- Posts tagged Poem
- Explore Poem on posterous
That's Where He Will Be. (For Steve Jobs)
There's lots of things that I don't know, the afterlife is one.
I tend to think we live our lives, and after that it's done.
But if there is a place revealing great technology,
That's where he will be.
An era for "the rest of us" is what he ushered in.
And if there is a place with a "mere mortals" citizenry,
That's where he will be. I know there's hardship in the world, and tragedy unmeasured,
But cannot use that to deny that there are also treasures.
And if there is a place where the consumer holds the key,
That's where he will be. So I'll always be grateful that he bucked the status quo.
Not satisfied with where we were; knew somewhere else to go.
And if there is a place for those who see what we can't see,
That's where he will be.
Blowin' in the Fan (with apologies to Bob Dylan)
How many tablet PCs must be built
Before people get that they're wrong?
How many demos must Microsoft give
Propped up by their own dance and song?
And after a decade of failure in this
Do they know that we won't tag along?
The answer my friend is blowin' in the fan
The answer is blowin' in the fan.
Before its best days have gone by?
How many new paradigms can be shown
That much better methods apply?
And how many times to the well will they go
Before seeing it's finally run dry?
The answer my friend is blowin' in the fan
The answer is blowin' in the fan. How many vendors were pulled on a chain
Building tablets unfriendly to hands?
How many failures and misguided tries
Were continued according to plans?
And when will they get the futility of
Shoehorning PCs into cans?
The answer my friend is blowin' in the fan
The answer is blowin' in the fan.
(Inspired by this tidbit about a prototype Windows 8 tablet.)
I'm Dreaming of a White iPhone
I'm dreaming of a white iPhone
Just like what Apple said we'd get.
Though the black ones shimmer, our tempers simmer
Because we don't have white yet.
I'm dreaming of a white iPhone.
I sometimes doubt it will arrive,
But I keep all my hopes alive
We'll see an albino iPhone 5.
Tom_R
(Apologies to Irving Berlin)
Baby You Can Touch iPad (for misguided pundits, with apologies to The Beatles).
I asked Thurrott what he thought that it was.
He said a tablet, and that’s because
It’s unimpressive, and does nothing new
Than hardware he’s seen since 2002.
Experience you’ve never had.
Baby you can touch iPad,
And maybe you’ll love it. He said in his mind it’s all just the same.
I said iPad shows those tablets are lame.
A desktop OS is all very fine,
But for a touch UI it’s not designed. Baby you can touch iPad.
Experience you’ve never had.
Baby you can touch iPad,
And maybe you’ll love it. I told him users could start right away.
Thousands of touch apps the very first day.
Apple’s not perfect, plans could fall apart,
But with their touch OS it’s a great start. Baby you can touch iPad.
Experience you’ve never had.
Baby you can touch iPad,
And maybe you’ll love it.
Tweet It
(With apologies to Twitter and the late Michael Jackson.)
They told him don't you ever blog around here.
We're forming into cliques that you'll get nowhere near.
We wouldn't read your posts if you bought us a beer.
So Tweet it, just Tweet it.
You have a lot to say, opinion is strong.
But no one reads a thing that's over 10 words long.
You better make it quick, or soon you'll be gone.
So Tweet it, Tweet it.
Tweet it! Tweet it!
Keep it short and folks will read it.
Show 'em how pithy you have become.
Anything long and our brains go numb.
Just Tweet it, just Tweet it.
You wanna talk about a great thing you've heard,
But you must think in characters and not in words.
We don't have time for sentences, don't be so absurd.
So Tweet it, just Tweet it.
If you can keep it short then you will do well.
You might get lots of followers who think you're swell.
With luck you might even make the SUL.
So Tweet it, Tweet it.
Tweet it! Tweet it!
All blog posts are so conceited.
Don't put the effort in being distinct,
Much more important you be succinct.
So Tweet it, Tweet it...
Father's Day: In Memory of Dad
When I was five I was afraid of you.
You were so big.
Seemed so strict.
Mom was the "nice" one.
Always wanted to please.
Reveled in your praise.
Laughed at your jokes. As a teenager we argued.
Your ideas were so "old."
Your habits were embarrassing.
Sometimes I felt ashamed. In young manhood our differences grew.
Politically, socially, opposite ends.
It was always black and white with you.
There was never any gray. As a father, I began to see it.
How did you deal with eight?
Your quiet confidence spoke volumes.
Your patience was nearly infinite. Now that I'm older, it's clear.
Never understood what you went through.
Didn't realize what you gave up.
I see it all now. You are in a better place.
Hope the Angels laugh at your jokes.
Hope Notre Dame wins every game up there.
Hope they have a good stereo for you, too. So long, pop. Talk to you again next year.
I'll catch up to you soon enough.
R.I.P. Richard Arthur Reestman
February 2, 1921 – October 10, 1999
