Poems of the Week

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WEEK OF DECEMBER 8

Going From Bad to Verse

by Steven Kent

“Poems Can Trick AI Into Helping You Make a Nuclear Weapon”
—Wired

AI can plot a jailbreak in one pass
And build (in couplets!) war materiel.
The one thing it can’t teach us yet, alas,
Is how to build a sonnet that might sell.

Sky Boy

by Julia Griffin

“Captured by photographer Lewis Hine, The Sky Boy, as the image became known, encapsulated the daring and vigour of the men who built the Empire State Building, then the world’s tallest structure at 102 storeys and 1,250ft (381m) high. … [A] new book called Men at Work throws light on the lives and opinions of a small fraction of this forgotten workforce. … [The author] saves his most controversial speculation until last: that the unknown Sky Boy was a man called Dick McCarthy, a second-generation American, grandson of Irish immigrants, living in Brooklyn, who died in 1983.”
—The Guardian

Nameless for over ninety years, he swings
Godlike above Manhattan: hooks and wires
And coils of cable have to do for wings.
10 seconds to the sidewalk; to the spires
Probably more like five. So don’t look down.
This is the way that crazy work got done;
Behold the motor-soul of Babel Town
With pride: a Sky Boy, wheeling towards the sun.
So long a cryptic photo, he can claim
Identity at last: a Brooklyn lad,
Irish; McCarthy may have been his name.
So honor him by that, our denim-clad
Wild pioneer, scraping the sky for us;
Or, like the lensman, call him Icarus.

The Cabinet Never Caught Napping

by Dan Campion

“Trump Appears to Fight Sleep During Cabinet Meeting”
—The New York Times

The fight’s unequal. Morpheus
Is stronger than the Boss.
But even when Don’s deaf to us
We’re never at a loss
To oil his ego, lick his feet,
Pour honey in his ears,
And make our lad’s nap time complete
By swallowing our sneers.

Recipe for Extinction

by Chris O’Carroll

“The researchers found that brown and ruffed lemurs were being eaten the most. They are relatively large, are considered to be tasty, and are not too difficult to catch.”
—The New York Times

The fruit some Madagascar lemurs eat
Makes lemur meat a sweet (illegal) treat
For that poor nation’s city-based elite.

Bushy-tailed, endearingly bright-eyed,
To-die-for yummy barbecued or fried,
Lemurs could vanish from the countryside.

Out on a Limerence

by Iris Herriot

“‘Desire in one of its rawest forms’: what do we know about limerence?”
—The Guardian

Oh, what do we know about limerence?
Last week I’d not even a glimmerence:
Now I know it’s desire
Of a kind that is dire;
More a scorch of the heart than a simmerence.

Pavarotti On Ice

by Mike Mesterton-Gibbons

“Frozen-in tenor: Italian mayor apologises over Pavarotti statue stuck in ice rink”
—The Guardian

Poor Luciano Pavarotti! He
Attained the heights of opera stardom. His
Vacation home caused Pesaro to be
A place you’ve heard of, where his statue is
Revered. The bronze was viewable (with arms
Outstretched) from head to toe on every side
Till planners disrespected tenor charms
To build a skating rink for Christmastide
In town, and now the High-Cs King is caged
On ice, forlorn, submerged up to his knees,
Not being viewed. His widow is enraged:
It irks that skaters give high fives (not Cs) …
Contrition’s shown, but they had best rethink
Enclosing Pavarotti in a rink!

Consuming Worry

by Steven Urquhart Bell

“Experts weigh in: You’re definitely giving yourself brain rot…heavy consumption of short-form videos is associated with shorter attention spans…”
—The Independent

Could this be why my verse
Is tending toward the terse?

A Bunch of Phoneys

by Thomas Germana

“… Apple has [reportedly] ‘made a breakthrough’ in foldable iPhone development, as it was able to achieve a ‘crease-free’ design, meaning the phone’s display wouldn’t have a visible crease when fully unfolded. … Unfortunately, the iPhone Fold might come at a pretty high price point. [Estimates range from $1800 to $2500].”
—Mashable

We love to say
We’d never pay
So much, but truth be told,
It’s all a bluff.
With Apple stuff,
We’re well aware we’ll fold.

Five Act Players

by Julia Griffin

After Shakespeare

“Brain has five ‘eras’, scientists say—with adult mode not starting until early 30s:
Study suggests human brain development has four pivotal ‘turning points’ at around the ages of nine, 32, 66 and 83″
—The Guardian

Update: the world—in other words, the brain—
Has stages, yes, but scientists explain
That those old seven are in fact chimeras:
Five’s the true number of our mental eras.
First you’re an infant, puking still and mewling.
Then you turn nine and gripe about your schooling.
At thirty-two, you’re all grown up, so show it
By acting like a soldier, or a poet.
At sixty-six, it’s time for eating chicken
And learning law. If still alive and kickin’
When eighty-three comes round, your life’s adventures
Will shrink to hunting slippers, specs, and dentures.
So that’s the scoop. Of course you’re free to spike it;
We know truth isn’t always as you like it.

A Bad Influence

by Steven Kent

“Food influencer known as ‘dine-and-dash diva’ arrested in Brooklyn”
—The Guardian

You’ll lick the plate!
Dessert? Do stay for it!
The food here’s great!
(Don’t ever pay for it!)

No Can Do

by Nora Jay

“A Campbell’s Soup Company executive has been put on temporary leave after he allegedly referred to the firm’s offerings as ‘shit for fucking poor people’—a remark purportedly caught on an audio recording and attributed to him in a former employee’s wrongful termination lawsuit.”
—The Guardian

Who eats this shit? Poor people. I,
Deservedly, am richer.
You know the only can I’d buy?
The Andy Warhol picture.

The chicken’s fake, the broth is poop,
I’d sooner browse on brambles.
If all this lands me in the soup,
Please God don’t make it Campbell’s.

It’s not intended for the rich.
They’re not the ones we’re wooing;
It’s shit for fucking paupers—which
Describes what we’ve been doing.

Sorry