Haiku that I just found buried in Timeline

The sleeping cat lies.
Twitching like an autumn leaf.
Dreaming about birds.

Mr. Moonbase

Perhaps we should do the best we can,
To implement Newt Gingrich’s plan.
After all, a permenant moon base,
Would be a great place,
For his smug round face.
Though, one should honestly say,
The Moon isn’t far enough away.

To the Test Cheaters

It used to be that honesty,
And hard work were rewarded.
The cheaters and the liars,
And the charletons were thwarted.
But now it’s all about success.
Honor and integrity, less and less.
Now ambition and a little greed,
Will take you very far, indeed.
The sad fact is the test cheaters,
Become the most successful leaders.
Still, no matter how far you go,
And no matter what you do.
Just know that there’s a special place,
In hell, reserved for you.

Gabrielle Giffords Says She’s Leaving the House

That day when you were shot,
Is a day we’ll forget not,
And of course neither will you,
Nor your husband, the astronaut.
Meeting people, shaking hands.
Taking questions and demands,
Making time to act upon them.
But that man had other plans.
Approached you like a passerby,
Intending there and then you’d die.
With many others, he succeeded,
Not with you, though he did try.
Assassin’s bullet could not kill.
You did not die through luck or will.
And right back work you went,
Still climbing that recovery hill.
Dear lady, take more time.
All the time you need, resign.
And come back fully healed.
And feeling at your peak and prime.
You took a bullet in the head,
It’s a miracle you’re not dead.
You’re the luckiest woman alive,
Or the first immortal instead.

Inspired by this piece in today’s New York Times, in response to the New York Times Headline Poetry Picnic Challenge.

The First Maddy

This light won't come on. Ah, now I see the problem. Unplugged by the cat.

When researching family history,
It’s best to be prepared,
To discover things that might,
Have been better left a mystery.

Buccaneers with treasure caves,
That could be what you came from.
Or maybe they were merchants,
Moving cargo ships of slaves.

The First Maddy in the nation,
Fought the Brits for Independence.
He was a patriotic fellow,
With his own cash crop plantation.

In short he was a slave owner,
As were many who came here,
At that time to make their fortunes,
In the Colonies, or the former.

Tobacco money made him rich.
And though first born in America.
James Maddy died crossing a river,
Proving karma is a bitch.

What a difference a vowel makes…

Spelling counts in large amounts,
Though it can be hard, I know.
If you think it doesn’t count,
Try spelling count without the o.

Word of the Day: pareidolia

Pareidolia is something that’s very common. So common, in fact, that you’ve probably seen countless examples of it. You knew what it was even if you didn’t know what it was called. Pareidolia is a type of false perception that helps us make sense of the world. It happens when our brains organise the completely random patterns seen by our eyes into things we can identify. This is why and indeed, how we “see” dragons in clouds, a man’s face on the Moon, and why the random burn marks on a grilled-cheese sandwich or a tortilla seem to resemble the Virgin Mary.

This is not something over which we have any control. Our brains are wired for it. Personally, I think it’s kind of weird and wonderful that we “see” human faces and familiar forms everywhere, but I’m left guessing as to the biological or evolutionary purpose of this ability. I’d like to think that there’s a reason for it but maybe it’s just a fluke. Still, it does provide a lot of entertainment value, particularly when people associate the things they think they see with the religious or the sacred. And it happens all the time. Here is a page from teh intarwebz with tons of examples. Some of them are pretty convincing, but others are really stretching it.

Finally here’s a very old photograph with some of the best pareidolia I’ve ever seen. The image of a Jesus-like face can clearly be seen next to the figure of the man in the middle left of the photograph. Look again and you’ll see that it’s actually a little girl sitting in her father’s lap.

Neat, huh?

The Lady of the Library

Is it a book,
After which you look?
Then seek thou out,
The Lady of the Library.
Though not contrary,
She’s a sassy lass.
With a temper, most fiery.
No talking will be tolerated.
Anything above a whisper,
Will be greeted with a shush!
And a hush by the Lady,
Of the Library.

Twenty-Twelve

I think I’ll take it upon myself
To call this new year Twenty-Twelve.
And not two thousand and whatever.
Twenty-Twelve is so much better.
It sounds nice and alliterate.
You should too or at least consider it.