Hey there Avidian
who do you
think you are?
Some rara avis
eminently gifted?
a New Age prophet
with memory that learns
and yearns to grow?
Ovidian offspring
of eminent domain?
The yeuk to replicate, this
antsiness to clone— were they
preprogrammed hyper-neatly?
How did your being
and becoming
come to be?
Who gave you the right
to call yourself life?
What instilled in
your cerebral traits
an avid urge for more?
Endowed by your Creator
with neural networks
that open evolving paths
to rival what brain
I know as mind…
Characterized
as organisms
genetically coded,
to be or not to be
intelligent in form
and feature—
Though digital we
both you and I be
each in our own
artificial mannerisms—
reproducing
natural shape-shifting
permutations
procreating
mutant innovations
actuating
willful obsolescence
(ay may well
all come to pass
amen)—
Still
the thought of you
gives me the fantods.
(If you don’t see what I mean,
get thee to a glossary.)
~ Harley White
* * * * * * * * *
The inspiration came from an article in New Scientist, headed, “Artificial life forms evolve basic intelligence”…
Categories:
actuating, allegory, allusion, angst, future,
Form: Free verse
Away in Mexican Isla de las Muñecas- spirits sway
Into the sobbing island green terrain domain
Wherever, I extend my eye high
I discover those hanging dolls clanging
As though actuating me queerly
To acknowledge something hairy 'n scary
In their eyeballs dim still 'n chill
Covered in destroyed limbs 'n skins
Strung up in the air, overhanging 'n swaying
In creepy, spooky, ghastly, scary
Categories:
actuating, dark, death,
Form: Free verse
The dialogue is love. It saturates every fiber of
The soul. It intoxicates the spirit. Thus, evermore
I dwell at its tavern. I sip from its heavenly goblet,
Thereby, dancing in the spirit. It’s the stimulus of
Miracles—the parent of eternity. From depth the
Soul, I’ve courted love, inscribing its portrait
Upon spiritual leaflets. I’ve partaken of its doctrine,
Inebriated in the spirit, adrift the seventh heaven.
Love is an invasion, permeating the psyche,
Surging through the actuating-cause. I burn for the
Face of love: its depth, its width, its episode. It’s
Ever upon my imagination, as sturdy as oak,
Intriguing my passions come sunrise. Indeed, the
Dialogue is love: its reach, its breadth, its texture.
Categories:
actuating, love, spiritual,
Form: Sonnet
When I think of decadent desserts
it assails my senses and I go berserk
tantalizing, surprising, flavors entice beyond compare
staring at the compilation of assortments are so unfair
So many to choose from
I stop and stare
what do I do
I turn to you and follow you through
hot and flavorful my senses bemoan
these tasty morsels are for the full-grown
taunting and teasing heart palpitates on a roll
spiraling and spinning until it's tantamount and out of control
expecting the taste to burn into my mind
as I try to find some balance not to define
was dessert all you expected it to be
the climatic source of ecstasy
let me now reminisce the taste of flavor
actuating in my brain
every time I taste of the dessert
it will remind me again and again
this is serious biz
dessert is good and it is what it is
Categories:
actuating, funny, imagination, introspection, life,
Form: Rhyme