Teenage Mutant Ninja Poem Poem by Bill Marcy

Human invention:

A blank canvas onto which we paint anything,
Essentially unrestricted, restrained only
By the palette our own imagination yields,
Encompassing infinite possible forms?

Rather, it is more akin to a head of hair
Which, though we try to contort to eccentric dos,
Stays unbent, partly physical obstinacy,
Partly adherence to standards of aesthetics,
Common fundamental elements summated
To form unique combinations intrinsically
Intertwined, quantized, inevitably finite in
Variance, for human eyes and minds desire
Similar qualities.

Does this imply our generation has at last
Fallen pray to Solomon's Curse, or even worse,
Exhausted all of the decent iterations,
Instead resorting to grotesque, drab renditions?

This is not yet the case, and it may never be;
We have our own Donatello and Raphael,
Our own commercialized voices, guiding us to
Overcome our demons and monsters, typically
Pocketable sprites: we attempt to catch 'em all,
Or as many as possible, the end to our
Persistent means, our own Knight clad in Dark armor
All bolstered by ardent data exchange via
Electronic media.

Whether you or I or anyone considers
The current paradigm as creative or not
Is ultimately inconsequential, because
What is art but the anthropomorphism of
The dynamic continuum of the social
Condition, expressing subtle evolution
Within its form, though expressly similar to
Its predecessors, retains by necessity
The recurrent themes that humanity deems to
Be inherently important and beautiful?