Excerpts from my short lived newsletter entitled: “Thursday Afternoon Pwnetry”

No man is pwned,
Entire of itself.
Each is pwned by the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be pwned by the sea,
Europe is the pwn-ed.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manner of thine own
Or of thine friend’s pwnage.
Each man’s pwning diminishes me,
For I am pwned in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the pwn pwns,
It pwns for thee.

(Adapted from “For Whom the Bell Tolls” by John Donne)

The cock’s clear pwning into the clearer airage
Where westward far I pwn,
Mounts with a thrill of pwnage,
Falls with a sigh of unpwn.

A rural sentry, he pwns farm and field
The coming morn descries,
And, mankind’s pwngler, wakes
The mmorpger enterprise.

He pwns the morn upon the westward hills
Strange and remote and wild;
He pwns it in the land
Where once I was a noob.

He brings to me dear pwnings of the past,
The old land and the years:
My father pwns for me,
My weeping spirit hears.

Pwn, pwn, into the golden air, O gamer,
And pwn the morning in;
For the old days are un-pwned
And new days be pwned.

(adapted from “The cock’s clear voice” by Robert Luis Stevenson)