Spam Poetry

So, a little back story here. Way back in the day I used to work email customer service. And while we did have a system that sorted emails, it wasn’t very clever, and someone had to manually sort the buckets of ‘miscellaneous’ emails that just got shunted into the main folder. Among these were spam emails in every form you could imagine.

My favourites, were always the bots who had collected bits and pieces of random text in an attempt to fool the not terribly sophisticated spam filters. I called them my Spam Poems, and I saved some of the best ones I came across whenever it was my turn to sort the main folder.

I don’t have much of substance to share today, but I thought I would share one of my favourite spam poems. It hasn’t been altered in any way, this is how it came to us. Enjoy:

snowdrops and crocuses might be fooled

Side of the painting, the world of that wise, white,

By the design of our own silent eyes

And piled up at the base of the columns

That desire has ever built, have approached

Where, as I discover as I go through

Is dumb; he is the mute white stony shape

Onto my frozen fingers.

Rise, to the muffled chime of churchbell choir.

whose soft bristles graze the top-racks.

Choces, Mère and Père, undreaming even of fields

The purest form is always the one

Beneath the snowflakes I notice façades

The winter road from the St. Simeon farm

Away, my songs, must we go

Come, swallows, it’s good-bye.

marked with a dark stroke from the left, encroached

That this mud draws on the stone.

for a few weeks, statistics won’t seem

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