Call for Poetry

vspaceI’ve started a journal of LaTex poetry. I’m not real sure what LaTex poetry is. Free verse using LaTex tags, epic tales of conquering the steep slope of LaTex learning, jokey odes to floating tables, or maybe even observations on special characters. Whatever, I feel there’s a need so I’m forging ahead.

So far I only have one contributor: me. And so far I only have one poem. Since the volume is slim at this point, I figured I’d just publish it right here. If you have anything to contribute to the journal, feel free to submit it via comment to this post. Payment: none.

Vertical Space 10 Points (A LaTex Poem)

\vspace{10pt}
\begin{center}
\hspace{-20pt}
\begin{figure}

Another page, more words, crappy alignment.
The marching sentences with their sad little periods and commas.
The corrections thereof: too much space, an inconvenient widow and a whiney orphan.

Our grand remuneration?
Hours of tedious backspacing, deleting, and pagination.

The ceiling is dripping from the rain.
The rain that won’t stop.
The sun never shines when its monsoon season in PA.
Inside, though, we have electricity.
For lights, sure, but mostly so the words can keep zipping down the line in a cataclysmic flood of text that needs to be set.

\begin{table}
\usepackage{flushend}
\title{Observation of Ganglia Response to Binary Protocols when Exposed to Outside Stimuli.}
\vspace{10pt}

The basement is flooding, the water creeps up the steps.
The dog and cat didn’t understand and have now both drowned.

\begin{abstract}
\begin{keywords}
\begin{document}

The windows have cracked under the weight of thunder.
The lightning splits the room.
The spouse has left, the children are dead, the toilet is backing up.

Onward the relentless words.

Manuscript received September 24, 2012.

\begin{theorem}
\begin{algorithm}
\section{Related Work}
\vspace{10pt}

The sky falls, the earth swallows it up.
The clouds never part and the angels do not sing.
Both the sheep and the goats are separated.
The world spins off its axis.

\vspace{10pt}

The only comforts now?
The letters, the dots and dashes.
They numb and spread a chilling peace.
Restricting vision and tempering hope,
They curtail the mad unwinding of the imagination and everything that goes with that:
The unrequited dreams and trips of ecstasy.
The things seen when one awakes cackling and screeching with maniacal joy, when
One is an entertainer, a liver of life, or maybe someone nailed on the cross of exhibition.

For the rest of us, we have our words, our letters, our characters,
The shackles of ones and twos.
A one-time system of communication now a prison of non-speaking parts.
Attention given only to the inscrutable and unintelligible.
Who knows what the symbols mean?
Thank god no one.
For without the soothing stream of coded words to steal our minds,
We would be forced to turn and face the abyss.
That hole just beyond our chair that the human race has fallen into.

Separated from us now by just a teeny, tiny vertical space of 10 points.

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