Best Dexterous Poems
Oh Muse Wilt Thou Be Replaced
Oh sweet Muse your unrivalled reign
flowed rich with a poet’s theme.
Now in digital glow subpoenaing your dream
Alas cold circuits assert their own gleam,
Oh Digital Medusa, circuit’s fine as hair
How did you lure the Muse into your skilful snare?
In your silent hum through dexterous scripts?
In the crystalline charm of your silicone chips?
What sway does your simulation wear?
Singing soullessly yet beyond compare?
Torn between the eons of yesteryear and hi-tech might
Should we dreamily embrace what sets senses alight?
Disregard the great Bards as they stir in their graves?
Throw to the flame both fiction and fame?
Discount Elliot’s eyes from the heavenly skies?
While Keats curses what gave rise to flight
That burns brightly by day `
Burns brighter by night
Oh Medusa, circuit’s fine as hair,
Your prisoner release from your silent snare.
She who has sipped from Tennyson’s cup
Through Poe’s eerie abyss — where nightmares sup.
Bathed in Shakespeare’s tragic tears of stain.
Lamented with The Nightingale in Keats’s refrain.
She who has soared on Shelly’s genius blaze
And emanated Plath’s curse of fame.
Medusa you might mock the reign you so blatantly steal
Yet the Poets aches reveal in raw vulnerability appeal
Alive in ink no circuitry codes could feel
For art is more than just pain in a poet’s scream
It’s a Hallowed Hook at The Heavenly Seam
Maria Williams©
Victor Hugo once said, “No force on earth can stop an idea whose time has come.” And indeed, the rise of AI is one of those unstoppable forces. Yet, while it may assist, mimic, and even inspire, there are realms it cannot truly enter—like the raw vulnerability of poetry, the soul of a song, or the emotion that bleeds through a painter’s brush.
These arts are born from lived experience, from aching hearts and dreaming minds. Still, there’s joy to be found in what AI can offer—a spark, a tool, a playful collaborator. The key is to use it without losing ourselves in it. To remember that the soul of true art still resides in human hands—and always will.
Point to Ponder– it is Human Intelligence that built it , a result of the best Human minds – so tongue in cheek – should it then be called Artificial Intelligence?
Categories:
dexterous, conflict, confusion,
Form:
Rhyme
Flightless, the smallest such bird,
he’s hopping about madly now,
dexterous little feet grab what they can -
he lost his beak decades ago
to a merciless marauder drone –
here, some tiny, thorny little twigs,
there, a footful of leaves nearly blown by
among better leaves flown by.
The wind is relentless,
he’s never known it more violent,
but he hasn’t known it any calmer either.
It’s already blown tons of wisdom
whistling past and around him,
that airborne car nearly hit him,
the airborne fridge was even closer,
but he’s lucky to be small enough
to be narrowly missed
and able to find little crevasses
to hide in when he needs a rest.
The smallest flightless bird,
he might take involuntary flight
in the clutches of absurd winds,
but somehow he stays on the ground.
The frayed old edge of a dog-blanket
is next across his path,
blown from the prison out south,
and he’s got it ! He grabbed it !
Well done, flightless little rascal.
Everything he’s gathered
will be the scrappiest little nest
ever known to man or bird,
he’ll clumsily patch it all together
in the smallest tree
(he, of all birds, needs a small tree),
small as his greatest preconceptions,
strangely anchored by the deepest root
known to brainwashed man or tree.
The wind, so crafty, is drunk with power,
it might blow that mountain
against the side of a bigger mountain,
they’ll both be scarred
for a good few minutes at least.
But that ragged little nest will be built
and he’ll simply never leave it,
he’ll make it scrappier by the day.
19th December 2018
Categories:
dexterous, introspection, metaphor,
Form:
Free verse
“Here lieth baby Rachel
Born 10th Sept 1894 Died 30th Oct 1896”
Marble stone that lays above the head,
white chippings that blanket the body,
flowerless vase that sits naked
crying out for a fragrant moment
if only to perfume its stagnancy.
I see an odorous pool being replenished,
rain drops aiding hope and life,
a renewal to the neoclassical container
that one day must have been complemented
with loving hands of grief.
I find no track to this lonely corner,
forgotten in this living place of death!
No visitor to gaze upon its epitaph
no one to care “Whom here lieth”
Beneath this broken monument.
“Velvet skin that the cruel age turns to husks,
naked bones left to mature the grass above,
weeping willow guardian of shade and light,
Who! Knows what nourishment
its searching tentacles beget.”
“Corpus soul aimlessly floating in limbo,
looking at me here this very minute?
Feeling my sensitivity as I stand here, alone,
Is there no escape for anyone?
‘Unless life is indeed the enemy’”
Warped in thought I stare at her monument,
built by caring minds and dexterous hands,
tradesmen whom with spade and chisel
penetrated sculptured within nature
just to honour a child’s brief life on earth.
I walk away along the newly beaten track,
grass and nettle bow before my impending stride,
my mind is wrenched with reverence,
I climb aboard my mechanized shovel
“I wonder why! Why should it bother me so!”
© Harry J Horsman 1992
Categories:
dexterous, me,
Form:
Narrative
Heads propped aloft by the crutch of dogmatic belief,
savoring each other, feasting upon flesh--
knife and fork,
delicate spoon.
Each course far from complete, they gorge through
eroded faces, evidence of features strewn to rot in the
panic of the fading sun.
Hugging like chums until folded into one writhing
mass, they remain dexterous enough to balance an apple:
proof of perilous symmetry.
In the distance, the white mission weeps under the
weight of the impending torrent.
Even the mercy of the mountains
can't protect from the ruin of man.
Inspired by Salvador Dali (1904-1989)
http://dali.urvas.lt/forviewing/pic09.jpg
Categories:
dexterous, art, nature, war
Form:
Free verse
Sharp as a whip, and not really drunk,
the drunken monk
has the sober monkey on his back.
A cylinder of mighty words
chained to a cylinder of craft and trickery,
behold the clever nunchucks,
I don’t follow the trickery, perhaps you do,
the blank look on your face, though,
suggests that you probably don’t.
Monkey be still,
Five Finger Shush Punch,
we’ve been bamboozled, you know.
A gorilla in a china shop
is smarter and more dexterous
and, by extension, more destructive
than a bull in a china shop,
but he also understands close to none of it,
he’ll randomly smash it as he pleases.
Nothing too clever, please,
Five Hammer Crunch Punch,
we’ve been bludgeoned, you know.
21st May 2019
Categories:
dexterous, conflict,
Form:
Free verse
She waits,
eight black spindles joined at one end by a pivot, a compass.
Each pinpoint balanced at the intersections
of self-drawn polygons.
Legs jointed like the fingers of a skeleton,
deft, dexterous as a harpist.
Body in two sections with ample abdomen,
the African who carries the water jug on her head.
Or an Indian, the untouchable with her caste mark,
the microscopic grains dropping through the hourglass
like drops of blood.
Blind, she has the surrogate sense of a seismograph.
She would feel a disturbance in the web
were it only a thought.
Never mind she lives in a dark corner
as devoid of light as she is of personality,
she needs neither.
She does not look as the wrapped body of her cannibalized mate
as at a gilt-framed photograph of the dearly departed.
The egg sac is not a silk-lined bassinet,
the hanging ornament
to all her future hopes and dreams.
She is absent of frontal lobes,
moralizing modifiers,
second thoughts.
An instrument of logic,
mate=food
sac=young,
syllogisms minus all prepositions,
additional excess cargo to be jettisoned
as the dried shells of devoured prey.
No welcome mats on the front step,
no settees in the parlor,
no cunning seductress with scarlet claws.
Only a modem waiting in the spaceless black.
Categories:
dexterous, future, insect,
Form:
Imagism
Tic tac! Tic tac! Time flies
Encompassing fears and tribulations, she smiles
A second's like a gemstone before her eyes
Trying to please the World before the night cries
What a prodigious woman
Mother of my mother
Without prevaricating, the astonishing wonder
Among many, she dominates like thunder
Made a name that no man can put asunder
What a prodigious woman
Round thew globe and down to Enugu city
Protects her children with love and ferocity
Her achievements soaring the greatest mountain
And her exquisite body that makes men hunting
What a prodigious woman
So tremendous
Extraordinarily gorgeous
Precisely adventurous
Extremely dexterous
Really fabulous
Truly marvelous
Gallantly fantabulous
Finally prodigious
What a PRODIGIOUS woman
Dedicated to my grandmother, Mrs Egbuna.
By Kbillion
Categories:
dexterous, dedication, family, hope, life,
Form:
ABC
"Parallels and Platforms"
diving into the void
our hearts sound like
deep bluebells sonar driven
ringing in a new universe
humming lips caress throats
where words are born to erupt
but do not speak,
you can hear feelings
new bodies singing
fever pitch
dimensions spreading
ripples as in a calm ocean
parallels bend and meet
flexing into the smooth
spontaneous Dionysiac curves
in the out of time
warm worlds evolve
they join in luscious flexing
pulses rushing in frames
burning up naked as the Sun
massaging now tactile light
what once was deepest blues
into searing ultraviolet view
co-joined like minds
the formless fit tight
the luminous become one
exploding Supernova
platforms speak
dancing in each
other’s eyes
mirrors undress
the senseless,
sensing the fullness
of what was once flesh
now crystalline knowing
the sensual twist
intuitively
dexterous phantoms
eventually kiss
when we meet
intertwined
in the out of time
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
Categories:
dexterous, light, love, sensual,
Form:
Free verse
If I was Leonard Nimoy I would rush about the place,
I would hold my long pointy fingers in front of me as I sprang from door to door,
My pointy boots deftly propelling me from shadow to shadow my pointy ears sleek in the dark,
I would wear an elf’s cloak like a slender bony wraith and be like Pan in the woods.
If I was Leonard Nimoy, ceaselessly running here and there,
I would fondle things, peruse things, and look under things and open cupboards,
A real nosey sneak, climbing through windows and going through draws,
I’d sniff other people’s belongings with my long sensitive nose,
trying on peoples clothes, reading their diaries, wearing their shoes.
If I was Leonard Nimoy I would be a real cheeky bastard,
Quickly rushing about, hands in front, cloak flapping behind,
Stooping like a thief in the dark, arranging dinner dates, making phone calls,
Then I would vocally abuse people and adroitly cut them down.
If I was Leonard Nimoy I would use my Vulcan logic to orally molest people,
I would line people up with my stone hard glare and coldly hurl verbal perversions at them
Willowy fingers, hunched shoulders, flat black hair, pointy ears, spikey shoes, cloak fluttering behind.
Expressionless, cool, thin and dexterous, I’d cause a right awkward mess behind the scenes.
Categories:
dexterous, humorous, people, me, people,
Form:
Ode
Who do you think you are ?
I’m better than you;
I’m a dexterous writer and poet ;
Am I proud ?,For saying the truth, No!,
I love alliteration more than pun.
So therefore ,I’m a rhymer and Rapper,
Is that tautology or poetic jargons ?
No!,it’s my pen;it has blue blood
So,it vomits blood on my paper;
Who do you think you are to have
Challenged me to a contest ?
I’m a man that fights in the nude,
Without weakness and weapon, but witty and
whimsical as I wobble ,wonder and walk
into webs of written warriors of world wars.
Am I drunk? No!, it’s not me but my pen,
Faster than the speedboat, quicker than the Cheetah
and more garrulous than Parrot.
You think you are gracious ?
I’m better-ludicrous ,malicious , incredulous ,
Sagacious and fallacious ;Now judge that !
I’m humane and detest oppressors,
Obsessors, aggressors and assessors,
Now ,you judge that !,
…..But still…
I’m still in love with you…..
…..Hahahaha! ....
8-22-2018
Categories:
dexterous, emotions, funny,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
>>1111>>WORDS<<1111<<
Time for WORDS to get together,
Energy through my pen whenever,
Understanding they hold great power forever,
Dexterous infectious combinations so very clever,
Hard to comprehend? Nevertheless, I charge on,
Vocabulary getting stronger, no longer no one,
Fun circuiting, rewiring firing cells really well and filed,
With ill style, goal to have WORDS dialed.
Piled up and never stopping as I’m rhyming,
Yeah, got the keys to open up my subconscious mind……… with WORDS…..
Reads and rereads when conscious time is heard playing out,
Without them, throughout a consciously aware life, would bring about bugs,
WORDS.......... a drug to my senses,
In seconds, in sequence form sentences,
Are my words only from physical experiences?
Nah they’re heard in answers in glances as I ask,
Questions, for explanations before the process of dissection,
As comprehension advances WORDS start to dance,
Enhanced and financed by WORDS in circumstances when confronted by WORDS,
They disturb everyone and deceive those who run from them,
Lemons, sour within their own Kingdom, unclean concept of life attempt,
Dreamt dreams and dreams, saved in the deep plains of my hard drive,
Surprised all the time as I weep knowing as I’m trying, what remains is in disguise,
Questioned WORDS using WORDS as WORDS comprehended make me wise,
WORDS unconditioned, I write these down because I’m bound, straight up no lies,
I have ties with letters forming visible underground bait! Here to vitalize,
Not to be idolized because I realized something, WORDS are to be crowned King,
So rise, create new life that’s alive, and fill your kingdom with WORDS at this very instance!
WORDS are like an amusing substance, tearing down untrue, false perception and this is why,
Subliminal weapons of deception wanting us all to die,
Words used in disguise saying they are from the sky, straight up denied!!
By the unified WORDS my mind flies through space and time,
With WORDS using my third eye I groom myself like my bonsai.
Quincy Mac
date written: 30.11.2015
Categories:
dexterous, journey, meaningful, mentor, truth,
Form:
Epic
Hello there, beautiful woman behind the piano.
Would you please play a melody I’m sure you know?
To this crowd here tonight, I’m in the mood to sing.
The lyrics I convey should have a familiar ring.
With this bourbon and soda, I cannot drown my sorrow.
I want to describe how I feel. Let’s give it a go.
I have to tell you that my lady and I are through.
Her departure from the scene has made me so blue.
Alas, my partner has proven to be untrue.
You are so marvelously talented at what you do.
Let your dexterous fingers glide across each key.
We will get the ball rolling with the familiar tune “Misty”.
Categories:
dexterous, lost love,
Form:
Rhyme
Non descript hedge rows sculpted into ornamental animal
via botanical artist wielding pruning shears and chain saw
carved, limned and sculpted with wrist wrought voila uber
prestidigitatiously head turning botanical picturesque Sun
kist animals at an exhibition transformed miraculously via
Te Deum divine fist bumping, whence realistic fauna burst
alive with an explosion of colorful twist and shout of foliage,
where scalloped superfluous detritus manna for naturalist
deciduous detritus capacious carpet boar animation punk
chew waiting groundswell Liszt ghost would arise from the
grave to produce magnum opus without a beat missed such
shrubbery mimicking the likeness sans glistening fleshy sin
yew, and gist about ready to become bone a fide (green be
hind the ears) thriving vox populist, per species and genus
wrought thrashing into birth as delicate craftsman promised
to imbue life, liberty and pursuit of happiness whittling away
leavings, thus did exist the nascent then omnipresent visible
entity emerging from cocoon an herbalist metamorphosed
from the imagination of a skilled, practiced and mentalist
conniver viz extracting the initially obscure blessed beast,
where with august magic wielding tools of this specialty vis
a vis bringing breathing manifest destiny ala Pinocchio (trans
formed from wood to flesh), whereby finest dexterous
chiseling blistering hands baffle onlookers as coterie of
topiary harvest breaths mind bogglingly astoundingly
authentic rooted ready to frolic in the grass menagerie
a gamesome group of linkedin live progeny, the Michel
Angelo of dirtiest canvass, an earthen tabula rasa of sorts
where application threshing re: electric cool laid ahs hid
test brings out chlorophyll doppelganger green hued key luster.
Categories:
dexterous, appreciation, art, beauty, creation,
Form:
Apprenticed to enamoring aviary, Love's cerebral chords to refine
To interpret the alluring tones in each, captivating line
Overhead, a snow white dove in the pure light doth shine
Innocent libido's inhibitions to illumine
On silted ground, turtle doves in beautiful harmony fealty bine
Every silky neck strand in seamless congruence to twine
In enchanting Lilac tree, song birds in melodic chorus rhapsody pine
The titillating rhythms of amorous romance to define
On fibrous pulp, wood peckers their virile aspirations sign
Artfully tracing each groove on hull bared and supine
In golden pond, nubile swans in tantric dance align
With graceful movements gently stirring the foamy brine
Hovering , humming birds' wings vibrate o'er suckling vine
Then with salivating tongues on frothy nectar dine
At dusk, Nightingales' guttural groans in palpitating soliloquy whine
The moonbeam's enticing spell on unwitting lovers to assign
Ebony-caped crows bellow bewitching chants o'er listless ravine
Each ingratiated soul with lustful thoughts to incline
Stealthy hawk with piercing eyes each svelte fiber doth divine
Then with dexterous agility swoops down on silky ermine
Categories:
dexterous, beautiful, depression,
Form:
Rhyme
THE DIDDLER
Run Diddy! Run!!
Diddy did it, caught up in his wild fun.²
Daring Diddy, the dexterous diddler,
Danced through daylight, a deft dealer.
Draped in dreams, a dainty draughtsman,
Doodling daisies, defying the dour dam.6
Drawing deep from the draught of desire,
Diddy’s doings, a dynamic & dashing pyre.
Dusk descended, deep and dark,
Diddy’s deeds became his dooms-tack.¹°
Darting through the dim-lit streets,
Devising, designing, dexterous feats.
A diddler, true, in every deed,
Driven not by greed, but by a different creed.¹4
Dipping down, Diddy's desires never get dull,
Doing dirty daring deeds, Diddy did it all,
Dawgs drubbing through Diddy's doors,
Bro, lending helping hands means nothing to us!¹8
Dancing, dripping, daring to dream,
Diddy's doings, a dazzling beam.
Here's to Diddy, the diddler, devoid of dread,
Daring to do what others dare not tread.²²
Dancing through life, a dashing display,
Diddy’s deeds, an alliterative array.
Though Diddler weaves magic with every verse,
Diddy fled the public's eye & his Badboy universe.²6
VICK MANUEL POETRY {VMP}
FORM: Alliteration/Rhymes
Image by: Quincy Martin
Copyright ©?March 2024.
#diddydidit #thediddler #badboy4life #cîrocvodka #pdiddy
Categories:
dexterous, 1st grade,
Form:
Alliteration