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June 26, 2008

The Coder's Tale, part 2

continued from part 1.

Scene 3

The predicted
came to pass.

Yet behind the silver lining
a cloud emerged.

Our present site
strains at the seams.
We must have compass to reach full flower
or wither on the vine.

Behold this spot!
Here shall be the garden
of your unlim’ed growth.
Sherwood Forest is the name.

Lo, this bosky vista
that prevents my eyes,
shall indeed be the site.
The haverned woods,
furrowed and weeping,
will, by dint of man and machine,
lie down before us.
Here, where the youth of Interlake once idled,
is space and space again
to exceed my grandest dreams.
The eye of my mind can swiftly discern,
here a lake, there a table
by fulsome repast bedripped.
Four, then two—a mighty bastion
to shame old Coleridge’s opium-laced dream.
And fight, while strength remains,
To keep approaching Porlock at bay.

Scene 4

Woods fled the advancing tide,
til very nature begged for mercy.

Four years hence,
a new vexation
over the horizon
galloped as if pursued by screaming hounds.

What news of this OS/2?

Our plans proceed apace.
The work is toilsome, but we will
vanquish all obstacles upon us.

The puzzle of it all,
lies in the unseen scope.
From my vantage it would seem,
I could myself dispatch this task,
‘tween Friday’s dusk and Monday’s dawn.

‘Pon rep, do not by hubris be so veiled.
Unseen rocks adorn these depths.
Printing, alone, befouls the finest minds.
As well, it must be said,
an unloved yoke surrounds our necks.
The ill-fitting child of our accord,
that ten years nigh ignited all,
now grates as kedge fix’d in our skin,
dragging us towards murk unseen.

Indeed, with hindsight’s gaze,
our plan, when stacked against all that graced my ears,
may well sit furthest from the top.
Furthermore, word arrives
that soon-birthed Windows 3.0
has stolen the roving heart
of our fickle-brained customers.

This upstart is fair of face
but weak of spine.
In battle, wouldst thou wish to swing
the mightiest axe,
forged in white-hot fire,
or the smallest twig,
plucked from passing tree?

Of all my counselors, your wisdom has leastly led me wrong.
Fain would I hew to your words.
And yet at end of day,
perception and reality become one,
like twilight into nighttime.

If this altering comes to pass
Many a folk may make claim
of foul trick their way dealt.
Our teams labor on our current plan,
and others outside labor more,
Yet there are those within
that heed our new direction
only as a tree heeds a butterfly.
This change, if made,
would validate their disregard,
and vault them high.
This unmerited o’erleap, though forged in disarray,
would appear, to those outside our walls,
as plotting most fiendish.

This chance we must take.
Chance, indeed, may not be the word.
Our company grows strong.
Should we not
advantage ourselves of this fact?
A barricade is spoken of,
yet flitting journey here to there
proceeds with toe unstubbed.
The bounds we must observe
are mist above the morning dew.
Such things are left inchoate
until Spirit and Majesty have their say.

Something of this affair troubles me,
But I cannot fairly balance
My sollaged misgivings
against your brimless words.
Forsooth, ‘tis often better-advised
to ask forgiveness in autumn,
than to seek permission in springtime.

Our bear-claws shall remain in sheath.
Despite, a subtle rearranging
must perforce occur.
Our change will quake the burgeoning bazaar,
like Cocos grinding Nazca.
My head can lie no easier,
so, ably girded, forth we go.

to be continued...

Posted by AdamBa at June 26, 2008 08:44 PM