Poem: Copy By Fire

http://www.vianegativa.us/2007/08/should-poetry-be-open-source/
http://www.sbpoet.com/poem_dancing/index.html
http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/copyleft.html
http://www.gnu.org/philosophy/why-copyleft.html
http://ma.tt/2007/08/open-source-poetry/
http://opensourcepoetry.org/

Part I: Collapse

1. Deadly Sharing
The horror
How could it be described in any other way?
The original poem slowly being stripped away
In the name of Sharing!

2. Angst
Watching death
Slowly unfold
My creation
To be sold
Wretched apart for the masses to hold

3. Unimaginable must close-eyes
Open source horror
This monster that started out right
turns left, turns right
As only a blight
Terror! In the hands of many

4. A shell of greatness
And as the winds die down
Fragments of the true work rebound
Shaint as a shallow wind
They're ghosts
As an imagination of themself

5. Abyss
Lost, lost to the crowd
Genius dead, this we dread
Recognition lost

6. Curtain
And so it ends


Part II: Playful Child

1. Up
Heavenly stare
Joy glare
Holy batman!

2. Wow
Disrupted from my sleeping
I see a crowd peeping
We're part of a band
of joyous rogues

3. Premature interruption
We're sleeping, we're peeping
and oh-my-god we're leaping
IF ONLY THE AUTHORS WEREN'T SUCH PRICKS!
They're such intolerable dicks!

4. Excuses?
We just took a step this way,
took a step that way
And tip-toed the rest of the
way,
it's not as if our mission was to slay...

5. Ignoring
We're dancing,
we're prancing,
and oh-my-gosh we're laughing
It's such a joyous time to have
fun with others and rhyme!...

6. Rebuttal
But it can't last,
but it can't last...


Part III: Crash

1. Military
Copyright, copyright!
Wrong, wrong!
Left, left?

2. Drums
The marching band plays its
drums (expecting a payment)
For the writers who need to
be paid
The amateurs have not given their
dues
They need to be slayed

3. Phh. Amateurs
The amateurs are in "fair use"?
But why are the writers not paid?
Amateurs!

4. Lack of scope
You take without realizing!
You take without effect!
You spoil your own writing
with theft!

5. The reason
Copy for intent,
copy for purpose;
sometimes it's about money,
sometimes altruism.

6. Money money
You amateurs misstep!
You realize not your own backlash!
Create without me, and you're nothing! Nothing!
And I require my due payment.

7. Focus of money
Recognition? Yes, recognition.
In cognition recognition is obliteration
so many little fetters that schizophrenically matter

8. You suck
Don't understand? Don't know?
Well, please, keep to what you do.
Us professionals here do our job right, unlike you.

9. Professionals lack also
Professional writers taking up alms against
amateur writers whose inspiration comes from
the professionals yet who also propel forward
the professionals.
Long-winded-ass stanza - must be from an amateur -
STAMP! No money for this one. Too clumsy.

10. Sad
Chagrin chigran,
now for a depression;
for a lot of suffering,
and some manic tension

11. Down
Is it worth anything?
What is worth?
My poetry no good?
Well then I'll kill myself

12. Devilish grin
No no! Don't kill yourself
Manic thoughts -- fame through suicide.
We're the great ones much aided by being
dead?

13. Star!
Rush of fame!
Man threatens suicide!
Now professional!
Now ego-stroking maniac who becomes a copyright tyrant!
Yay!

14. Icky, friends are
But then faces his used-to-be-friends amateurs
Ruddy of-the-muck friends who aspire but ...
well ...
are too "independent".
But they're friends, and they're there for you when it matters.

15. Rush
They're sued after inspiration strikes,
but had taken one of their poems (he was better than me)
and had stolen it and propped self up as the writer.
Awareness of this, but it didn't matter.

16. Thin line
Betrayal.
Choose.
Friends, fame?
(either-or, really? wtf)
Enjoyment of self with others but in poverty?
Or high-times but often faking and not enjoying self?
Which less evil less unpleasant?

17. Dichotomy?
Sell soul to devil?
Keep soul but condemned to poverty?

18. One line
One.
Suicide.
It's on the newspapers, but it don't matter.
Sleepless nights, but because dead.
It's a new life.
Much sorrow. Adieu. *tips hat*

19. Possibility
Two.
Sell.
If only I could keep my friends, too...
but I stole his poem. Staying with these
people more means that of getting more
exposure, but at the cost of being with
them...
Why can't I have both? Why?
But I stole it. Credit him? At the risk of
losing my rep?

20. Further along
Two point one.
Don't reveal it. Later for film will
admit it, and then go back with friends,
the "morally right thing to do" and so
ends a good film.

21. Risky
Two point two.
Reveal. He's a great poet, y'know.
And yes, I stole it. I'm sorry about that.
(would you like to work with me?
No. Well fudge!...)
(would you like to work with me?
Yes? Awesome! I'll be the public
guy and you write the stuff.
But you want recognition?
But you're a terrible people person.
You don't care? Well it's sort of
pointless then because you've gotta
have an alright person-... fine.)

22. Hmm...
So, say it's alright. Cool beans,
but a lesser affect. Fame stops,
perhaps. Or does it? Don't know.

23. Confused
Three.
Don't sell. What is it to sell anyways?
Go back into the shadows and have
the poem published under someone
else's name, 'cause they "stole" it from
you. Pick the bugs from your feet.
A has-been? Why the dichotomy?


Part IV: Rest

1. Pull push
Back and forth, forth and back.
Why not both?
Screaming it to a wall.
Of course it won't listen.
That's not the point.

2. Prayer?
That prayer wall.
Maybe I should do a prayer.
Meditation stuffs might help.

3. Annoying...
Now I lay me down to sleep
a light sleep where I think keep
And if I don't wake up,
I pray that I don't rest on the wall
'Cause it's really pokey looking

4. Must there...?
Cute as I may be,
I have a question for my non-conscious self to see
Why can't I have lots of fame
without having the pains of
loss of friends?
Is it a true dichotomy,
or simply an area where there's
a lack of understanding?

5. Sky
But for now I'll rest my pretty little
head,
as I imagine days of dread,
days of pain,
days of enjoyment,
and days of rain.

6. A little trinket
Raindrops on my hats right here,
as I drift off to sleep watching
these reindeer
Hallucinating something not there
A dead poet's poetry is much helped

7. Starry Night
But that's a wish.
It's a wish.
Who knows what life will have to dish.
I know I may, I know I might
If only I could figure out life

8. Fi-nale
The head drooped,
the body relaxed
and there sat at the wall
a man asleep
*curtain*