a realistic dose of cynicism


A starbucks haiku. (in Derek’s honor)


starbucks iced coffee.
a tall… is not tall… at all.
…it is rather small.


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graphic T-shirt haiku #5: Uniqlo Pac-Man


am i still hungry?
i try not to think of it…
om nom nom nom nom.

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graphic T-shirt haiku #4: The Land of Lost Socks


i can only dream…
every lone sock: finally matched.
so this is heaven.

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graphic T-shirt haiku #3: Awkward silence


yet another date…
only this time, it’s different;
he leaves me speechless.

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graphic T-shirt haiku #2: Mon petit chou!


my little cabbage…
no berets or mustaches
in my dinner, please.

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graphic T-shirt haiku #1: I’m sorry


speeding toward that slide
blue: “sorry!”, daisies held high,
as red sat and sighed.

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Love her more and love her less.

By John Piper
May 29, 1995

For Karsten Luke Piper
At His Wedding to
Rochelle Ann Orvis
May 29, 1995

The God whom we have loved, and in
Whom we have lived, and who has been
Our Rock these twenty-two good years
With you, now bids us, with sweet tears,
To let you go: “A man shall leave
His father and his mother, cleave
Henceforth unto his wife, and be
One unasham├ęd flesh and free.”
This is the word of God today,
And we are happy to obey.
For God has given you a bride
Who answers every prayer we’ve cried
For over twenty years, our claim
For you, before we knew her name.

And now you ask that I should write
A poem – a risky thing, in light
Of what you know: that I am more
The preacher than the poet or
The artist. I am honored by
Your bravery, and I comply.
I do not grudge these sweet confines
Of rhyming pairs and metered lines.
They are old friends. They like it when
I bid them help me once again
To gather feelings into form
And keep them durable and warm.

And so we met in recent days,
And made the flood of love and praise
And counsel from a father’s heart
To flow within the banks of art.
Here is a portion of the stream,
My son: a sermon poem. It’s theme:
A double rule of love that shocks;
A doctrine in a paradox:

If you now aim your wife to bless,
Then love her more and love her less.

If in the coming years, by some
Strange providence of God, you come
To have the riches of this age,
And, painless, stride across the stage
Beside your wife, be sure in health
To love her, love her more than wealth.

And if your life is woven in
A hundred friendships, and you spin
A festal fabric out of all
Your sweet affections, great and small,
Be sure, no matter how it rends,
To love her, love her more than friends.

And if there comes a point when you
Are tired, and pity whispers, “Do
Yourself a favor. Come, be free;
Embrace the comforts here with me.”
Know this! Your wife surpasses these:
So love her, love her, more than ease.

And when your marriage bed is pure,
And there is not the slightest lure
Of lust for any but your wife,
And all is ecstasy in life,
A secret all of this protects:
Go love her, love her, more than sex.

And if your taste becomes refined,
And you are moved by what the mind
Of man can make, and dazzled by
His craft, remember that the “why”
Of all this work is in the heart;
So love her, love her more than art.

And if your own should someday be
The craft that critics all agree
Is worthy of a great esteem,
And sales exceed your wildest dream,
Beware the dangers of a name.
And love her, love her more than fame.

And if, to your surprise, not mine,
God calls you by some strange design
To risk your life for some great cause,
Let neither fear nor love give pause,
And when you face the gate of death,
Then love her, love her more than breath.

Yes, love her, love her, more than life;
O, love the woman called your wife.
Go love her as your earthly best.

Beyond this venture not. But, lest
Your love become a fool’s facade,
Be sure to love her less than God.

It is not wise or kind to call
An idol by sweet names, and fall,
As in humility, before
A likeness of your God. Adore
Above your best beloved on earth
The God alone who gives her worth.
And she will know in second place
That your great love is also grace,
And that your high affections now
Are flowing freely from a vow
Beneath these promises, first made
To you by God. Nor will they fade
For being rooted by the stream
Of Heaven’s Joy, which you esteem
And cherish more than breath and life,
That you may give it to your wife.

The greatest gift you give your wife
Is loving God above her life.
And thus I bid you now to bless:
Go love her more by loving less.

[original source]

I won’t add my thoughts to this already lengthy poem, for they would undoubtedly take away from its profundity (wow! that’s a word!), eloquence, and power.

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Monday afternoon [photo] haikus.

i present to you
mundane happenings at work
Monday afternoon:

rubik’s cube: hello.
don’t peel off all my stickers
i dare you: solve me.

this mouse in my house
has an extremely long tail
his name: Logitech.

Staples’ nemesis
isn’t OfficeMax at all;
but this claw-shaped beast.

when is a mere book
sharper than any halberd?
when it’s the Bible.

look at this keyboard:
slab of plastic. what’s it for?
it’s for giving PROPS.

and three more haikus:
well, after this one of course.
the third line is hard.

caffeine detoxing
is like a Dyson vacuum;
it just really sucks.

i like similes.
especially in haikus.
it feels natural.

like, [5 syllables]
is like [5 more syllables]
[droll explanation]

an empty hallway
means that people worked from home,
still pajama-clad.

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wednesday afternoon poetry.

roses are red,
violets are blue.
sugar is sweet,
but not as sweet as high fructose corn syrup.

roses are #ff0000,
violets are #0000ff,
and according to Photoshop carnations are #f0569a.

roses are red,
violets are VIOLET.
and light is a particle… or is it a wave?

roses are red,
violets are blue.
and planck’s constant is 6.626068 x 10^-34 m^2 kg sec^-1.

they say roses are red,
violets are blue,
but to me they’re grey,
because i’m colorblind. don’t judge.

roses are red,
violets are blue,
sugar is sweet,
but splenda makes my coffee taste funny.

roses are red,
violets are blue.
my heart goes into ventricular fibrillation
every time i see you.

roses are red,
violets are blue.
i’m in love,
just not with you.

roses are red,
violets are blue.
some poems rhyme,
but not this one.

roses are red,
violets are blue,
i am at work with nothing to do.

the roses have dried,
the violets are gone.
my garden is dying,
it must be lupus.

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