It’s always nice to have poetry up here on the website, so it was terrific to be sent the very fine work of Mr Matt Hestill, whose piece is entitled Ten Thirty Five.
“I saw the interview with Bisqwit, and was inspired to write this based on Genisto’s speedrun of Super Mario Bros. 3,” says Matt. “His run was so smooth, so lyrical, that it seemed altogether too suited to a poetic reinterpretation.”
Far be it for philistines like us to argue with an artist (especially one who quotes T.S. Eliot in the first line) so we’ve reproduced the entire piece for your reading pleasure. Remember, you too can submit work of any nature (from poetry to opinion pieces) to Little Mathletics, simply by sending it to [email protected].
Ten Thirty Five
Let us go then,
This Adventure beginning;
Lands familiar, materialise into view.
The movement walking swift and sure,
The first scene defines the actor and the man.
Coin and dazzle, leaping and bounding
Like the jaguar
Rising from the grass land.
New growth! Now our portly hero
Is twice the size!
The pits and shells ignored.
The goal is sighted and the blackness
Creeps upon yet more,
But one star awaits to end all.
You got a card!
Further now,
Through sliding greens
And growth of tail, the ears beneath the hat.
The white block holds a secret, ducks and slips
Behind the world. One toot will send you far away.
The castle’s grey puts one in mind
Of morning’s hysteria.
Coiling miasma thick with death and bones.
Ducking beneath tactile globes.
This whithered den
Will crumble, condemned by skill.
Ascension. Limted field of vision
Blocks the view
Of another room above.
Another whistle!
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The crossing.
Displacing wind blows
Once then again, betrays a faster route.
Further more, possessed by the plumber
Takes the pipe to await the rumbling tank army.
Through the dank black air he dances;
Atmosphere his canvas
The man with tail crushes to bring life.
The boomerang brings forth a star.
Ship on a lake of fire,
Now the fire belongs to the hero.
Exothermic oxidation, burns his foes;
But will not take away
His dancing through the sky.
Lock disappears!
Pipes again.
The ship of the sky
Crashes to the ground as he burns.
Hell’s emotionless fire and death no match;
Black surrounds combust before he sees them.
Bright king of the heavens attacks
Without Success.
The Kingdom’s guardian ignores.
Black stationary rook disintegrating,
Tanks sweep away.
There are 99 chances now, though only one is needed.
Final goal, lazers (and he through walls?)
Fifteen bolides!
No more now, the tyrant lizard.
Ten thirty five!