A Little Poetry For Sunday

I was a poet way before I was a blogger…so how about some poetry for you lovely people?


In The Wilderness


In the wilderness

begins my walk across the baked earthen floor.

The sun’s gaze was so much greater

with no tree or building to hide me;

the ground has not had rain

and is as parched as my soul;

Even the hungry wind barely carries

the meager dust and pollen from

desert flowers, somewhere in the distance.

Somewhere in the distance

I can see some desert flora

hiding in the heat waving on the ground.

It seems, the dry yet fertile land around me

holds many seeds, but they lay in a

dormant sleep

under my feet

until they find the grace

in the clouds.

There is no harvest.

I can barely scrape

a handful of dirt in my hands.

There are cloudless skies.

There is no rain.

There are no shadows under which to hide.

There are no shadows under the sun,

no where to escape, no hiding place I can see.

In the middle of the desert,

I have found myself.

My heart is searching for something

incredible; and yet, I have walked into

the barren land which can’t even grow shadows.

My mind feels lost, being so exposed.

Yet this rouge shape that sits on the horizon

compels me to continue.

I am compelled to continue,

because if I sit, I will be lost in the wilderness

for the eternity of my soul.  But this blush of hope on the horizon

beckons me with such burning intrigue

I can only heed its call.

When I reach the plant, nay a foot high in person

I tower over its beauty,

which called to me from across the entire desert.

This prickled desert rose, such an unusual presence in a

place of barren thoughts;

Her purpose was not to be beautiful unto herself,

but to use the barren land around her

to show the enormous beauty

God could fit

into something so small.

Hacker Poetry


What Hacker Poetry is:

1. The Hacker Vision:

Since art is the culmination of the collaboration with self, present and past society, and our collective inertia towards art, then it is conclusive that true art is the ultimate hacking space: the artist is the hacker which takes, creates and innovates the moving soul of the world for the purpose of making art, and the self, better.

(response to Ginsberg’s “New Vision”)


2. “A hacker is one who enjoys the intellectual challenge of creatively overcoming and circumventing limitations of systems and who tries to extend their capabilities[3]

“The act of engaging in activities, such as poetry, in a spirit of playfulness and exploration is termed hacking.

However the defining characteristic of a hacker is not the activities performed themselves (e.g. writing, poetry, etc.), but the manner in which it is done: Hacking entails some form of excellence, for example exploring the limits of what is possible,[5] thereby doing something exciting and meaningful.[4]


Richard Stallman explains about hackers who program:

What they had in common was mainly love of excellence and programming. They wanted to make their programs that they used be as good as they could. They also wanted to make them do neat things. They wanted to be able to do something in a more exciting way than anyone believed possible and show “Look how wonderful this is. I bet you didn’t believe this could be done.”[6]


What Hacker Poetry isn’t:

It isn’t a viral campaign.

It isn’t going on YouTube. Well, it might.  Everything gets on YouTube these days.  But that’s not the direct idea.

It isn’t a cure for anything. Except for literary madness.

It isn’t a movement to change, per se. It is a movement to create.

It isn’t the Elks Lodge. It isn’t a mother’s group. It doesn’t have membership status. A hacker doesn’t need a card to tell themselves who they are. You define yourself.