They leave without fanfare,
packing pieces of themselves in duffel bags,
donning courage like an old coat,
that few could wear as well as them.

Faded memories of home,
are carried in their hearts
over the land and the sea,
        through heat and the cold,
        through the thunderous cacophony of war,
and the silence that follows.

Who can say what leads them to raise their hand,
and place our country on their sleeve—
but they do so proudly,
        and risk so much,
        and sacrifice so greatly,
for the hope and lives of people they have never met.

When they finally return to their neighborhoods,
the lives around them uninterrupted,
they carry their battles within—
stories etched beneath their skin,
        some shared,
        some kept hidden,
all of them honored.

Today, we stand, grateful and humble,
to remember them as they were and as they are,
to hold their legacy in our hearts,
        to feel, for a moment,
        the weight of what they have given,
and what they will always carry.

The post A quiet honor appeared first on BorkWeb.

they are busy doing adult things
like paying the bills and doing my laundry
buying my food and telling me i have to shower
like no shit i know i need to
        i just dont want to

i know they care about me
and want to spend time with me
but they are weird and old and besides
there will be time tomorrow
        life is long and mine just started

i hope they are still alive when im ready

The post Parents appeared first on BorkWeb.

Real parents get happy,
        And filled up with mirth,
Every time that there’s tears
        From the kid after birth.

It should recharge your strength,
        When their eyes become wetter,
You should laugh when they cry,
        I bet you’ll feel better.

When needles get prickly,
        You should giggle with glee
Lest I’m bad at advice,
        Then don’t listen to me!

The post At the doctor’s office appeared first on BorkWeb.

Hands desperately fight
        for order,
        flipping fragments
        to expose their faces

The fervent rush
        to define the edge
        is in stark contrast
        to the relaxed calm that follows

Of reconstructing,
        in focused sections,
        somebody else’s picture
        as your own

The final piece
        sparks joy
        and satisfaction
        as it settles in its place

And then it’s over.
        Back to chaos.

The post Puzzling appeared first on BorkWeb.

<?php namespace Is\Something\To; use Cause\It\Plays\A\Particular\Role;


/**
 * And if code is a poem, then you better believe,
 * that tidy is good for the soul.
 */
class NamesThatAreLong extends \All\Our\Typing {
  /**
   * And if you don't stop for a bit,
   * A pause to rethink what you place between quotes, A
   * @var string that's full-qualified's shit.
   */
  private $dreams = 'about slashes are fine in your head';
 
  /**
   * And you may wish to spit them all out,
   * But they're a
   */
  const ANT_REMINDER = 'to others, you see - that your';


  protected function castsDoubt() {
    if ( 'you like to type slashes' == $this->dreams ) {
      // That you have - is a challenge - I'm not going to lie,
      return ', if you will,';
    }


    $to_another_location = $and_type_all_of_them_up_there or die;
  }
}

The post Code is poetry – fully qualified class names are not appeared first on BorkWeb.

Dad and mom remind her,
        That she isn’t throwing shade,
        Upon her youth,
        As she advances,
        To a higher grade.

Just don’t be super extra,
        As you start to find your way,
        ‘Cause you gotta,
        Pass the vibe check,
        Or you’ll get dragged every day.

Slaps are not the answer,
        Nor are kicks, for sure, no cap,
        To readjust,
        Your mindset,
        What you need is a school map

Hard work is also needed,
        ONG you’ll learn stuff as you go
        So, don’t sleep upon,
        This moment,
        W Goat. iykyk.

The post Poem for Maddie’s 8th grade graduation appeared first on BorkWeb.

“This bed is just shit,
And so is my ladder,
I hate all carpets,
And lamps, for that matter.”

“I don’t need my toilet,
That flower pot’s lame,
Send them to gitmo,
And take this dumb frame!”

His homestead’s exactly,
The same as his code,
No <table>s around,
Because he’s just not really into them and prefers to use cascading style sheets because they feel neat and tidy, especially when you use cool things like container queries.

The post No tables appeared first on BorkWeb.

I longed for your warmth.
yearned to fall into the sweet serenity of contentment,
with the taste of you filling my mouth,
and your presence eradicating the emptiness I felt inside.

As if caught on the razor’s edge between dreams and reality,
my hand reached out to you…and you came to me,
invading my senses and leaving me weak to resist the urge of moving too fast,
but it was too fast.

You burnt my tongue, you piece of shit pizza roll.

The post A dangerous longing appeared first on BorkWeb.

The market is slow at adapting, it seems,
Though time marches forward, it’s plugins and themes,
That makes this all messy and feel sorta short,
But, it’s right on schedule, I’m sad to report.

See, PHP booted a version each year,
Though 7 has died, you should quiver in fear,
And worry, and fret, and try to remember,
8 goes away at the end of November

The post James’ lament (on PHP) appeared first on BorkWeb.

They are products of their parents, which is a blessing and a curse.
They are funny and kind, but insular and too smart for the world,
School is a struggle, but gaming is not,
and god-forbid if you tell them they can’t have a muffin.

When their laughter fills the house,
My heart fills up faster,
And I savor every moment that they say “Yes daddy, I’d like to,”
When I ask them to do whatever I think might grab their interest.

Sometimes our dance parties last long enough,
To earn side-eyed glances from their mother,
But the giggles are worth it and their goofy antics and sarcasm show that my DNA runs deep–
But hopefully not so deep to include the broken parts.

I’ll treasure these moments while I have them,
Because kids are like dandelions and grow overnight,
And in the blink of an eye, they will be swept up by the wind,
Into the world that they hide from in their rooms with the lights off.

Sometimes I get lost in my head worrying that they aren’t prepared to leave home,
When they don’t know what a butter knife is or understand how to hold a broom,
But those thoughts bleed away when I sit on their beds, and annoyingly ask them about things,
Just to hear their thoughts and opinions.

And I am reminded that my children are rapidly becoming not-children.

The post Not children appeared first on BorkWeb.