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Showing posts with label Apple. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Apple. Show all posts

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Chalk-Fruit of Knowledge [Today's News Poem, September 21, 2010]

Chalk-Fruit of Knowledge [Today's News Poem, September 21, 2010]

The schoolmaster claps her erasers together
And figurines form from the dust.
Each of them offers agenda; from pawn
To king. They're arrayed to do battle and whether
They like it or hate it, they must
Sit in their black and white rows on the lawn:
Apples of chalk that will sprout into saplings
Fruiting varieties ranging from blossom-
Dappled, to mealy potato. A garden
Board where agendas are set by the awesome
Eraser; where gardeners prune to alignment
Orchards of scrimmages: frozen assignment.

“But there is nothing within its halls or on its Web site that indicates what differentiates British International from the teeming masses of expensive private schools in New York: It is run for profit. ”
– JENNY ANDERSON, The New York Times, September 21, 2010
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/09/22/nyregion/22private.html


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Monday, April 26, 2010

Dancing to the Tune of the Profit-Bot [News Poem April 26, 2010]

Dancing to the Tune of the Profit-Bot [News Poem April 26, 2010]

“San Mateo County sheriff's deputies searched the home of Gizmodo blogger Jason Chen, who created an online sensation among Apple Inc. fans when he posted extensive information about a lost iPhone prototype, according to a message Monday on the site.”
– David Sarno, Los Angeles Times April 26, 2010
http://www.latimes.com/business/la-fi-iphone-probe-20100427,0,5272705.story

The sublime, the obsessed: the fools we became
As we searched for the prototype to explain
The recitals of faith in gizmos we claim
Are the pathways to godliness and not pain.

And we found it inside a bar near the work
Where computers designed the future for all—
With the oracle left on table: where quirks
Of tomorrow were swiped for sake of the thralls.

With some features we lacked, we'd pay for the chance
To pretend we were robots churning along
To the ring in the tone. As servants we dance
At the ball of the lords that features a song

We adore—it's the ration we crave
As we wait for the day when we save
And transmute into prophets from slaves:
But for now let's not make any waves.

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