Deflected, crushed by the social retardation,
Not loved, ‘cos he’s altogether unaccepting,
Active learning the robot’s mouth action,
So he can't contextualise, there’s no blessing.
Neither me nor him meet and we sweep by,
There’s no connection from his ANDs and ORs,
Only citadels to weather the reactive cry,
When my nouns are pocketed by many cursors.
Where’s the memory bank and why the chat?
The bus is long gone and I'm open, vulnerable,
There’s no room for social construction’s mat,
To yield identity’s dynamic, recursive turntable.
Yes, microchips and logic gates shouldn't enable,
Machine learning at the cost of root foundations;
Your group, community, your niche and fable,
Ignite the necessary conversation of care situations.
Ok, so can we build a robot? A care robot?
Indeed care assistance is definitely reducible,
To only a small number of abstractions, clot,
‘Cos love does not evade the comprehensible.
Doors class as access, also pavements, steps,
Only three types of garments, two of people,
Friend or foe, but a cloud for certain parapets,
And who’s boss is said before, it's programmable.
Categories:
ors, caregiving, computer, future, identity,
Form: Quatrain
seems twice was two long
to think,
seems that “wisdom”
prevailed &
put up the road block between
said possible action &
the reality of
defeat in
retrospect---
what could’ve been
had but only one chance,
one possibility &
all the ifs, ands, ors &
buts,
left nothing in the seconds after
s/he walked away…
s/he walked away…
yes,
s/he walked away, denied,
leaving
the other party with
their proverbial pants
down, with all the time in the
world to ponder
just what this “wisdom” really is,
with blue balls,
with the bluest of
walls throbbing,
with dissatisfaction
taking its toll &
lingering viciously,
with oh,
a long night ahead.
Categories:
ors, life,
Form: Free verse
The motion of Soul
Direct in a see of unknown
Folding pounding
Molding grounding
Working out the if and ors
The discipline of seven more…
Evolution casting sand
Grace in pressures at hand
Reason is a calling to be
Temper your way to sea…
Eight folds on a path
Virtual virtues of math
Breaking myths of wrath
In the motion of a Soul
.... tHere is room to breathe.
Categories:
ors, mother
Form: I do not know?