The engineer with a liberal arts degree

I sit down and expect to compose some lines,
As if one could demand that verse
Would flow from algorithm,
Rigid rules transforming
Random number output
Into graceful elegance

But even calculus lessons should have taught me
That this proposition would fail
“Garbage in, garbage out,” the professor would have said
Loveliness appears in the equations
Because of the underlying beauty
And not the other way around

And this is why you must tread carefully
When the scientist gets a reflective countenance
And settles himself into a comfortable place
In front of the large picture window
Expecting you to understand why
A tree, a flower, a bird has now become ‘ξ’

Get to the point!

Haiku: you’ve got just
seventeen syllables to
get your point across

 

That’s my kind of poetry. My kind of communication, too. Sometimes, at least.

Small joys

It is not this thing
            this small decadence
            this tiny extravagance
Or even the enjoyment of it
            its vibrancy
            its sweetness
But rather the thought
            the thought of observing
            the thought of partaking
Which has carved in my soul
A moment of contentment
An unassailable instant
In which I am appropriately thankful
Grateful
Immersed in the joy of life