Long Skilful Poems
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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?
In thirty-eight my German Shepherd, loved to learn new tricks
He’d run and catch them in mid air whenever I threw sticks
No other German Shepherd dog could ever hope to beat
The way my Benji caught those sticks and dropped them at my feet
We call them German Shepherds now but war-time defamation
Meant that since the first great war his breed was called alsation
I couldn’t go to war, they told me, “Not with just one leg.”
But Benji ticked their boxes and it didn’t help to beg
So Benji was still young when I was forced to let him go
The army took him from me, “There’s a war on, don’t you know?”
I knew about war horses but that poor young pup of mine
Was so quick and so skilful he was sent to the front line
When the air raid sirens sounded and I fled my bed
I couldn't get my Benji boy out of my worried head
I knew he’d do his duty while he helped to fight the war
But how I craved the day that he might fetch me sticks once more
***
Benji looked up smartly when he heard a sudden thud
A hand grenade had landed right beside him in the mud
He grabbed it and ignoring all the bullets and the flak
His tail was wagging wildly as he quickly took it back
Whilst gone for only seconds no one knew how he returned
Though when his ‘stick’ exploded Benji’s tail was slightly burned
They say he sat - tail wagging - for an hour or more that day
Before he figured out the thrower didn’t want to play
***
By taking out that pill box, Benji saved a dozen men
In forty-four they brought my hero back to me again
Twas six more years we shared before I laid my boy to rest
And of my hundred years and some, those six they were the best
His ashes sleep within a walnut casket on my shelf
A casket that with younger hands I made for him myself
So he’ll be coming with me when I wave this world goodnight
And Benji, my new leg and I will race into the light
"Maybe I am not very human - what I wanted to do was to paint sunlight on the side of a house. There is a sort of elation about sunlight on the upper part of a house. Though I may influence genius, the only real influence I've ever had was myself. No amount of skilful invention can replace the essential element of imagination.
Well, I've always been interested in approaching a big city in a train, and I can't exactly describe the sensations, but they're entirely human and perhaps have nothing to do with aesthetics. ” ~~ Edward Hopper~~
You dare not enter my portrait, as that train to the city is on its way.
The track that lays before me acts as a warning for you to obey.
Most of my blinds I keep closed or almost fully drawn.
Travelers try to peek inside, which makes my occupants forlorn.
I was once a stately Victorian mansion, entertaining dignitaries galore.
I long for those times again, to be revered as a landmark of note once more.
Casting dark shadows, the sun still beams upon my walls that need a paint.
Trying not to be affected by the vibrations of the locomotive, I practice
restraint.
There is a glumness that casts a veil. It is impossible to see the real me.
My sad persona hides dark secrets, that the bright sun cant send to purgatory.
As the approaching train roars past me with no thought of halting the ride.
In distaste my contents shaking as my foundations quiver from inside.
Does horror lurk within? My architecture is an inspiration for a famous story.
A genius called Hitchcock used me to inspire the house in Psycho with all its glory.
I have no love of nature the weather has reaped its toll upon my wretched form.
I stand here as a beacon, I have no choice beside this railroad track, slowly I disform.
Perhaps I merely wait for a full restoration date.
For a master of the brush to reinvent me to my primordial state.
I've wandered many islands,
Seen countless shades of blue.
But none compare, my friends, to where
The glass and lace ring true.
Let me paint you a picture,
Of Murano's fiery art,
And Burano's rainbow houses,
That set these isles apart.
Murano's furnaces blazing,
Glass maestros at their craft.
Molten sand transformed into beauty,
With every skilful draft.
The clink of cooling crystals,
A melody so clear.
Chandeliers and figurines,
Fragile art appears.
In Burano, colours dancing,
On every house and street.
A painter's palette comes to life,
Where sky and water meet.
Lacemakers' fingers flying,
Creating intricate dreams.
Their needles flash like lightning,
Stitching stories at the seams.
The canals reflect the hues,
Of houses standing tall.
A kaleidoscope of wonder,
Enchanting one and all.
Fishermen's boats bob gently,
In waters calm and still.
Their nets full of the day's catch,
The air with salt air fills.
The church tower leans so slightly,
A guardian of time.
Watching over coloured houses,
In this land so sublime.
Tourists wander, cameras clicking,
To capture every sight.
In this magical lagoon world,
Bathed in Venetian light.
As day fades into twilight,
The islands slowly sleep.
But their beauty keeps on glowing,
A memory to keep.
So when you're seeking wonder,
And your heart yearns to roam,
Remember Murano and Burano,
Where art and colour call home.
In glass and lace and painted walls,
These isles have cast their spell.
A testament to human craft,
And nature's beauty as well.
So let the world keep turning,
But pause here for a while,
Where Murano's glass keeps burning,
And Burano's colours smile.
My heart is stirred by a noble theme as
I recite my verses for the King ;
my tongue is the pen of a skilful writer.
Quoted Psalm 45:1
Danger of true writing on this earth,
We all know that many people hate the truth
So when a good writer dedicates to share his
Opinions about some people or things.
His points views can be welcomed
Or rejected
By the majority people but he will contunue
Doing his job as he understands well his carrier.
Imagine being a write writer and
Showing the bad sides
Of black people mostly.
Or being a black writer and
Showing the bad sides
Of white people mostly.
The black writer will be hated
By majority white people
And
The white writer will be hated
By majority black people.
If a black or white writer stands
Neutral
And mix contents
Of black and white people well,
He will be hated
By majority black and
White people.
Danger of true writing on this earth,
How hard is it to take someone's blames?
It is dangerous to keep writting the truth,
In life it is not easy to take
Someone 's mistakes
Just much courage is needed
Only a person of great
Heart
Can take some people 's
Mistakes.
Danger of true writing on this earth,
How hard is it to take someone's blames?
Some writers taking some people 's mistakes
Knowingly as they don't have choices
While trying to cover some mistakes
Of their people through good
Poems ,
Songs ,
Articles,
Short stories.
Danger of true writing on this earth,
It is so dangerous to be a neutral writer
Who trying to correct
Some people 's mistakes
Through poetry
Good articles,
And
Stories.
May 17/2023
By Alfonso Warally Ngengethe
Mussabwa Chris
The Potter’s House
“1The word which came to Jeremiah from the LORD saying, 2"Arise and go down to the potter's house, and there I will announce My words to you." 3Then I went down to the potter's house, and there he was, making something on the wheel. 4But the vessel that he was making of clay was spoiled in the hand of the potter; so he remade it into another vessel, as it pleased the potter to make.” Jer 18:1-4 NASB
I refuse to allow my circumstances
To ever get me down.
My hope is in the Lord—
In the Potter’s House and his renown.
I put my hope in his word—
None of his promises will fail.
All His promises are mine—
Each one in all its detail.
I persevere in eager expectation—
For what I cannot see;
Believing God will deliver—
What is His will for me.
God is my Potter and my Creator—
His molding is sometimes difficult to take,
But I trust in His skilful hands—
A vessel of beauty to create.
Because I’m in the Potter’s House,
I should never be discouraged.
Even when the clay’s distorted—
I must heed his words that encourage.
He is the mighty Potter,
And He’s molding me each day;
Making a beautiful vessel—
From what was spoiled clay.
In eager expectation—
I look to the finished vessel;
God’s redeeming presence,
And the paint dried on his easel.
I submit to his daily molding—
Am prepared to cooperate.
His plans are so superior—
This perfect vessel to create.
Prayer: Father, I surrender my life to you. Show me your plans and purposes. Make me and mold me into the person you want me to be. I trust in You. In Jesus’ name. Amen
Copyright © 2009-2012 Maureen LeFanue
www.maureenlefanue.com
The ants and the beetles were all celebrating
As I wed the spider that I had been dating
And soon sixteen legs would be consolidating
I could say eighteen but that’s exaggerating
But all of a sudden the ground was vibrating
We tried to get clear but the plants were gyrating
We made for a drain with a safe metal grating
To hide from the beast and it’s red armour plating
We froze at the passage the beast was creating
By severing grass with its twin blades rotating
In fear of our lives we then started debating
To run off together or try separating
A not so near miss meant I’ll never be mating
Sometimes the obvious doesn't need stating
At least while my wife finds that rather frustrating
I won’t be her lunch when we’re done consummating
We tried to escape with some skilful pond skating
It helped that the air machine wasn't aerating
But there was a fountain that was agitating
The surface too much which was infuriating
I turned to the man and began contemplating
If spiders could ever do human castrating
But soon he was done and he started inflating
A pool with a puncture, he found that deflating
Reward and his effort were not correlating
And that made him mad, made him start salivating
And just when we thought that he might be fixating
His face went all blank and his eyes were dilating
He glared at us spiders, his ire not abating
So we thought it best to be reciprocating
But he had a brick in his hand elevating
I’ll tell you right now, that was not constipating
Perhaps it’s now time for some quick relocating
This isn’t the fate I was anticip.....
ABHIMANYU IN CHAKRAVYUH
A serene tranquil aura of Subhadra’s son,
Possessing Arjuna’s valour and virtues abound;
Lord Krishna’s blessings armouring shielding him,
Calm placid lionhearted Abhimanyu!
Adept in warfare second to none,
Dauntless unflinching a paramount warrior;
Acclaimed applauded for his heroic deeds,
A defender of harmony, an apostle of peace!
Righteous conduct dignified persona,
Nobility of character elevated soul;
Unperturbed temperament reposed self,
In times of peace and war alike!
When confronting astute canny skilful adversary,
An enemy cleverly contriving a circular array, the Labyrinth;
Challenging the warrior fearless mettlesome,
Conspiring conjointly attacking concomitantly!
Fought like a lion in the unjust combat,
Charging pouncing showering arrows,
As a mountain stood the fighter till the end,
Concurrently striking in enclosed Chakravyuh!
The rival’s wrongful unfair acts exposed,
The pride, the arrogance shattered to the ground;
Jointly and severely seven fought one,
Flouting all rules of warfare at once!
High spirited Abhimanyu dashed them down,
Until to the point when he fell to the ground;
Arose then again as the tides rise high,
The broken wheel of the chariot his armour new!
Simultaneous hurling continued though,
Thence fell the lion roaring through;
Unmasking the humans’ immoral deeds,
Unveiling the pride-smitten arrogant beings!
Infringement of rules, inhuman conduct,
Brutal callous acts in the war;
Humbling humanity, heads shamefully hung,
Abhimanyu’s death, the downfall of humankind!
The spiritual energy of mind, deepest dimension of
Human thoughts. The full emotion of a person
Expressing to the deep feeling of the heart.
The vision of the mind consist of viewing into far
Away distance feels the senses of scene.
A word that transform into reality compose of
Faith that keeps life moving. The condition of the
Mind to be seen in sight itself. The clean thinking of an
Extra individual unusual ability to create matter in the mind.
The shadow of wonder inside itself extend to dynamic
Form of human being. The fashion of words coming into
Senses self that makes the word into practice to behold into
Someone else that moisture the deepest of emotion to
Understand the views of thoughts. The skilful knowledge of
The mind translate to composition of word given in a certain
Characteristic manner. The thoughts of the mind touch
The heart put it into words to have meaning, to have life.
The knowledge of wisdom unite to the power of the
Mind invents to make value giving inspiration to any individual.
Words of miracles, power dwell to miles away distance,
To reach any point of sight that appeal to the duration of
Substance element unseen, to make us feel the essence of
Everything, to express the deepest emotion of inside within,
That only God can see and understand the true motive of
Heart soul through words, the poet itself.
© Jocelyn Dunbar
1 February 2004
1:45 PM
You are like no other frequency.
You are a different kind of fancy.
why do you want to follow their fashion?
you are just one of a kind oh, Nancy.
you are just unique.
So why want to be like them.
You have your voyage,
towards turning into a gem.
When you start thinking they are larger than life,
At that moment you belittle your invincible light.
You have your music, dance, and delights.
Where nothing is wrong and nothing is right.
Always stay true to who you are.
who are they to set your standards and bars?
You delay this temporary praise to rise beyond the prize.
Yes, it's all worth it because now I know who am i.
What I have gained is never a random outcome.
I am in my league, nobody I want to outrun.
They all feel pride describing you as second this or that.
I am just me, from number one to last.
I am beyond happy at my house.
I don't need Christopher's Castle shrouded by arsenals clouds.
When you can learn from all,
then why by someone you are bound.
Keep on doing joyful jobs.
There is no need to count.
I remember it,
and I recall it well.
I recite it so beautifully,
in your life, it will eternally dwell.
Success is chasing your humble heart, accompanied by the subtle skilful skull.
Let your soul wander for more,
don't end its thirst by finding idols.