I know that I have called this a sonnet, and I recognise that it falls short of such an esteemed form, but it is my first attempt, please forgive me.
in SUPPORT of GOOGLE'S SELF DRIVE CAR
a black tarmac warrior
a technology killing humanity worrier
plotting a course at one hundred kilometres an hour
his fatigued mind begins to wander
they want to take away his freedom
to replace his skills and wisdom
superseding his brain with one of silicon
technology supplanting humanity beyond his reason
Isaac and I Robot showed the way
when with technology protecting humanity we will rue the day
while his mind remains resolute, his car begins to sway
because humanity in control is the only way
then in his old age, his is the first generation
with no licence, but independent automated motion
Imagine all those things we love so well -
the scent of sweet perfume or baking bread -
have disappeared; we’ve lost our sense of smell,
and with that loss, fond memories have fled!
We must learn to adapt but are still graced
with an ability we can’t believe
is soon to perish too - our sense of taste!
All food now loses flavor, and we grieve.
But the worst is yet to come, and what we fear
arrives one day, and all the world must mourn,
for not one soul is able now to hear!
We stay with loved ones not to be forlorn
and cling to them when comes the loss of sight. . .
our final plight - to fade into the night.
*The other day I watched a movie on cable called Perfect Sense. It inspired
me to write this poem. Just think of it - to lose our senses one by one until
the only thing left is to cling to a loved one. That was a very intense movie!
You were a shining Star.
Few of many in the sky.
Looking up so very high,
Not knowing why you are.
Close and set you are far.
Spinning flames knot a tie,
I note a pattern just like pi.
Colliding with me you spar.
So burn it up and burn away,
Sow your heart upon a plane.
Chart your distance in the clay.
Burn it all up then call it sane.
The explosion in the sky is His death.
All burned up He has no last breath.
(R) Registered: 2013 Ann Rich
Along Came Polly and Final Countdown
are the two movies I have seen the most
both movies make me smile without a frown
I don’t watch movies that have any ghost
Along Came Polly is underrated
I think it’s funny and it’s really good
my two top movies are unrelated
and both of those movies I understood
The Final Countdown brings back memories
of a time when I was a younger man
when I’m watching that I relive glories
most memories I’ve tossed in the can
one’s a comedy the other’s sci-fi
nobody ever have to ask me why
-- James Ph. Kotsybar
The zombies are coming; no one knows why –
no time to ponder such things anyhow.
Apocalypse gives us no time to cry.
Survival is all we can think of now.
They hunt for us in slow, relentless mobs
and push past all our barricades by force.
We stifle our screams and swallow our sobs
to realize we are just their food source.
There may exist a ruling, safe elite –
the privileged who caused our current woes
and watch us as we’re torn apart like meat –
but likely they’re no better off. Who knows?
For us, they won’t sweep in to save the day.
To them, we never mattered anyway.
Oh science, unforgiving in its might,
Hast found its words in the mouths of many.
Stopping people, as they seem to take flight.
Halting those whose minds imagine plenty.
I ask those who hone science as an art,
Why must you crush our dreams and desires?
For we and our dreams, we never shall part.
You would not know a dream from a wire.
As you prove to some, God does not exist.
You do not see all their hope torn to shreds.
Heads down faces low, their life gone amiss.
It’s amazing how you hold up your head.
Science, I ask you to tread from my place,
So that I may still show dreams on my face.
As sure as I stand in the mixed of this garden,
Glimmering gold falls to the earth by my call.
Many are great and then some are a bit small.
I release magnets clutching an obscene pardon.
It is like balancing a beam that only I will harden.
I wrap myself into a silver plated resilient shawl.
Person place and time steadily climb up to maul.
It’s a give or take rejection expected to turn on.
One day ye shall see,
My Moon half drawn,
Ye see it was all of me.
Your Sun will be gone.
Only one Star shall rise up above my name.
It’s a special place inside my heart I frame!
®Registered: Ann Rich 2007
Our ecosystem and wildlife can no longer be ignored
The devastation caused by the Gulf oil spill must vastly be restored
As anger and frustration surges across the Coast
The depletion of our environment, indeed we fear the most
Several past months, many lives have been erased
In the midst of these disasters, we can only look to faith
Now let us pay a visit to some underlying factors
Volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, and other natural disasters
It was not in their intention for a high tech failed invention
Yell still they don't take into account the consequences of their actions
Efforts to contain this oil spill is more doltish than we have known
What more massive debacles can this single Earth condone?
Many local residents are now suffering from depressions
So think about what lies ahead, our future generations
Chimera’s are mythical creatures composed of two or more parts.
Sagittarius, by example, is shown: to be made of both man and horse.
But Myths are not found among the living, except in the mind and art.
For where is the mermaid and her siren song found? Nowhere, of course!
Fiction has brought us fantasies, though life is stranger than fiction, I think.
For, now they’ve found the butterfly is in its life, two very separate beings.
Two separate strands of DNA work at different times within this missing link.
One is for the caterpillar, while the other is for the butterfly’s wings to bring.
One must die, or so they say, to allow the metamorphosis to bring the other to life.
But if they say one is dying… I think not… perchance it dreams, or does it sleep?
Or is this like the Phoenix that dies in flames, to again be reborn amid the strife?
Next time you hold a caterpillar or a butterfly in your hand… think about this leap.
Imagine all the wonder of their secret lives, and all that this can mean.
Not only is it a miracle, but perchance a place where we have found our dreams.
A fragrant dancing tickles in my nose
Inhaling deep- intoxicant perfume-
Of some invisible narcotic rose.
The earth is host to swirling love in bloom!
Yet summers final blossom wilts away.
Each dawning promissory sunset sky-
Spectacular transition- ends each day,
And no escaping, not for you and I!
Two points of view may vary constancy,
Surrendering to marginal debate.
Relinquishing all fervent penalty,
Embracing change, I yield, my devastate.
May love transcendent of mentality
Deliver always swift reality!
If we accept our own definition
of the Universe as the sum of all,
we must abandon the supposition
that it’s inflating like a giant ball.
There is no doubt distant galaxies race
away from each other increasingly,
and, relative to each other in space,
their pace accelerates unceasingly.
In point of fact, at their farthest extreme,
they don’t obey the speed limit of light,
but this is only the way that things seem
and what we observe is not always right.
Though logical, it’s tough to understand:
Something into nothing does not expand.
Researchers assume they can trust their GUT –
that is their Grand Unified Theory.
This simple answer is close, they think, but
the resolution’s still a bit bleary.
They’ve linked electromagnetic with weak,
on their way to full unification
but, for final culmination, must seek
the gravity of the situation.
They trust they’ll find the graviton one day,
through their particle acceleration.
Without this carrier to show the way,
they’re lacking complete illumination.
And thus they hesitate to claim they know,
since, still in the dark, they may stub their TOE.
We’re made of stuff that’s hardly even here
composed of atoms that are mostly space.
The solidity with which they appear
happens because their trapped electrons race
around the nucleus -- near light speed fast --
and always possess a negative charge
that wont let other negative charge past.
They also make the atom appear large.
Around the nucleus, that is tiny,
electrons blur to a far distant cloud.
Were we their size, we wouldn’t even see
the nucleus we’d remotely enshroud.
The percent of empty space that we define
is ninety nine point nine nine nine nine nine.
The universe is mostly abnormal,
if we accept that physicists aren’t wrong
and gravity remains uniformal,
otherwise galaxies couldn’t last long.
They’d spin themselves apart, unless, unseen,
missing mass resolves the disparity.
Dark Matter is needed to intervene.
Though not found, it can’t be a rarity.
“The clusters are like icebergs,” they patter,
“since Newton’s math holds true, so should be served.
There’s five times as much as normal matter,
or else momentum’s poise can’t be conserved.”
Though they’ll claim science is observation,
that’s often tweaked to fit the equation.
-- James Ph. Kotsybar
Four hundred and eight million years or more
ago, these mandibled arthropods were alive
left years to languish in the fossil drawer,
unearthed again, just crushed remains survive.
These natives of what would be Aberdeen,
by nearly thirty million years, predate
the oldest bugs that anyone had seen --
New York’s silverfish must now abdicate.
Their body shape seems to exemplify
what we today can still identify --
ancestors of our modern dragonfly --
and that they had four wings we can imply.
What does it matter? What’s it signify?
Once life emerged from seas, it learned to fly.
Physicists are theorists so extreme
that they can get lost in speculation
and even lose track, or so it would seem,
of designated abbreviation.
They’ll say string theory has many parts
that are likely aspects of just one thing
they like to call “M,” but, with all their smarts,
when asked what it means, they start stammering.
“What does M stand for?” -- a simple query
that receives an obfuscating reply:
“Membrane, Mother or Master Theory.”
They really don’t know, and they don’ know why
nor grasp that they’ve lost their unified voice,
thus need to respond with multiple-choice.
Voyager 1’s “The Sounds Of Earth”
Eleven billion miles from the sun
a record, golden when it left these parts,
a runaway hit on Voyager One,
at Ophiuchus, sure to top the charts,
will introduce Mozart to other stars,
not to mention Berry’s “Johnny B. Goode”.
The knock-offs sold in alien bazaars
will knock their socks off or at least it should
make them extend their eyestalks in surprise.
They’ll soon begin to learn to sing along
to whales recorded and the baby’s cries —
adepts might even master Earth’s birdsong.
Should Beethoven not prove to be their fave,
Then Guan PingHu’s GuQin could be their rave.
Faith is often blind, and that seems tragic.
It drops to its knees, humble and devout.
Science’s problem is lack of magic.
It can’t accept the mystical throughout.
Each sees light stream
through a prism of glass.
The pious think of stained-glass
and God’s bliss, and all but simplicity they let pass.
They have no need for a hypothesis.
The logical need to know how light’s bent,
and measure photon wavelength to decide
if particle-waves end the argument
or there are more dimensions to divide.
The first has all the answers that it needs.
The other must seek before it accedes.
Where do we go when we go away?
And why is it that we have to leave?
What happened to Adam and to Eve?
Where is the greatest scale to weigh?
Where do we go when we want to stay?
What about this great big world weave?
What about you what do you believe?
So what dues do we have left to pay?
I can see?
You do to!
I think we’ve all been twirled,
All the way into another world!
© Copyright: Ann Rich 2006
When life on this planet seems cumbersome
and weighted with serious magnitude,
delight dragged down by deep opprobrium,
I pad into the kitchen for some food.
In front of the refrigerator, I
see tacked with tacky magnets your sweet face ,
in the photograph taken last July,
and what was crushing becomes an embrace.
All the gravity of Earth seems flimsy,
it’s unyielding force demonstrably soft,
when refrigerator magnets’ whimsy
can anchor cheerful memories aloft.
Cold comfort may sound like a paradox,
but nourishment’s on both sides of this box.
New exo-worlds have recently begun
to reveal their presence to science through
our astrophysicists’ exploration,
utilizing technologies so new
that even one generation ago
such things weren’t considered conceivable.
Outside of a novel or picture show,
they just weren’t conceded believable.
One, near its sun, is a warm, rocky sphere
with liquid water, perhaps an ocean,
which would also indicate atmosphere,
and a peculiar, EM commotion.
While many regard this notion with mirth,
some claim these are broadcasts that dub it “Earth.”
To find a maximum that’s relative
You have to walk these steps defined in full.
Remember, relative extrema live
(Or are) there at numbers critical,
And they should be continuous at “c”.
Monotonicity, after the lull,
(In here there is no measure of degree)
Just find the plus or minus interval
By choosing terms inside each chosen span.
From here you solve the “f’(x)” by use
Of chosen terms. A part whose graphed slope ran
Upwards-down is maximum, perhaps obtuse.
These things are all you have to keep in mind
When finding functions, some numbered or lined.
Soon all things will owe themselves to progress
and nature will neither wane nor wax
accosted by bulbs and cog-laden streams.
Children in god-awful Christmas jumpers
gather around the May-pole to watch
the leaves become what they’re deprived of.
We are taught to fear puddles, duty free
purchases, and heroes speak in slant rhyme.
Thermodynamics washes the feet
of tired old gravity, entropic
kisses to keep loved ones close; parody—
if absence does what it does, we should leave
and never return to this place of progress
where bluebells can’t frost and starlings sing falsetto.
Researchers seeking solutions can’t say
things are the way they are because of God.
From Spirit, scientists must shy away
or risk their labors be seen as slipshod.
The fraction of them considered devout
must keep their studies apart from belief,
not daring to proselytize about
what brings their natures comfort and relief.
Faith remains outside their explanations,
despite convictions which may be affirmed.
No matter what profound implications,
their answers must be physically termed.
They want to know God’s thoughts, yet they resist
even acknowledging God could exist.
Our universe has things in it because
chance quantum fluctuations enable.
Nothing is what violates Nature’s laws --
something is apparently more stable.
Super-symmetry was asking for it.
It was just too perfect to be withstood, a
nd once it took the predictable hit
it lit up the entire neighborhood,
and in that Big Bang, the forces all split.
Gravity, of course, was most serious
and left, having little to do with it,
and, to this day, remains mysterious.
Though we still work to unify them all,
Entropy says it’s too late for that call.
I am the gray, damp, muted mist which slides
Between the large, carved, marble marker stones;
Alone they sit like weighted, gargoyle brides
Above the dried-white, brittle, lambent bones,
Now dead and silenced for iniquities.
I glide inside the dance of death each night
As wasted graves belch loud obscenities
To rage against the blaze of righteous light.
I am but smoke within a wicked wind
But stand as witness to this brutal truth:
The black of death ends not the pain of sin
For evil preys on pulsing blood of youth
And once possessed these young ones will be made
A matrix of malevolence 'till death;
Though even then no evil bows to fade
Benignly, with death's rattled rales of breath.
Do not take lightly words that I now speak;
Great evil thrives when human will is weak.
It seems our sight is parsimonious.
No matter how hard our naked eyes look,
radio is invisible to us,
as are the microwaves we use to cook.
The X-rays zip through our orbs unsighted,
and highly energetic gamma rays
leave retinal pigments unexcited,
so most of the spectrum escapes our gaze.
However, our vision is tactical.
What we know as “visible frequency”
turns out to be extremely practical,
to show us the things we most need to see,
assisting survival upon the Earth
and providing color, for what it’s worth.
Demeter, how we’ve modified your corn!
You wouldn’t even know it from your day.
I pray for us that we’ve not earned your scorn,
and for our hubris you won’t make us pay.
Like Hades, acting from unfruitful greed,
we’ve seized your gifts and bent them to our will.
You taught us agriculture – growing seed,
not splicing genes to make crops versatile.
Persephone’s abduction made you mourn
at Earth’s expense until she was returned.
All life stood still in a landscape forlorn.
It is a lesson that we should have learned.
Not even Hades nor the Furies hath
such dogged vengeance and outrageous wrath.
Containing nothing that’s ambivalent,
more than dark, which would only be dreary,
death’s non-spiritual equivalent
crushes our intellect to theory.
Passage through is most certainly one way,
and thus it incites our speculation.
What would occur, if we wandered astray
into this singular aberration?
It’s relative to where you’ve placed your clocks.
From outside we’d seem to fall forever.
Beyond that, it’s puzzling paradox.
We only know that we’d leave it never.
A downward orbit is how it begins,
and nothing’s jolly when gravity wins.
I gaze upon the vast night sky
And I saw a star that caught my eye
I watched the star as it twinkled bright
And wondered about its ancient light
Obeying only the universal laws
Unconcerned by the effect and cause
Destruction and creation are sublime
And exist in the very same moment in time
I wondered if it had ceased to be
And only its past is to be shown to me
From a million eons long ago
I am blessed tonight by a brilliant glow
But I know if it ever seems to be gone
It is only evolving and ready to move on