Objects are bundles of code
an entity with blustering properties
they have a certain ring to the ears.
objects get thrown
at the compiler
trust me, it’s a programmer thing.
The compiler is a real work horse
which parses line by line
ever so carefully
translates the cascading lines
into less beautiful
but more functional
The stiff poetry
of a gently humming machine
coffee is the fuel that propels
the hands on my arms that write
I make poetry for machines.
You’d never guess that a language
designed to describe machine operations
could be so flowingly expressive
you’d never guess that one would
be inspired to call it poetry
with a literary voice
Who would have thought that the
“ifs” and “elses” which control the flow
would jump out like a monkey hopping
from tree to tree
and rise to the level
of an art which is
by skinny quivering fingers.
The clock stoically stumbles away
hear the sound
of tapping on the keyboard
until the afternoon
quietly dodges away
and the room fades dark.
About the AuthorMark Nenadov lives in Essex, Ontario, Canada with his lovely wife and their young daughter. Mark's poetry has been published or is forthcoming in Wilderness House Literary Review, Three Line Poetry, Calvary Cross, Northern Michigan University's The Lightkeeper, Driftwood Bay, and WestWard Quarterly.