Chimpanzee Poetry

The laws of mathematics postulate
the chimp creates a masterpiece
simply punching randomly the keys
infinitely sitting over them
as I do now.

I push the keys not randomly
yet no great wisdom in the rhyme
results in bright quotations, Bartlett worthy
nor words that deeply stir my own self’s soul.

How long does one need strike the keys
till come the simple words

“And gentlemen in England, now a bed
shall think themselves accursed they were not here”?

Methinks we will be sitting
chimp and I together
stringing words of equal polish
unto the end of the world.

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About toritto

I was born during year four of the reign of Emperor Tiberius Claudius on the outskirts of the empire in Brooklyn. I married my high school sweetheart, the girl I took to the prom and we were together for forty years until her passing in 2004. We had four kids together and buried two together. I had a successful career in Corporate America (never got rich but made a living) and traveled the world. I am currently retired in the Tampa Bay metro area and live alone. One of my daughters is close by and one within a morning’s drive. They call their pops everyday. I try to write poetry (not very well), and about family. Occasionally I will try a historical piece relating to politics. :-)
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4 Responses to Chimpanzee Poetry

  1. Norman Pilon says:

    Indeed. Until you wrote it, you did not know that you would. And you manage it more than often enough, Frank. It is a gift even if you work at it, because you work at it. Here, you find yourself. Not in abstraction. But concretely.

    Like

  2. beetleypete says:

    You’ve got one over on the chimps as far as I’m concerned.
    Whoever took credit for the chimp/typewriter theory was an idiot.
    Best wishes, Pete.

    Like

  3. I love this and often feel the same way 🙂

    Like

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