Thirteen Ways of Looking at a [Insert Your Fetish Here]

[AdamSmith]

So avoiding work as ever through mindless Googling, I was tickled at how many people have set themselves to parody the great Wallace Stevens poem 'Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird.' (Original here: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/174503)

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Tortilla (2001)
by Aaron Abeyta

i.
among twenty different tortillas
the only thing moving
was the mouth of the niño

ii.
i was of three cultures
like a tortilla
for which there are three bolios

iii.
the tortilla grew on the wooden table
it was a small part of the earth

iv.
a house and a tortilla
are one
a man a woman and a tortilla
are one

v.
i do not know which to prefer
the beauty of the red wall
or the beauty of the green wall
the tortilla fresh
or just after

vi.
tortillas filled the small kitchen
with ancient shadows
the shadow of Maclovia
cooking long ago
the tortilla
rolled from the shadow
the innate roundness

vii.
o thin viejos of chimayo
why do you imagine biscuits
do you not see how the tortilla
lives with the hands
of the women about you

viii.
i know soft corn
and beautiful inescapable sopapillas
but i know too
that the tortilla
has taught me what i know

ix.
when the tortilla is gone
it marks the end
of one of many tortillas

x.
at the sight of tortillas
browning on a black comal
even the pachucos of española
would cry out sharply

xi.
he rode over new mexico
in a pearl low rider
once he got a flat
in that he mistook
the shadow of his spare
for a tortilla

xii.
the abuelitas are moving
the tortilla must be baking

xiii.
it was cinco de mayo all year
it was warm
and it was going to get warmer
the tortilla sat
on the frijolito plate

http://www.teachmix.com/litartgreen/node/66

Thirteen Ways of Looking
at a Pinhead

Since Pinhead the Cenobite recently posted a
"punctuation lame" in untutored style, making
THIRTEEN false allegations of error on my part,
I feel the Pin is deserving of this special
tribute.

I

Among twenty sleazy Net trolls,
The lowliest of all
Is a troll called Pinhead.

II

I have multiple nightmares,
A USENET
In which there are thirteen Pinheads.

III

Pinhead jabbers through his modem.
That is a small part of his performance.

IV

A Rat and a Mutt
Are one.
A Rat and a Mutt and a Pinhead
Are one.

V

I do not know which is the worst,
The libels of Woof Davis,
Or Wotan's stupid innuendoes,
Pinhead's articles,
Or all three.

VI

Someone filled several newsgroups
With idiotic rubbish,
I suspect that Pinhead
Posted randomly.
The Net
Finds in Pinhead
A cypher and an imbecile.

VII

O wise folks of USENET,
Why do you fault my postings?
Do you not see how Pinhead
Floods numerous groups
With mind-numbing babble?

VIII

I read the lowly whines
And the muddled, nonsensical blather;
And I know too,
That Pinhead has spewed out
That which I read.

IX

When Pinhead posts on the Net
He makes Woof Davis
Sound almost intelligent.

X

At the thought of more trash
Posted by Pinhead,
Even a strong orangoutang
Would screech in agony.

XI

I looked over the postings
In the Kooks' group.
Once, a groan escaped me,
In that I discerned
The lamentable gibberish
Of that bore, Pinhead.

XII

The drivel is flowing.
Pinhead must be posting.

XIII

His trash was all over the Net.
It was appalling
And it was getting worse.
Pinhead sat
At his keyboard.

https://groups.google.com/forum/#!msg/rec.arts.poems/PaW13SicXBU/MSCg1TnuckQJ

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blogofascist
(With Apologies to) Wallace Stevens

I
Among twenty leftist websites,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blogofascist.

II
I was of three minds,
Like a diary
In which there are three blogofascists.

III
The blogofascist whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.

IV
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blogofascist
Are one.

V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blogofascist writing
Or just after.

VI
Idiocy filled the long window
With barbaric gas.
The shadow of the blogofascist
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.

VII
O thin men of the right,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the blogofascist
Walks away with the feet
Of the women about you?

VIII
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the blogofascist is involved
In what I know.

IX
When the blogofascist dropped out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.

X
At the sight of blogofascists
Typing in a green light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.

XI
Joe rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For blogofascists.

XII
The river is moving.
The blogofascists must be writing.

XIII
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blogofascists sat
In the catbird seat.

http://www.dailykos.com/story/2006/08/12/236163/-Dedicated-to-Meteor-Blades#

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Finder

I
Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was they eye of the finder.

II
I was of three lives,
Like the tail
Of a finder's fee.

III
The finder's fee whirled in the autum winds.
It was a bitter part of the pantomime.

IV
A rat and a snake
Are one.
A rat and a snake and a finder
Are one.

V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of interested angels,
Or the beauty of venture firms tripping over themselves,
The finder going into voice mail
Or my spam filter.

VI
Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of the finder
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An unfundable venture.

VII
O entrepreneurs of Haddam,
Why do you imagine no one will fund you?
Do you not see how the finder
Runs to cut off
Investors making their own way to you?

VIII
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the finder is intent
In fucking up what I know.

IX
When the finder fled out of sight,
It marked the beginning
Of one of many victories.

X
At the sight of finders
Fleeing in the light of dawn,
Even the lawyers and other service providers
Would cry out sharply.

XI
He travelled the road show
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For finders.

XII
The river is moving.
The venture must be finder-free.

XIII
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The finder sat
Out in the cold.

http://www.wac6.com/wac6/2010/06/thirteen-ways-of-looking-at-a-finder.html

Thirteen Ways of Looking at an M&M Package

I

Among dozens of shelves of candies and sweets,

The only thing my sight fastened on,

Was a bright, red package of m&m’s.

II

My mind reeled dizzily with pure ecstasy,

Like a trapeze artist

When he is flinging himself into space.

III

The m&m package sat between the gumdrops and the twizzlers,

It was part of a small plot by the Sugar Calories Brigade.

IV

A Twix bar and a Whatchamacallit

Are one.

A Twix bar and a Whatchamacallit and an m&m package

Are one.

V

I do not know which to choose,

The craving of jaw-sticking caramel,

Or the smooth texture of peanut butter,

The melting in your mouth of chocolate m&m’s,

Or all three.

VI

Undecision and confusion jammed my mind

With sharp, prickling thoughts.

The surface of the m&m package

Twinkled up merrily to me.

Which made my mind,

Still cluttered with the unanswered question,

More phased than before.

VII

O ignorant, deceived people of this world,

Why do visions of m&m packages dance in your heads?

Do you not see how the m&m package

Is filled with 360,000 kilograms of fat,

Making you people slaves to them forever?

VIII

I know of healthy, enriching foods

And their help to aid long lives;

But I know too,

That the m&m package is not

In what I know of good food.

IX

When I left the m&m package,

I could see it in my sight,

One delicious yet dangerous sweet of many.

X

At the sight of m&m packages,

Glittering in the white light,

Even the most held-back people

Would cry out in longing.

XI

A man walked down the candy aisle,

In search of the famous favorite,

Once a false hope overtook him,

In that he mistook,

A package of Skittles,

For m&m’s.

XII

If a crowd is ranting and raving,

The m&m packages must be sold out.

XIII

It will be a most saddening say,

It will be a most crushing day,

The most horrible fate of all,

If the m&m packages

Ever go away.

http://schnickledoogr2.livejournal.com/19867.html

...and finally, from a delightful site called 'Geoffrey Chaucer Hath a Blog':

Heere ys a newe poeme from todaye. Yt ys inspired by a verye wondirful adaptacioun of a verye wondirful poeme.

XIII Wayes of Regardinge a Litel Woolen Hatte, a poeme by Galfridus Chaucer

I

Amonge XX busye customes deskes

The onlye thinge nat movinge

Was my litel woolen hatte

II

Ich was of three myndes

Lyke a haberdassheres stalle

On the which do hange III litel woolen hattes

III

My woolen hatte flewe off yn the wynde,

Alack! That hatte was ful wel expensif.

IV

A gentil and a churl

Are one.

A gentil and a churl and a litel woolen hatte

Are one.

V

Ich ne knowe nat which to prefer,

The beautee of sentence

Or the beautee of solaas,

The litel woolen hatte being put on

Or just aftir.

VI

Isekeles did fille the greate wyndow

Wyth glas rough and ungentil.

The shadwe of the woolen hatte

Dyd crosse yt, hider and thider.

The hattes wearer

Traced yn the frost

A vers aboute a kankedort.

VII

O thin men of the Guildhall

Wherfor thynke ye upon golden hattes?

Marken ye nat how the litel woolen hatte

Suited ys ful wel

For a cold daye?

VIII

Ich knowe of noble romaunces

And fayre, delitable vers yn heigh style,

Yet eke wel Ich knowe

That the litel woolen hatte ys woven up

Yn what Ich knowe.

IX

Whanne the litel woolen hatte was loste,

Yt marked the beginninge

Of anothir chidinge by Philippa.

X

At the sighte of litel woolen hattes

On the heades of tale-telling pilgrims

Even John Gower

Wolde crye out sharplye.

XI

He walkid alle arounde London

Yn uncomfortable shoon

Oones, a great thirste took hym

Yn that he mistook

The shadwe of hys woolen hatte

For a barrel of ale.

XII

The river ys movinge

Let nat the hatte falle off of the syde of the ferryboate.

XIII

Yt was Aprille alle afternoon

And ther felle soote shoures

To percen the droghte.

The woolen hatte

Sat upon myn heade.

http://houseoffame.blogspot.com/

[AdamSmith]

One more...

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Press Conference

By Michael Swaine

Over the past year, in this space, I've rewritten the early history of Dr. Dobb's to include an anachronistic 1976 podcast in the style of a 1950s Bob & Ray radio show, engaged in schmaltzy reminiscing about coding for a living in the 1970s, evoked the spirit and writing style of Charles Dickens to advise Steve Ballmer on how to do a press conference, riffed on awards and snakes, delivered a column sponsored by the letter K, shared my abortive experiment with wikihood, hustled for tips at Foo Bar, listened in on the Linux Ladies, rambled on about ancient computing devices and screwy ideas, mused about why some experts are taken seriously when they pontificate outside the areas of their expertise and others aren't, and interviewed a bird.

So in April, when I heard that virtually all of EMI's music would be available through iTunes without DRM copy protection but at higher sound quality for an extra charge per track, I immediately realized that I should address the issue in the form of a parody of Wallace Stevens's acclaimed poem, "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird" (writing.upenn.edu/~afilreis/88/stevens-13ways.html).

I

Among CEOs standing like snowy mountains,

The only moving thing

Was the eye of the man in black.

II

I am of two minds,

Like an iPod

That can store DRM-free tunes at 256kbps or the old stuff at 128kbps.

III

"Blackbird singing in the dead of night..."

The unheard tunes of the Beatles were a part of the pantomime.

IV

A song and the open road

Are one.

A song and the open road and freedom

Are one twenty-nine.

V

The European Union asked for the jangle

Of shared chains.

Does it not prefer

The silence of none? asked the man in black.

VI

Icicles fill the window with frozen Video.

The sunlight of this announcement crosses it, to and fro.

The ice begins to melt.

VII

O thin men of the music industry,

Why do you imagine caged tunes?

Do you not see how EMI's act

Makes you look dull, dense, and greedy?

VIII

I hear noble accents

And crisper sound quality;

But I know, too,

That EMI and Apple stand to make a bundle on this deal.

IX

When this light shone out,

It emphasized the darkness

At Sony BMG, Warner, and Universal.

X

At the news of albums DRM-free at no extra cost,

Even the free-music choir

Would skip a beat.

XI

He rode over the music industry in a Jonathan Ive coach.

Once, a fear pierced him,

In that he misread his future in a black cube.

XII

The dinosaurs are moving.

The Indies say welcome.

XIII

It was morning all day.

The next day the EU threatened to sue Apple over pricing.

The man in black shifted uncomfortably in his catbird seat.

http://collaboration.cmc.ec.gc.ca/science/rpn/biblio/ddj/Website/articles/DDJ/2007/0706/070501ms02/070501ms02.html