we pass these rebellious years
We can become friends.

Great-Grandpa wants nothing more than
That we get along with our Mother.

His patience is waning.
He shall soon step-in to take control.

In Memory of My Grandfather Abraham Nestor Lake 1917-2006

2006-12-18T20:46:00.002-05:00

Old Sarge and His Two Women
Daniel Segura
12/18/06

Who could ever forget the
sweet smell of Ms. Muriel Magnum
bobbing between the
cigar-worn-but-still-his teeth
or fingers permanently stained
by tobacco and hard work
and needing to be relit
because her chewed and damp,
loose leaves went out
during the lively and wistful
retelling of a glory day
when one of her much older
sisters or cousins
accompanied the Old Sarge
while carting supplies
to the war weary doughboys
of World War II
or provided a moment
of respite for a seasick GI
crossing the ocean on the
first Queen Elizabeth
in predatory U-boat waters
or rode along while
her owner plowed fields on the tractor
or dug holes in the handcrafted backhoe?

Ms. Muriel was good
to the Old Sarge,
or maybe he was
just too tough for the
intuitive dangers of her leaves.
His doctor told him not
to worry about the cigars
because “when you don’t inhale,
you don’t smoke.”

Muriel was a good companion.
She went everywhere with him.
She never raised a fuss, never talked back.
I man will take his dog or cigar
with him wherever he goes,
but he would never trade one for his wife.

One more day to be Eighty-Nine,
but how much sweeter
were the Sixty-some years with Ann?
The stories of his military heroism
were always punctuated,
spoken or not, with beginning of those
Sixty-some years.

Ms. Muriel Magnum was with him
for more than seventy years
of farms and Wars
and kids and finally getting indoor plumbing,
playing cards on Saturday night
and bowling leagues
and running for office
and sons and daughters-in-law
and the second round
of sons and daughters-in-law
and bad weather where
three months later you’ve
got to look at the calendar to resolve
the argument about how cold
it really got that wintry night
or “Get the Map” to resolve
the argument of just how far
we really had to travel when
we went blueberry’n forty years ago
and grandkids climbing around
in the barn bringing no end to the
annoyance of the centenarian great uncle,
Frank- Francis Michael Lake,
“Awwh, don’t fuss about the kids, Mike.
They’ll be alright.”
and plowing the “deepest
snow I ever saw come down
in one night” backwards
in that old, able tractor
throwin’ snow “better’n
20 feet” so we could get
to the end of the drive
to pull out some young
kid with his brandnewtruck
stuck in the ditch
and great-grandkids
and not being able to
throw the firewood quite
so far into the barn anymore
and having to rely on his Son
to do the heavy lifting
and needing the wife’s help
to do simple things
when he’d always been the
hero of everything else.
But, Muriel was just with him.
She didn’t have a choice,
but Doris Ann Groat did.

For those Sixty-some years Ann,
because his sister’s name is Doris,
was his wife.
And that looker
from the city who earned
his heart while trying
to sell warbonds near some
military base in Iowa stayed with him
because she chose him,
and she loved him,
and she prayed for him,
and he provided for her,
and she took care of him
and she stayed with him
because she chose to.

He liked his cigar, Ms. Muriel,
but he loved his Ann.
And he was impressed by his Ann.
And he needed his Ann.
And everyone knows she
makes the best damn
huckleberry pie in the whole world.
He didn’t need to say it
and she didn’t need to hear it,
but she always made sure that
he got one of the biggest pieces
on the table.

Ms. Muriel Magnum was
a constant companion, but
she will only be remembered
on the merits of her owner.
Who could forget the smell
or stop the tide of memories
if we ever walk through
one of her sweet clouds?
We will forget her name,
but we will never forget
Abe-and-Ann.
We will never forget
the safety of that
wood-warmed house on the
St. Marys and the wonders of
that long deserted Orion farm.
We will never forget
Daddy, and Pops and Gramps
and Great-Grampa Lake.
We will never forget
the “Old Sarge.”

Thanksgiving Poem

2006-11-16T18:04:00.001-05:00

The Tom Turkeys
(To the tune of the Beverly Hillbillies)
Daniel Segura
11/16/06

Come and listen to a story ‘bout a Turk’ named Tom,
A thin young Turkey no fatter than my thumb.
And then one day he left to forage for some chow
And found a cornfield, and exclaimed “Hmm. And How!”
Got Plump, that is. Juicy Breast. Drumsticks

Well, the first thing you know Tom gets himself shot.
Hunter said, “You’ll be great in my pot!”
Thanksgiving Dinner is the place you ought’ a be,
So they stuffed him up good and added trimmings.
Beans, that is. Mash potatoes, pumpkin pie.

Well now its time to say goodbye to Tom and all his skin.
And, he’d like to thank you folks for kindly eatin’ him,
But he hasn’t much to say this Thanksgiving Day
‘Cause we lopped of his head and caused fatality.
I’m full that is. Sittin’ back, unbucklin’ the belt. Hmmmm.

Y’all come back for seconds now, y’hear?

The World Classroom- Unfinished

2006-08-25T09:21:00.001-04:00

The World Classroom
D. Segura, 2/11/04

The Whole World is a classroom; The Created…Pupils and Professors.
Brick-and-Mortar teaches only confinement accepted.
Creation is the most intricate textbook.

Celestial Bodies tell not the future, but a much richer story.
The Earth sings a tectonic aria accompanied by a Vulcan symphony.
Wind whistles the tune of the Creator’s opus while Thunder claps the rhythm and Seas roar the lyrics.

Soil germinates imaginations and cultivates knowledge.
Flora’s physiology consumes Fauna’s biochemistry.

Family is the most excellent faculty.
Mother’s breast nourishes the body. Her love emboldens the spirit.
Father’s provision and protection provide shelter from life’s gales.
Grandparents’ stories are the best history- first person.

Shakespeare envies the pens of Jehovah’s dozens of scribes. This is literature’s best lesson.

The Universe seeks to bring many lessons. We need only to listen to the harmonies hidden in the cacophony.

UNFINISHED

For a while

2006-06-12T13:46:00.001-04:00

Nothing and Nothingness For a While
Daniel Segura
4/23/05

For a while, I stopped dreaming
In crazy colors, alinear mysteries
With no specific beginning, middle or end.

For a while, there was no more startled waking,
Drenched in pools of uncertain sweat,
Energized and terrorized by the clenched jaw and flowing adrenaline.

For a while, I stopped daydreaming,
Being lulled during life’s rush hours
By other worldly fantasies and moments of inspiration.

For a while, all the lulling I needed came from
Debates over some media-made harlot
And fantasies of wealth and fame.

For a while, I stopped pondering meanings
Of life, of love, of Creation,
Of Heaven, of Hell, of the Creator Himself.

For a while, pondering itself was meaningless
When my digital exo-conscience would tell me all
I needed to know about everything it told me I needed to know.

For a while, I stopped creating
Art with my hands, guided by an innovative mind;
And poetry with my pen, guided by a searching soul.

For a while, innovation itself was handled for me
As I voyeuristically spied on those dependent
On those dependent on those who needed someone to create for them.

For a while, I stopped making plans for the future
While striving for a new vision
And seeking a new mission.

For a while, my electronic lobotomy
Gave me the muted bliss of stagnation,
Of sinking into the lazy-boy, planning for nothing, going nowhere.

For a while, my time was only measured
By the 24 programmed minutes of each half-hour
And the life-directing, “messages” interspersed amongst them.

For a while, I stopped breathing air
Found in a world simmered in summer’s dew
And ozone-purified by thunderclap lightning.

For a while, I sought only climate control
And air closely monitored
By a flashing and whirring, but unblinking solo-ocular head,

For a while, I stopped growing stronger physically,
Stretching and lifting, pushing muscles, ligaments and tendons to
Break and tear ever so slightly enough to strengthen.

For a while, my body atrophied,
Skin loosening, muscles effectual for little more than thumbing a remote,
It preparing to consume mass quantities and to be consumed wholly by commercialism.

For a while, I stopped reading.

Some Dude Sues Jesus?

2006-05-31T18:56:00.000-04:00

Wait? Are you suing Jesus?

Sounds like a Bad Idea!

Watch the "I really need attention video."

Black Plague

2006-05-30T18:18:00.001-04:00

Black Plague
D. Segura
5/25/2006

A Black Death is infecting the world.
No Cancer, it’s a fever.
We hunger and thirst,
Corrupt and kill for it.

Its blackness comes from Life’s end.
It is putrefied death; purified to cause more.
It is fermented life suckled from Mother’s depths.

We pave our asphalt streets with death’s black
To aid our path to consumption’s excess and destruction.

The Slope

2006-05-30T18:13:00.001-04:00

The Slope
(Sequel to Freedom Frozen)

D. Segura
5/25/2006

We’ve plunged over the edge
And the slope is slick
With its jet black sheen.

The lemurs were led
From under the Brush and all his branches
To the precipice and pushed.

The lemurs have gone to die
And each of their deaths
Kills a piece of the rest of us.

Our collective Spirit dies a little
As their Souls are
Released from Duty’s pangs.

The marching lemurs are hardly mindless,
But Brains don’t serve much purpose when
They are but spattered gray-matter.

Gravity’s pull takes so much with it
Down the Slippery Slope.

So much is lost.
So many are gone.

How many melodies and sharp pens lost?
How much love and security gone?

How many ideas and dreams lost?
How many Daddies and Mommies gone?

To Death’s silence, how many prayers lost?
How many faiths gone?

They are lost for now,
Gone forever.

How much more to lose?
How much farther to fall?

Still, we slip and slide down with the black sheen
And into a deeper darkness than we can remember.

Quotes- Words of the Wise (Guy)

2006-05-25T21:16:00.000-04:00

Live Your Life Metaphorically;
Symbolize Love, Peace and Truth.

We live in a tough and scary world!There is only one way to make it.
Arm Yourself to the Hilt- With Humor!Fire Frequently, but Aim carefully.

The Best Time to Plant a Tree
is Twenty Years Ago
and Today.

The Creator Endowed us with Unalienable Rights-
Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness;
No Human is "Illegal."

Can the outcome of Optimism
Be anything less than Positive?

Freedom Frozen

2006-05-23T14:17:00.001-04:00

Freedom Frozen
Daniel Segura
(Written on the first day of Operation Iraqi Freedom)
4/6/03

A great ice storm
Gives us something else to talk about
The war and now the weather.
I saw a frozen flag on an iced car.
Oh, it still stood erect, but
That Star Spangled Banner
Wasn’t yet waving.

O’er the land of the cold
And the home of the ambivalent
Polls say “support”
And politicians profess easy victory.
But if the whole picture is
Worth a thousand words,
Feels like we’re only getting five hundred.

It’s clear we’re in a battle with
Icy paths and limited visibility.
Seems no one can see
Much beyond the immediate.
Hope there’s no slippery slope ahead.

Can’t get that image,
That frozen flag,
Out of my head.
That symbol. Freedom.
So many have fought
And died for it.
For me.
It was frozen
As if Freedom itself
Had stopped moving,
Stopped waving.

That flag will thaw.
But what then?
Will it just lie limp and damp?
Will it ever be the same?
The colors of Freedom never run,
But what if they must be redefined?
Does “Freedom” have the same meaning
To us- to the rest of the world-
If it is used carelessly?

They say you have to
Burn a flag
If it gets wet or touches the ground.
What do you do to Freedom
If it gets soiled?
A lot of flags are
Burning these days.

Post 9-11 there were lots of flags.
They got tattered from all the
Waving in the patriotic wind.
But they never froze.
Not ‘till today.

The Accomplished

2006-05-22T22:06:00.001-04:00

Accomplishment is no end,
Just another step.
It’s a beginning.

What can come from
The work of the one?
Can individual accomplishment even be?

Filter the view
Of the young person’s accomplishments
Through her influences.

Mother’s unfailing, unconditioned love and
Father’s unyielding authority and quiet care
Foster compassion and self-discipline.

Influences negative
Flood in as a torrent-
So hard to avoid.

Influences positive
Drizzle in as sweet nectar-
Too many take only a taste.

The accomplished has learned
To drink of the sweetness,
Seeking the source.

Brash, foolish adolescence
Eventually yields
to sage wisdom.

The yielding spirit
Finds that hard work
Is the next key.

The toil can be rough.
Though supported, the
Journey can be lonely.

The moment of accomplishment
Comes so quick
She wonders if she’s ready.

Already the moment is here
The toil seemed so long,
But time to savor is so fleeting.

From her many beloved, the
Question that so easily rolls off…
“What’s next?”

The accomplished must
Immediately steel herself
For the next toil.

Wait!
One thing must come first,“Thank you.”