Strava Verse

The internet gives us new ways to express ourselves. One of the more strenuously esoteric forms of artistic expression is Strava art, in which people do runs that, when mapped, draw pictures. None of my strava art was particularly good, but my running club friends in Stockholm regularly run "elefanten". I spent a year attempting "Found Strava Art", where you just run a new route and give the run a name based on what it looks like. I ran a lot of flowers and space ships, but meh. Last year I named each run with a line of a song that came up on my iPod. Too obscure.

This year I decided to serialize poems with my Strava runs. I didn't have a plan, but I started with Jabberwocky. It seemed appropriate to comment using nonsense words, because, Jabberwocky. I ended up with this:

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe

I love running with my slithy toves!

All mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome raths outgrabe.

My right knee was a grobble mimsy today, but mome what a rath!  

Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

Also, the Jabberrun can be hard on the knees.

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

ERC hosted run had quiche to bite and George to catch.

He took his vorpal sword in hand

New York Sirens game. Women with vorpal sticks. Slain by the Charge 3-2.

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun the frumious Bandersnatch!

Definitely well salted and frumious out there today.

Long time the manxome foe he sought

But quick the manxless chill he caught

So rested he by the Tumtum tree

Covered with snow in filagree

And stood a while in thought.

Though clabbercing in a profunctional dot!

And, as in uffish thought he stood

Trolloping thru the Brookdale wood.

The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame

Cheld and hord, a glistering name…

Came whiffling through the tulgey wood

And caught the two burblygums because he could.

And burbled as it came!

So late the Jabberrun slept

For Eight Muyibles passed as though aflame

O'er Curbles and Nonces the pluffy sheep leapt.

One, two! One, two! And through and through

Three four! Three four! Sankofa’s coffee’s fit to pour.

The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!

The Icebeest of Hoth kept blobbering back.

He went galumphing back.

He left it dead, and with its head

... the Garmind sprang to life

And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?

The ice, the snow, it's hard as rock.

Come to my arms, my beamish boy!

Think of my knees! Oy oy oy oy.

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”

O jousbarf night! The fluss! The fright!

He chortled in his joy.

(And padoodled the rest of of the way!)

‘Twas brillig and the slithy toves

Did not, had not, could not loave.

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe

“Dunno.” said the wormly autoclave

All mimsy were the borogoves,

Again and again, beloo and aboave

And the mome raths outgrabe.

The end. Ooh ooh Babe!

Terrible right? But it has its moments.

I've started a new one. I fear it will get more topical.

Notes:

• I previously invented "clickstream poetry". It never caught on.