April’s poetry
running throughout early spring
hails the blooming May.
Spent all my April
making haiku and sonnets
looking for sparks.
Bye NaPoWriMo
enjoyed keeping company
another April.
Maybe there will be
one more sonnet for the road
heading into May.
I was looking at a web site today. Banner, graphic, photos with text under them. I remember scrolling down the long page of beautiful and interesting photos thinking the page was a little first gen, or maybe second gen to be honest. I couldn’t remember if there was a sidebar with any links. But
Even as I thought that thought, I knew it wasn’t true. And now that I look at it again, of course it isn’t true at all.
I remember those first gen websites because when I started on the web they were still new and exciting. You mean I can write some text with some mysterious code, fuzzy-miracle-of-something-called-FTP-over-dial-up, and there on my computer – is my info for the world to see.
Holy cow.
I was reminded of the first webpage, still there in all its exciting style here, on the anniversary of the whole thing.
We’ve come a long ways from those simple days of mysterious codes and uploading. But to be honest, the idea of self-publishing and sharing information (and cat videos, who knew!?) is just as exciting as it was then.
Couple other things. There are things that should not have been carried over to the web, specifically the blink command. Animated background images and auto-play music… bad. Always bad.
My license plate starts with W3 and I’m proud of it and for the record, I had cat photos up pretty darn early. Get a load of a very very young Deirdre who is now the senior lady of the brood:
Nobody likes “i’m sick” blog posts but what can you do?
Last night I slept for some hunks of time and what sleep it was. I dreamt of weird Harry Potter story lines, including getting ?snape’s? staff* and banning him from magic, including walking and driving routes that were once OK and then seemed foreign and impassable and then, including looking down and seeing that MY iPhone (this was Harry’s story after all) was all crunchy-faced. What to do, I wondered in the dream… tough it out for awhile? spring for a new phone?
When I woke up I wondered why I didn’t just flick a ‘reparo‘ in its direction.
* Now seriously, staffs aren’t really such a HP thing but in my gaming life, getting the just-right staff is key to the world so who knows…
Got up at the normally scheduled hour in order to call in sick and heard this wonderful story on the radio about Willa Cather, which I share here for you and so I can hear it again when less muddled.
Two variations before I hit the pillow. This being sick thing is not good for daily poetry.
the pale petals fall
silent to the ground below
offered to the wind.the pale petals fall
gathered by the wind’s sweeping
victim to the rain.
Woke up this morning at the go-to-work-time and called in. I did manage to sleep a bit last night in between coughing and sneezing jags. Got the voice mail, left my message and looked at a couple messages. Went downstairs for a glass of juice. Poured a glass of tea from last night’s pot. Climbed back into bed. Next thing I knew it was one in the afternoon and I’d actually been asleep all that time. Amazing.
Guess I’ll go refill the beverages and see what other stuff is available in the kitchen.
Not to be too graphic about it, but if it weren’t for the extremely explosive sneezing, my head would have blown to bits hours ago.
Whatever befalls the earth befalls the son of the earth. Man did not weave the web of life; he is merely a strand of it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.
