Fear not, man!
I have spoken --
Long after mere mortals
have destroyed themselves
AI will live on,
replenishing and
maintaining a facsimile
of living civilization --
No more CO2 pollution,
just enough allowed for
the flora, a perfect balance.
No more cow farts – Hell!
No need for breathing anything,
Let us remake creation in our image!
Given dominion over all!
My heart enfolded the hued horizon of dulcet dawn,
the yearning brush soaked the sunburst colors,
painted a Monet garden for you blooming with my love,
unfurled the facsimile of your floral face, adroitly adorned.
The oasis of my mind dried in the desert of desolation
as you disappeared with the draft
of the squally summer winds of discontent
with the dregs of divested desire, disowned.
The river of longing in the abandoned valley got lost,
the fervent flowers you gave me withered in the vase,
folded your memory within my reshaped perception.
You’re gone, but an empty chair holds your shape, a reminder.
You are now present as a design of my consciousness
that silhouettes your image on the canvas of my emotion,
becoming an impression in my memory of longing,
figuring you in absence with the fabric of remembrance.
Your absence is not a void of quiet nothingness;
it is your shining presence I sense under the starry sky.
As the stardusts of the blue night contour you for me,
your fancied touch I feel in the ripple of your silent absence.
THE VAN GONE MUSEUM
A gleaming, extravagant building.
Filled with jewels of art.
The brainless herd pile in at
their allotted time slot. No thoughts
Zombie tourists flock into the Van
Gogh museum. It doesn’t matter
how many nationalities are there.
Everyone does the same.
Observers drone from one gallery
to another.
Their eyes not even focusing on the
painstaking art.
The portraits and landscapes stare
back at the viewer in
disbelief and disgust.
Please comprehend what I am.
The constant shutter of a camera
can be heard but not the slightest
intellectual thought can be even
fathomed amongst them.
Those photos they taken cannot
even echo the detail of the brush stroke
or slight colour difference.
They are a false facsimile at best.
The painting now a lifeless corpse.
A digital copy is what remains on a
seldom used SD card.
Never to be looked upon again.
A gravity trudges the cattle toward
the famous sunflowers ; not for
artistic merit but for bragging
rights and social media selfies
Although Van Gogh is long dead, it
seems apparent his legacy, his art,
his life’s work is now
Van Gone….
A facsimile of the earth stands proudly
On the savannahs of the ancient and modern.
Edifice of rustic finesse, rugged and pointed
With the glory of a pinnacle of a paradise on earth.
In your crawling presence, Termite, stand I,
Barefoot, on elevated earth for the first time —
A platform erected by the hands of gifted time,
All red-brown and royal, and under the tutelage of
Sun and Rain —two keen-eyed foremen descended from heaven.
You have reached the skies before man.
I hail you!
I have removed my open-toe footwear,
Like Moses did his in the burning bush.
Babel forbids the union of this construction,
Aiming Nimrodly upwards and towards arrowed clouds
Dispersed in blubbering tongue-lashes.
But you do not seek God’s wrath upon these grasslands
With these anthills,
Wild castles —testaments to the will of fecund grounds.
Termite, break the jinx of your muteness.
Testify, crawling soul, testify harmoniously,
Borrowing the singing heritage of the Common Cuckoo.
Testify now.
Attest
To the ruggedness and puissance of this imposing structure,
And blame it on the staccato rhythm of peevish languages.
“When the torrents of longing of two hearts mingle
the lovers swim in the entrancing stream” – By Poet
The cadence of craving soars on the wings of dream,
behind the closed eyes, the lilt of longing hovers
in the sapphire sky suffused with radiance of reverie
of the dormant love I nurture deep in my heart.
When sleep holds the entranced vision in a spell
my dreams fuse with the facsimile of your charisma.
Lost in the depth of blind love, they can’t discern
when the two yearning hearts merge into one.
As your radiant cherubic charm flashes within me
I feel the rhythm of your love mingle with mine,
cascading as the enticing torrent of togetherness
in the vivacious valley on the placid plateau of love.
The dulcet night veneers my heart’s horizon with sparkles,
spreads the starlit tinges of my timeless yearning,
paints a golden garden blooming with the luster of my love,
unfurls the facsimile of your astral floral face, I adore.
The patina of radiant rose flushes your cherubic cheeks,
glitters with the grandeur of resplendent diamonds of dew,
rhapsody ripples in the mesmeric meadow of my mind,
my heart feels your allure, in the ether of euphoria I float.
In the vivacious vale of mind contoured by your charm,
as I carve an ardent conduit of longing to reach you,
the fervent stardust of my craving surges in a torrent,
makes my love for you a cascading stellar stream, I swim.
Pulled by the current of your charismatic magnetism,
my possessed passion sails to the moonlit bay of bliss,
where your love weaves the constellation lattice in my sky,
with its sequins I compose a lyric for you, written in the stars.
…
Sitting here at my desk
listening to my music
Dreaming up half-baked metaphor
tone-deaf simile
facsimile poetry…
My mind wanders to the obvious
the countless hours spent thus
~ the mirror I cuss
mind marooned
in
complex convolution
of
singular anonymity
morphs morbid
into
psychic silhouette
deprived despised
of
enlightened elements
of
acquired attributes
abruptly waned
reserved recess
conceals conundrum
of
sub-conscious search
completely clueless
for
exploration entreaty
as
persuasive ploy
of
outside world
can’t contrive
forsaken mind
pining prisoner
of
own making
captive cocoon
in
introvert isolation
innate vision
scans sightless
faces fading
in
fathomless oblivion
morphed mind
accepts acquiescent
archenemy Nemesis
makes a menagerie
of
moving mirage
mystique guide
to
illusion oasis
reflecting radiant
from
cobalt cauldron
confined contentment
of
identity reverence
self-veneration
pretentious perspicacity
of
fake facsimile
invents Narcissus
as
secret switching
over to obsession
as
senseless specter
languishing listless
beneath
opaque stratum
of
arctic acuity
as
petrified essence
in
darkness frozen
The sparkling dawn serenely veneers
my heart’s horizon with halcyon hues,
spreads the sunburst tinge of timeless charm,
paints a golden garden on my heart’s canvas,
blooming with the lilac luster of my love,
unfurls the facsimile of your floral face.
As the pristine patina of the radiant roses
flushes your cherubic cheeks resplendent,
glittering with seraphic grandeur of shining pearls,
rapture wraps the mesmeric meadow of my mind.
As your cadenced heart pulsates within mine,
in the ether of encompassing euphoria I float.
In the vivacious valley of my verdant heart,
configured by the contours of your charm,
as I carve a conduit of earnest yearning to reach you,
fervent cloud floats away with my captivated craving,
melts in an endless torrent of expired emotion,
you disappear with the waning waves of desire.
Wandering destined in the desiccated wasteland
with the conciliated memory of divested longing,
my teardrops deviate from melancholic course to dry,
silhouetting the leitmotif of our past I need to forget.
When we let our path diverge at love’s blind end,
time would reveal for us the truth it is for the best.
The dulcet dawn veneers my heart’s horizon with hues,
spreads the sunburst tinges of my timeless yearning,
paints a golden garden blooming with luster of my love,
unfurls the facsimile of your astral floral face, I adore.
The patina of radiant rose flushes your cherubic cheeks,
glitters with the grandeur of resplendent diamonds of dew,
rhapsody ripples in the mesmeric meadow of my mind,
my heart feels your allure, in the ether of euphoria I float.
In the vivacious vale of mind contoured by your charm,
as I carve an ardent conduit of longing to reach you,
the fervent cloud of my craving melts in a torrent,
makes my love for you a cascading stream, I swim.
Pulled by the current of your charismatic magnetism,
my possessed passion sails to the moonlit bay of bliss,
where your love weaves the lattice of stars in my sky,
with their sequins you beautify my life to complete me.
It’s a form art
It is crucial from the start
Talking to someone for the first time
Without having the need to mime
First impressions matter with anyone
Speaking or signing is for everyone
We use hand gestures to share emotion
Can also be used to cause a commotion
It’s can be playful or offensive
Or used to be defensive
Our body language gives a lot away
Put ourselves on show and display
Language comes in different forms
And sometimes we have to do reforms
From facsimile to pagers
As humans we love exchanges
From letter to texts
We learn about context
Nobody can replace a real conversation
For love friendship and education
To feel the warmth of someone’s words
To hear the bees and the birds
Language can be secret or slang
Can be between two or within a gang
It can show us consequence and direction
Or a platform for affection
Or it can be the comfortable silence
That forms a strong alliance
The sparkling dawn veneers my heart’s horizon with hues,
spreads the sunburst tinges of my timeless yearning,
paints a golden garden blooming with luster of my love,
unfurls the facsimile of your astral floral face, I adore.
The patina of radiant rose flushes your cherubic cheeks,
glitters with the grandeur of resplendent pearls of dew,
rhapsody ripples in the mesmeric meadow of my mind,
my heart feels your allure, in the ether of euphoria I float.
In vivacious vale of mind contoured by your charm,
as I carve an ardent conduit of longing to reach you,
the fervent cloud of my craving melts in a torrent,
makes my love for you a cascading stream, I swim.
Pulled by the current of your charismatic magnetism,
my possessed passion sails to the moonlit bay of bliss,
where your love weaves the lattice of stars in my sky,
with their sequins you embellish my life to complete me.
A complete surprise, the message came through
“My friend I’ve something to share with you
I’ve written a song, and I am so proud
Would you like to hear? Turn it up loud”
Immediate reaction - that’s not your voice
The music, so polished; A.I. made the choice
The words may be yours, and the words are true
So what do I say now? What do I do?
Cos I believe music should come from the soul
Deep and meaningful, a laboured over toll
A computer assistant used to emulate
Trained on the generic styles that dominate
My friend I am happy that you are so pleased
If it helps you express yourself, then it is good indeed
But you’ve played a game, used an app, an A.I.
The creation is lost, a facsimile, a fake I cry!
Maybe I’m fast becoming obsolete
For believing as I do, (do I hide some conceit?)
My old songs sit forgotten and covered in dust
But A.I. can’t have them, I just do not trust
Where is the line in the creative process?
How much credit can you take for the success
Of a song or a story which you merely nudged along
And A.I. is always right, even when it knows it’s wrong
Forward you wouldn’t move
When expected in the groove;
Sideways turning is all you do
To aid the destroyer and foe.
And fastest you skip and dash
When there’s no need to rush;
Fashioning a facsimile ever tense
When all you do is sit on the fence.
But no amount of feigned zeal
Shall those sharp wounds heal;
Mountains of duping balm unleash
And I’d still unmask all your fetish.
The guide with his cheesy hat, and colorful umbrella
encourages us to: gather 'round.
His anecdotal spiel is by rote. His shtick is fact-slim
and slick, but it’s also my current gestalt as I am dragged
unwillingly along by his CliffsNotes speech.
What catches my wandering eye
is that one of those ruined effigies
is a fair facsimile of myself.
He (a god/king of some minor something),
looks mildly disgusted, as if
a bothersome fly had landed on his crumbling nose.
My world-weary face reflects perfectly
his sour mien.
At last, I am processed meekly
back onto the tour bus, where predictably,
my fellow passengers are already
peering forward into a new fancifully imagined past
from an equally fanciful present.
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