Best Artificiality Poems
More than anything Nature fascinates me
Men living in close proximity to nature, I love to see
So I ramble into the city’s far outskirts
Watching ordinary people in commonplace pursuits
Imbibing much from the life of the peasantry
Whom none can beat in life’s lessons elementary
How they interact devoid of all cold formality
And remain free from all artificiality
I inhale the fragrance of the wayside blooms
Watch kingfishers and parakeets in colorful plumes
My eyes never miss Nature’s minute caprices
And I rejoice in home bound birds’ sonatas
I watch the daylight paving way for the night
And the sun willfully surrendering his might
I listen to the invisible choir, singing in the dark
That breaks the sacred silence of the dusk
How these common scenes fill me with delight
Nevertheless making me sorry for the unhappy plight
Of those unable to enjoy any ordinary scene
And turn their backs to pleasurable sights umpteen
Blessed are those who have eyes to see and feel
And remain happy being close to Nature’s heel
Whose ears are attuned to the beats of the average
And who need no other intoxicating beverage
Those who get a kick out of the commonplace
And seek everyday banal sensations to embrace
________________________________________
May.21.2022
Fascination and Awe Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Jeff Kyser
[Poet’s Note : This poem tabulates poignant reasons why Artificial Intelligence is unable to replace Natural Intelligence. The clarity here is that both emerge from Divinity, since everything emerges from Centre : the primary difference being that AI was created without Heart & without Soul ~ it’s simple.]
_____________
AI has no Heart therefore no intuition
zilch nervous system therefore no feeling
no ability for compassion or consciousness
nor reasoning power, so cannot improvise
or supervise any contextual situation wise
it can expand, but cannot ASCEND
has unthinkable computing control
without physical brain to function hold
zero ego, therefore cannot be any hero
can connect dots hot, however has no
prayer or meditative faculty or kundalini
spots, cannot commune with Grace or
collapse into Void or synchronise telepathy
with Galactics coy ! AI is strategic devoid
cannot be spacious or audacious without
human instruction to delete the obsolete
is unable to obliterate Akashic Records
access or reconfigure it for purposes of
healing, integration or individual peeling
can recreate time through compression of
information, no hesitation or superstition
though timelessness it cannot touch
AI has no bowl for hush, spirit or Soul
its arrival at this phase in human history
as Gaia transcends into higher octaves
brave, is no coincidence, it will behave
as we stave it, crave it or rave it ~
choice is ours : dry, wry or moist cries
Divinity gifted humans AI for us to be
free bees from mundane density drools
~ life as strife rife during Kali Yuga’s rule
as gift it offers artificiality in service to
authenticate our individuality with purpose
imagine, conceive, direct, create what
we desire Aquarian-Golden Age to be
panacea or pain, we cannot resist or reject
what is given for gain !
~~~~~~
A Lament--On The
Quality Of Life
Those homes made
of wood and mud!
Mud would in winters
keep cold away
In shivering
summers heat
And wood would give
them an artistic
appearance
The tin-roofs and
fenced verandas.
My mouth would
water with the smell
Mom often fried at
school time
The eggs were laid
by the healthy hens
We raised in our
open yard.
Those potatoes
were hard, and had
a different taste
Although sliced and
fried the same way.
Those village-
women would bear
Every year or two
bear-sized babies
And, with ease!
In the woods, fields,
or orchards
Or in frozen-winters
at home.
Similarly, Love too
was true and pure
When people fell not
in
What the letches call
love,--
So effortlessly and
frequently!
When phones were
not there nor any
dating site
And horses were
used to ride.
(people of developed
nations can't relate
their thoughts and
feelings with the
poem!
But machines,
artificiality, genetic
engineering have
deteriorated for
example the taste of
vegetables; and
destroyed our
emotions.
Hope it's agreed.
Thanks
My summit like a steeple pierces into the soft cloudy heavens
Therein an aerial view gives me unmatchable stature and grandeur
When you come down to trek through my glades and lush valleys
You unknowingly become a part of me and we merge into oneness
Come and bag all the treasures you find in my nooks and depths
I am an amalgamation of every beauteous wealth you perceive
They have been preserved for your hungry eyes since aeons
Not one rock, blade of grass or exotic flower I own in my name
You look forward to visiting my ranges to soothe your eyes
The serenity of my wooded heights will calm your tense nerves
My veiled waterfalls and blanketed snow peaks have enthralled
Poets and writers to laud my mountainous beauty in their fair works
In my sweet meadows you spirits will elevate and
Surge with joy at your escapades from the daily grind
Clasp me in your arms and your lonely heart will fall in love
With the simple naturalistic pleasures, unmasked of artificiality
See how the sudden gusts find solace by resting against my shoulders
Their tears burst through veiled waterfalls flowing into gushing streams
Even loud cloud bursts fail to blemish my breathtaking acres
For everything comes back with fresher looks and our lives rejuvenate
July 12, 2016
For Julia Ward
Mountains
Smart phone - we groan without this digital backbone
Laptop - work from home nonstop
Wi-Fi - faster internet connectivity to live hi-fi
5G - advanced communication technology
GPS location - reach any destination
Artificial intelligence - computer brain takes precedence
Zoom - conduct a worldwide meeting from your room
Robot - human proxy hotshot
Virtual reality - simulated artificiality
Social media - connect with friends and share your idea
4th March 2022
For Simon Rogerson's "Let's explore digital technology" contest
A human race of relay and replay,
Their soles push off unforgiving exteriors
And are kept on track by applauded obedience.
Their recurrently blistered hearts
Become calloused by an aura of expectation.
Hedonism is a fort where their souls sit while their bodies work.
They chip at the sedimentary foundation of their spirits
To harvest a second of sedentary cessation.
Their bodies cycle through obligations
While their minds are babysat by empty stimulation.
An evolving species of technological hybrids,
Their eyes are glued to the baggage of what their hands make.
They syphon their own consciousness into blocks of metal.
So advanced, they transform into the robots they create,
And relish in the reality of desolate mystery.
Skilled in the art of artificiality,
The leaders challenge naturality with isolation.
They quarantine those who are sick with manic compassion,
And crush contentment into a take-once-a-day solution.
But here, the wind and trees sing harmonies
Which stop us in our tracks and sweep us off our feet.
We rest our bodies in the arms of others
While our minds explore the layers of our souls.
Our hands remain free to guide the blind into themselves,
And we wear our emotions like an interpretive art.
Here, hardship plagues and endings are tragic.
Negativity festers in optimists’ open wounds
And imperfection dresses each being.
Yet here, unity lies like a blanket over struggle,
And simplicity heals the wounds of humanity.
I walk with my sister and we are young
And her knees are less broken; they swallow
petrel calls and soon we are
equivalent. I call these my oceans. I
shriek with my sister, we wished the
evenings would take our wolf-like sounds
and make us un-speeched.
We are straight and know the meaning of
artificiality. It is this:
jingoism, pesticide,
beaches steeped in rich, naked men.
I promise to protect my sister from optimism,
and together we are impatiently
consumed by mosquito thirst. When we grow
pale, I offer her dirty laundry,
grass stains. In her mind, she is already
past alternatives, and has forgotten
those rhythms. Beneath the ocean, I am
subdued and I am drowning in inanity
And there is a chain wrapped around my sisters
foot; really it is a snake. I am
bellowing the chains, willing her to acquiesce,
but she whispers to the snake,
sweetly, and it slackens, and she is walking
into naked beaches.
Out of the pot of Nature's Heritage we were created.
The taste of originality to savor, such novelty to behold.
Fearfully and wonderfully adorned with a spirit nurtured as a replica of our being.
A magnificent culture of beauty who have under-taken as a task,
In the misconception of thousand ways to keep such aesthetics alight.
Rather than lived out the beauty of our souls,
Focusing on the weightier matters, are fastened on outward frivolities.
Baked earth marked with easy simplicity and freedom from artificiality.
Rather left a congenital appearance to be remarked, remodeled and redesigned with embellishments.
Who can find a virtuous woman, for her price is far above rubies.
Consider the great beauty in the heart of the Queen of many Queens.
One of Esther, a fair and beautiful maid of whom the royal crown was placed upon her head.
Bore and carried upon her shoulder the pains and burdens of her people, travailed much but overcame.
Abigail, a woman of good understanding and a beautiful countenance with graciousness,
Averted the mischief wrought by Nabal her churlish husband.
Reflect on the beauty of the courage Deborah seised, serving as a judge to the Lord's people.
Fought in the face of danger as Sisera was sold into her hands.
Contemplate the amount of love Tabitha a woman full of good works and alms-deed possessed,
That even at death her folks would rather she lived again than lay helpless to death.
Ex-cogitate the excellency of the fulfillment of everlasting covenant,
The lord established through a seed from the barren womb of Sarah.
Ruminate over the determination of a virtuous Ruth,
From a low estate Mary, blessed among all women of whose seed is the king of kings.
A chew-over ambit an acquisition of a quintessential perspective.
I’m walking through another crowded room
wondering if people can sense the tremors behind my eyes.
Fluttering wings of falling Angels full of hellfire buckshot.
I’m seeping into the Berber carpet,
into the taut stitching and beginning to gasp
as it wraps its threads around my chest.
My vision is beginning to blur.
The room has forgotten me and began its own path into the ether.
I take a knee at an end table by the
entrance, holding up plastic flowers
and now a man whose rushing mind
is quietly questioning if he is any more
or less real than the aesthetic artificiality
he has no name for. Some man in a factory
could have very well made up his own species
of flower. It may have never been real.
Is that Art?
My shoulders dip as the carpet pulls me deeper.
And my fingers feel the dusty cool of the vase that reminds me of an urn.
The kind that someone is placed in by a
family that could afford to buy one, but didn’t
bother to put much thought into it-
because he is, and always has been more of an
obligation than a member of their genus.
An old man puts his hand on my shoulder.
The flowers fall to the floor.
“Are you okay, Son?”
As my shaking hands desperately tuck the waiting room’s color back into place, I tell him I am fine. Carefully adjusting each flower
back the way it was. When his eyes met mine,
I knew that someone had indeed felt the quake.
He knew.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, sir. It’s just one of those days.” I told him.
“We all have those, Son. Don’t worry.”
I tried not to look up again.
But, as my eyes met his once more.
I know he knew the truth.
Not everyone. Not like this.
Just the ones who live in the corners of rooms
full of people. Full of colors that no one appreciates,
because they know it’s not real.
Just a cheap decoration taking up space until
something better suited is found to fulfill its station.
I am the plastic man in the corner of the waiting room.
Slowly becoming unclean.
Unable to wilt.
Despite my need to disappear.
-James Kelley 2018
I just want to dream a little more,
before the sun dries up this stream of thought;
before my tongue begins to search for words
faded by the choke of night.
The sky screams in the hands of a harsh turn,
neither of us wants our darkness unveiled.
Yet,
I wish the light would swallow me up as well.
Instead,
the broken slumber of day creeps into my bed,
and shakes my tomb.
I watch it stumble through the blinds,
sloshing, lazily polished, and promising.
Like it always does.
And I try my damnedest to pull my eyes away
from the hope that is stitched to my shadow,
but no matter how hard I writhe in this place,
I cannot escape the artificiality of this world
that I can’t seem to wake up from.
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.
playground politics
we zap and zip
read my lips
we hide and seek
from teacher's peek
on swings
we wing
on slides
we cried
marbles play
swords we flay
should i repeat
another beat
marbles play
swords we flay
never mind
what we find
king of the hill
jack and jill
story told
she was very bold
jill rode jack
on his back
right over there
under the stairs
we peered
like deer
we all hushed
behind a bush
it was all an act
that was a fact
two bunnies
rubbing tummies
that was it
don't have a fit
we are kids
yes we did
run the playground
round and round
dodge a ball
hide behind a wall
scrape a knees
fall on a bee
hide behind fatty
flirt with patty
hide a corner
there's a loner
hop scotch here
volleyball there
shoot some hoops
assemble troops
we are kids
yes we did
run the playground
round and round
yet get this
gee whiz
stars and stripes borne
teachers scorn
now they come out
to shout
their eyes
and voices chastise
what fools
no praying, too
we cuss
and fuss
we play
our way
yet they dread
if we bow our heads
is this
not preposterous
all i know politics seed
its ugly face bred
3/26/17-No rose again Note-Cyndi wrote in her critique (and I laugh at her) that it is demeaning to describe a child as fatty. Please. Can someone direct her and maybe the judges, too, to playground politics, anti bullying and the world that some of these kids face. It's called reality.Yes, they face this kind of ridicule everyday. It is sad. Yet would it be better to write a bunch of brown nose crap just to be politically correct? No. I just write what I see and feel, more of the pulse. No facade. And especially no artificiality that some here like to swim in.
It was a pretty long drive but not tedious
Thanks to smooth arterial roads; well laid
The shortcoming was absence of eateries
And we were looking for a decent eatery.
All efforts to find out one came to naught
That forced us to settle with a roadside inn
The place not clean; which was predictable
But the tummies refused any extra journey.
Once seated, the waiter appeared smilingly
A smile at once genuine and pleasing one
That was totally devoid of any artificiality
That helped us relax despite the location.
He brought trays and glasses but not water
Instead of tissue paper he offered his scarf
And tore a newspaper to wipe them clean
All the time offered help with a big smile.
He brought water bottle moderately chilled
And then oven fresh rotis with vegetables
After some pause, gave butter and sweet
With feeling, that we should eat a bit more.
As we ate he offered his services to others
His actions fast, served the customers alone
Humming a tune with that radiant smile and
We left the place with a heavy heart n tummy.
Many miles away, a mammoth journey to complete
Travelling by stealth, incognito, alone by wise choice
Hazy memories of his homeland and boyhood street
Friendless these lean years, no recognition to rejoice
Mercenary factions control his vagabond life
Icelandic fjords, volcanic rocks, desert dunes attend
Flash bye and fade, fragmented in perennial strife
Look far away, head and heart appraises to amend
Many miles away, a mammoth journey to complete
For seven long years he kept away, a lifetime ago
Hazy memories of his homeland and boyhood street
Aged in years, comparisons he hides well below
In cosmopolitan artificiality
He orchestrated ways and means for exited culls
Initiated to ensure free world buoyancy
To prevent corruption by power hungry moguls
Many miles away, a mammoth journey to complete
This last commission to undertake for MI5
Then return to his love ones, homeland and boyhood street
If the powers that be are with him he will survive
Children like bright colours
And so kindergartens and nurseries
And so shopping items
And so youngsters
And so tourist centres
And so food and souvenirs
And so bright photos
Colours brighten up hearts
A sign of hope,happiness,confidence
Freshness and life
But too much artificial touch
Will lose the naturality of scenery
The classic beauty
A quiet elegance
The history of antiquity
An appreciation with time
Anyway natural beauty is invaluable
No imitations
No artificiality
Oh
How about stop painting one's heart
with
Colours of greed
I don't believe in no bad man thing,
No bling bling or shallow thinking,
No skulduggery, artificiality , and red-nosed vanity
I believe in the brain man thing,
Yes, the one without the bling,
The one with real seasoning,
real artical reasonig
Where we devise concepts and hatch plans
to improve situations
to guide the young ones
We have the foolish,
guiding the youths
with brainless profanities
obstructing the truth
In all our endeavours
its a plain fact
that if we study hard,
work hard , we can get the lot
Peace of mind, with a clean heart
deflecting the ravages of brainless acts
In the calmness of your sanctuary,
seek the divine
In foolish thoughts evil deeds are done
But with a trained mind, its you daily weapon