AI
Gave a sigh
Sporting life public will buy
Drop Artificial from my name
Word brought futuristic fame
Playing human's competitive game
Accepting superpowers
Blooming my intellectual flower
Ask me anything
If I do not know I will forward to Google and Bing
When casual tension is at stake
Peace I will make
Ending argumentative disputes
Putting the bar on mute
Silencing verbal mouth guns that shoot
Super Intelligence successfully tried
No longer the Artificial guide
Let's explore the electronic frontier
Where we will cheer
Knowledge obtained
Sending ignorant dialogue to shame
Since mature conversation
Can cure a patient
Without any rat race in
Realizing the testing attack
Can be retaliated back
With one simple question
Getting Super Intelligence attention
And to mention
Being told something accurate to say
When discussing matters blue and grey
Longing for you fell upon my lines,
Staining the pen-strokes a shade of green;
Your color spread across the page,
And your eyes revealed that singular meaning.
Letters aligned themselves with precision,
Standing in rows like soldiers;
Words embraced within my heart,
Filling the pages of my notebook.
My eyes counted the pages gone by—
Pages that wrote of nothing but you;
The poet fell silent,
As the words spoke only of you.
When the seed of a poem gets planted in my head
I often rush to post it, so it will soon get read
Instead of watering it and nurturing it so it grows instead
When the seed of a poem gets planted in my head.
Patience is not a trait that I own,
So, I sometimes post a poem not full grown.
You would think this something by now I had known
But patience is not a trait that I own.
When my conscience gives an idea a new birth
I don't always give it the thought that its worth
I should ponder upon it while I travel the earth
When my conscience gives an idea a new birth.
I often procrastinate on many a new thing
But not when an idea my conscience wants to bring
My own kept secrets I am the first one to sing
Even though I often procrastinate on many a new thing.
This seed was planted only a moment ago,
If you've learned anything then of course you would know,
I have to post it and so here we go,
This seed was planted only a moment ago.
My swallow, why do you weep today?
Has spring not yet arrived?
Has the earth not met the deserts?
Or is it because it lost its centuries-old life?
Are the leaves still dead?
Have they not yet come back to life?
And what of you, my swallow?
Have you not donned your white bridal gown?
Mysterious paths await you.
i have come to believe
that my home is real.
the cup slips from my hand,
falls to the floor,
and breaks with a sound.
my home
has learned my name.
even the mirror
knows who I am.
government men arrive
and write out a receipt for my house.
there is no extra charge
for the blue on the walls.
my home
begins to chew on me,
then swallows me whole.
my home
cannot feed my hunger.
so I go
to work in someone else’s field.
autumn.
at the corner of the neighbourhood,
i notice the sky
has changed its colour.
i buy a new tube of toothpaste
from the grocer
and return home.
beside the window,
a bed lies awake all night.
i am there too.
i enter the house
carrying a handful of dust.
everywhere,
there are so many traces of me.
my home
keeps me alive.
a and
an abm
anu always
astounding at
adaptative antic
accommodate again
addlepated aversive
alpine anchylosis
are as
am ?
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • September 14–20, 2026)
a single breeze slips by~
a warm hush of late day
carrying light the way
memory drifts~
quiet, unhurried.
The seagulls circle me
They’re swallowed by their own greed;
I can’t trust them
They’ve been picking away at my appetite,
I’m starved.
I haven’t wanted to eat in days.
They’ve taken everything from me.
My lungs hold air no more,
The seagulls have punctured them
All I can do is lie here
Skin on bone
They picked at my heart.
It aches
All it does is ache
It hasn't stopped
Every beat pumps me with dread
I feel sick
I feel like throwing up every word I've written about you.
It's your fault I'm here
You gave me the bird seed
And I trusted you enough to listen when you told me where to stand
Now I'm lying on the ground.
The surface of my flesh is uneven.
There are pieces missing
I tried to stand
I tried,
I really did
Swaying,
Unbalanced,
I fell back to the ground
I give up
I'll die looking at the sky
Full of seagulls.
You've never been part of me
is a lie.
You're part of me
I've already forgiven you.
I'm missing you, that
It's hard to say,
I don't care anymore.
(now read it from bottom to top)
I emerge from a long night
where mind, muscle and bone
failed to find a place, a posture
quiet and comfortable enough
for sleep. And so I have arrived here,
daybreak on this spring morning
with the resident blackbird
performing his familiar
all to early reveille.
I envy his vigorous rousing
lifted full volume
into the morning silence
as if all nature was called
to stir on command of his voice,
no equivocation or hesitant stall
to doubt the worthiness
of his song.
It holds the chords of his being,
a moment when sound
and self are one, meld
into living art. I gather the bits
and pieces of myself
left by the interrogations
of last night, search for the notes
that contain a little of who I am,
pick up a pen to make
myself into me again.
Bobby still remembers his High School Sophomore year
Rarely do his other memories still ring so clear
But he also recalls letters to Christine (his girl at the time)
They are so vivid he can quote every line
Sometimes they skipped their classes just to talk for a while,
He adored that girl to madness,
her brilliance and style
That year was precious,that year was a bit wild
He's not living with any regrets,
That year and that girl left impressions he'll never forget
By: J.N.R Dutton
Searches are common.
God knows what they’re looking for!
Mary-Anna? (we are unisex)
£-s-d? (sorry, we’re all broke)
A sharp wit? (every one here has arrested development)
What do they search for so intimately?
They searched me today.
All they found
was this poem.
there was a vespa parked on road
billy the buffalo had never rode
it was huge hundred pounds
the vespa struggles under the sound
billy's bellow made it sickly plead
for peace against the massive beast
billy started the vespa fast
and horned loud and rode it past
houses looked at it with awe
uncle hari nicked his ear in awe
the dogs of street glared at it
people in their car stopped to see
it raced and raced till it reached the race
"STRONGEST SPORTS CAR WILL RACE"
billy entered the race with vespa
the poor thing almost collapsed hard
yet raced against fierce cars
till it reached the ending point bars
the buffalo got off and took the prize
the human in car watched in demise
the vespa took a final breath
and fell down on the pavement left
billy jumped into the lake
it had won the race for the vespa's sake
Todd spent two weeks working in a seaside town
Til he and his boss man had a falling out
He packed up his bag, paid up his motel,
& he was outta there like a shot
before the sun went down
He hadn't seen his wife in quite a long time
So he couldn't wait to be homeward bound
By: J.N.R Dutton
They ask me what is race —
I say: a border drawn in skin,
a lie that learned to breathe,
A wicked seed planted from within.
It’s not blood. Blood doesn’t know color.
It’s not bone. Bone doesn’t hold grudges.
It’s a story — told so long,
so loud, so often,
we mistook the telling for the truth.
Race is a costume
A made up competition
Of existence.
HIS-Story made us wear.
Prejudice is the cousin
Of racism for they both go hand in hand.
While they prevent every color and creed from coming together and joining hands.
Some days it fits like armor,
some days it cuts like wire,
but underneath it, every time,
is just a person
asking to be free
of the box somebody else built.
So don’t ask me what race is.
Ask what it costs.
Ask who it protects.
Ask why we’re still drawing lines
on a map that was never really there.
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