I never thought I'd stumble upon this in my archives, and, if I did, I promised myself I would destroy all copies of it and never let it be seen by human eyes. But, what the heck? Here it is. :)
The year is 1998:
I was trying to impress a girl [a few actually] by telling her that I was going to master a programming language in order to join in on and merge with the IT/dotcom craze that was stirring and fomenting at the time.
For some reason, perhaps the world wide web buzz surrounding it, I chose Java. And, to accompany my inspiration, desire, and excitement, I wrote a poem...
Since then, I have become fairly proficient at reading and understanding code, and pretty much 'getting' all of IT for that matter, at some novice to intermediate level, even some of the more advanced mathematical stuff, but I never mastered any subfield or programming paradigm well enough to be able to use it as an artistic medium in the way that I fancy I use pencil and paper, the written word, and the primordial sketch. Thus, this poem's argument still remains an elusivity.
Without further adieu, I present, in unparalleled geekness, peerless corniness, and skin-crawling doggerel, worse than an 80s haircut and comparable to Three's Company's most horribly sentimental moment, 'Learning Java Well', the first and only poem that will appear on *impulse:
Learning Java Well
Why haven’t I learned Java well yet?
I do not feel the urgent press yet.
I will soon, very soon.
Java will rise within me like the moon,
And I will surely know it.
In my bosom: It will be true.
I will be the most fluid Java poet.
I will soon be able to woo
Every dryad girl with lustery jewels.
All the moon burnished maiden’s feet
Will be pattering along my silken beach.
At night, they will haunt my meadow like ghouls.
I think I will want to glide with them too,
But I will be too attentive to crafting
The abstracted struts and crossing beams
That make a program like a tenuous fancy wafting
In logical certainty but within a dream.
Such ethereal constructions as these
Will bring the fairy palaces to me
As well as all the forest that I please
And rivers that hem between the stony trees.
But only nymphs that wander vagrantly,
Dallying and dreaming far within the night,
Who let me rescue them so gallantly,
While they have slipped into a state of fright,
Will have my honor as they fill my halls
And scuff their jeweled dresses along the ground.
I will answer to their slightest shriek or call
Then listen to their warbling peacock sounds.
Friendly wolves and bears would only roam
About my pastures and my dappled gardens.
They could be heard as they often moaned:
The dewy, floating damsels made them ardent.