Every day, questions arise anew,
Who would you prefer, AI's blessing or curse, happiness, or me true?
He spent his life in a methodic trance,
Solving problems with algorithms, in a perpetual dance.
Dreaming of AI to crack century-old codes,
In his lifetime, just solving some math with his loads.
Countless hours, days, and nights he toiled,
Debugging his code, his passion unspoiled.
I wondered who this new mistress could be,
More captivating than sharing life with me.
What is happiness, fun, vacations, travel?
Spending money on good food and wine to unravel.
He can craft love poems with AI's might,
But none for me in our silver jubilee's light.
I offer love, happiness, and sorrow's embrace,
But maybe no one should marry a geek in this case.
As a spouse, should I leave him to his AI devotion?
Leftover pasta and potatoes, his token of emotion.
Love needs reciprocation, hearts drift apart,
I hope he chooses AI, happiness, or me, and restarts.
Categories:
methodic, emotions,
Form: Rhyme
For a moment, brief as it was
there was light at dawn
but now
the darkness begins to creep in
slow and methodic edging, along the horizon
there - far off in the distant
paler shades of gray grow as if night
and the wind gusts wild, restless
teasing, tossing, taunting the trees
as the temperature drops
and humidity rises, the haze becomes thick
then rubs off steaming in the clouded sky
followed by flashes of light flickering in pulses
glowing with quick short illumination
bound by claps of thunder echoes
and then the rain falls, downpours
pouncing hard, quick, fast, steady with intensity
like bubbling grease in the pan
and the darkness takes hold
creeping in the hidden shadows
of the mid-afternoon June storm.
Categories:
methodic, weather,
Form: Free verse
Sometimes, whispered voices off in the distance
echoes calling spirits, hearts, souls of the past
listen to messages without resistance.
Set in the oceans and the seas, land held fast
inner voices christened in hearts of the earth
questioning will men learn of the harm they cast?
There appears no quick reply in death or birth
slow and methodic land and seascapes reshaped
only the almighty asks what is life worth?
Mother earth rumbles down in its core once caped
to sigh and moan and groan of all men mistakes
without thought or plan to replace all they take.
Disgruntled, discontent, broken to heartache
earth burns hot and floods and slides back into place
shaken rattles, fumes and freezes till all wake.
Extinction looms until the gift of earth is safe
and moaning, groaning of mankind's ignorance
can evolve or can be easily erased.
Categories:
methodic, allusion, earth, men,
Form: Terza Rima
I watched as she dropped down
that full six-foot wingspan graced the air around
that slipped in quiet, somehow silenced in the cold gray steel
and suddenly again, she was here, looking for another meal.
The great blue neck stretched up while below her leggy feet
slowly stepped as she walked toward the pond indiscrete.
Her visit came too often
and my heart could no longer be softened
for her hunger and her need
had well depleted most of my fish and their seed.
Still, she stepped methodic around the edge
eyeing close the waters for some movement along the ledge
slowly I rose as she stepped closer in to look some more
but with caution, she scanned my figure in the door.
Reluctant and defiant she stood beneath the net
as I yelled admonishment at her brazen gaze met
she was defiant and stood her ground
until thru the door raced my little doxie hound.
Then with an elongated step, she flew away
leave it to my dog to save the day.
Categories:
methodic, animal,
Form: Rhyme
The doves arrive, gentle creatures
heads bobbing as they walk,
plucking stray seeds blown free across the ground.
Paired matches, clutching together
in the softly shadowed rays
of early morning sun to welcome the day.
Peerless counterparts, solitary and alone
scanning the demarcation zones
marked and policed by energetic squirrels.
Boundaries are set, locked in place
periphery margins of time and space
held orderly by the season.
Winter, spring, majestic intertwined interludes
painted purple, black, blue, creamy orange
by intermittent cold and warmth rising and falling.
Signs of the time, forewarning harbingers
of time cycled in conscientious discreteness
dandle acclimation to greet the age of change.
The doves come, peering through the gleam
of light and its reflected mirrored surfaces
long methodic glances at the systematic march of time.
Categories:
methodic, bird, earth, seasons, time,
Form: Free verse
Like a sweet child in ballet
toe steps glide across the archway,
A graceful pirouette holding breath and heartbeat
balanced then suddenly rising like modern athletes.
A rhythmic cadence hustles across the days
when life is simple and living all game play,
Then the day waltzes methodic 3/4 weeks
sashaying manic tango pause then slips away piqued.
The merengue drags bodies closely touched
sweeping lags across the room in two quarters clutched,
bolero sharps and turns spinning like the fading years
lost in the frenzy of living fast and freely shed tears
A twisting stomp to slap the earth
quick tarantella wild winds giving birth,
a shuffle into polonaise gentle and lullaby eyes
slides to rest in minuet reprieves and haunting cries.
Too soon the days are months turned to years
and decades lost to the aging cheers,
gone is the youth of preset times
lost but not forgotten holding their prime.
Like the dance that stirred our spirits long ago
dream and memory holds steady in life's shows,
there is no end for life's pawn,
the dance lives forever a youthful swan.
Categories:
methodic, dance, life, , Lullaby,
Form: Rhyme
Chaotic or Methodic
If alcoholic,
Or Catholic who is chaotic
Are they robotic?
Jim Horn
Categories:
methodic, humorous,
Form: Haiku
An Empty Kingdom
The news did spread, a kingdom’s will
For sorrow placed its shadowed hand
‘Pon castle steps the crowd did fill
As heart break took a firm command
The skies, a darkened clouded stain
As children wept in mother’s fold
Now lost amidst a dismal rain
This hour of sadness frigid cold
How could it be, their precious queen
Had fallen to a woeful stead
A tethered seed, nightmarish deem
Her majesty this day is dead
The knight, of shining armor might
Her lifeless body cradled deep
Staring straight to heaven’s light
Then bowed his head, began to weep
He raised her body ever strong
Carried her through chambered door
An empty hallway wide as long
Depleted by this mournful chore
The villagers of forlorn feel
Gathered in the dampened street
The plight of loss in full reveal
Disconsolate of death’s defeat
When then upon horizon’s glare
A silhouette of staggered steed
Towards the kingdoms stricken stare
In slow methodic steps proceed
This figure slumped of saddle ride
And weary strains of wistful yearns
Through gates of iron, wandered stride
A shout rings out, “Our king returns”
Categories:
methodic, fantasy,
Form: Rhyme
Small towns slowly awaken with the rising dawn
Methodic rhythms of routine move you along
A care-free track of vague irrelevance
The setting sun tucks your life away
Into carefully maintained homes
The town slows to a heartbeat
The night lulls you to sleep
With a final sigh
You start to dream
Perhaps of
Something
More
created 1/1/2015
Categories:
methodic, childhood, life,
Form: Free verse
Noise
Life is so full of noise.
Perhaps, even before the moment of birth
the noise, the sounds of living begin
inundating each second of our becoming,
into our very existence and life.
Tears and crying, pain and heartache are not the start
those moments at conception are not lost to us,
it lies in our DNA almost irretrievable
but still there waiting to come forth.
Noise of every kind initiated us to life.
Some hear a joyful, passionate and loving noise
that giggles, tickles, laughs and breathes joy
while others face it with doubt, hesitation and fear
holding back then coming forward unsure, methodic, logically.
Despite the noise and its particular sound
all come forth at a specified moment
taking their place amid the noise of life.
Categories:
methodic, birth, life,
Form: Free verse
Doc Holliday truly amazing
Sick to death and two six guns blazing
Though his blasting appeared not to be phasing
The calmness of his gelding equine’s grazing
This be the glory, how the west was won
By house of ill repute, and the six gun
Plenty of action, was never boring
Funeral parlors, were businesses soaring
Stank of many bodies in pine boxes
All human life was generalized poxy
In the west, principle way of the law
Generally how fast every man could draw
These early days were quite chaotic
Wyatt Earp’s moves were a bit methodic
The saloons were filled with poker tables
And many big bosoms of dance hall mabels
Indians drank of white man’s fire waters
Sheep herders were known as only free squatters
The winning of the west, was quite a quest
Reservations put Indians to the test
America has it’s many stories
How our west was won by many glories
So greatly was the west romanticized
We wonder how much was only lies
Well documentation of westward truths
Or documentation of many human spoofs
Maybe fraudulent claims, as was the hog leg’s aim
We accept no blame, but we’ll take the fame
Placed # 15
Categories:
methodic, fantasy
Form: Rhyme