fAIls – A measurement of AI ignorance
cAIrn – Repository for AI-generated data
wAIns – New AI created by existing AI
hAIku – AI’s broader reach and impact
brAIn – Independent AI
This vault seems to be accepting of my largest deposit
When you consider the number of skeletons in my closet
All of these follow me to my most eternal resting casket
Sealed by silence; to my grave, I will slave for its gasket
Knowledge of this life is never going to be shared without breaking my repository
For if it was; the memoir would be would be New Yorks, greatest best seller story
I have been a toy of others for so long as my memories can comprise
Call me selfish if you want; but I'll live for myself from now 'til my demise
Things that I alone see would remain unseen by others.
Things that move or touch me alone, none other would bother.
Clouds with color and form, are not just a repository of water,
but demand more than a stare and invite an inquiry further.
Who would SEE our Master's painting if it wasn't for poetry?
A vast domain in an opened canopy filled with awesome beauty
and so often unobserved would go undetected of wondrous mystery.
Who would otherwise reveal the workings of God's magnificent symphony?
As I sat at the bedside of one who was ill terminally,
a poem of comfort was born and given to the family.
Who else would listen to the beats and tones long enough to hear the
faraway sounds of the heavens or the whispers of the wind so near?
Things, that I alone hear, would go unheard by unkeen and nonpoetic ears;
Who would LISTEN and record orchestras of the universe if it wasn't for poetry?
Some places, times, and seasons from long ago years;
Things deep in the heart's core, that I alone feel, birthing tears;
Emotional and hurtful memories; mental abuses locked in cells of fears.
Who would FEEL the myriads of life's meaning if it wasn't for poetry?
120323PS
the unconscious
a source of images&actions
in disguise&gestures
with slips of tongue
interpreted
with
simile&metaphor
of
libidinal desire
listening
to the unsound
made loud
opened
out of view
id&ego
expanded
frustrated freed
impulses exposed
as
universal symbols
from
the repository of memory
the fiction
of dream&myth
transitioned
into the realm
of reality
INSIGHTS
a delight to mediate
on green pasture
beside
quiet waters
on a profound
presence
pivotal patterns
rich
emblematic repetitive
to stimulate&arouse
the intellect
delight the muse
to pen
fetters freed
constraints&traits
enigmas &illusions
magnified
made
manifest
again
.
A
Re
Turn.
Drop
Reward
Trophies
Accolade
Affirmation
Expectation
All applause
Re
Run
Train
To live
To give
In
To
The
Seed
Return
Reward
Accolade
Applause
A dissolve
Stay there
Stray not
return to
Home
drop
In
to
The
Source
The store
Repository
It contains
The seeds
Seasons
and the
Crop.
The butterfly pauses on a sunny
rock.
Warmed by God's breath and touch.
Then in winged ecstasy, begins his day
Exquisitely, in monarch butterfly way.
Just....to be sailing is his glory.
He needs no reviews....as...
Perfection is his repository!
4/6/2023
reality dawns
in my mind
a thread
runs through reason
a repository
& reference point
in imagination’s flight
seeing what’s there to see
a single tree in the forest
of my mind’s eye
a defining moment
inner feelings fly free
seeing things in reality
sharing the intimate
every ready to explore
the pathos of life
Who will deliver me
from this lonely path
talking writ aloud
to please myself
the unconscious
a source of images&actions
in disguise&gestures
interpreted
with
simile&metaphor
of
libidinal desire
of the unsound
made loud
opened
out of view
id&ego
expanded
frustrated freed
impulses exposed
as
universal symbols
from
the repository of memory
in
the fiction
of dream&myth
transitioned
into the realm
of reality
enigmas &illusions
magnified
made
manifest
again
For no crime,
I was sentenced
To four years
Repository of knowledge,
With hard labor
Five years of sentenced served,
I peeped into morrow,
Hoping to be free
Like the caged bird,
But it seemed today
Would never come!
I walk through the pristine green
Follow the footpath around
And finally arrive at the unkempt
Natural burial ground.
The field has matured over
The past ten years
The Hawthorne now overshadows
The seat where I shed my tears.
Just a wild meadow now
No memorials or stones
Just a small wooden pegs
Over each repository of bones.
I kept my promise to you,
To survive and live on
Though the pain was intense
The first year after you’d gone.
But, all pain eases with time
And I learned to cope with life
Found the joy of a new love
With a loving, caring wife.
I don’t come here often now
But somehow I have to let you know
You gave me strength to continue,
I’ll never let those memories go.
Women in my family
Of all, I owe most to my mom and my younger sister
Who have brazenly stolen a chunk of my heart!
Mom, you were always our pillar of support
And a vast repository of values and inspirational love
We have always seen you as a Powerhouse of strength
Kissing away our tears and infusing hope in us.
The intimacy I share with my younger sister
Surpasses all other ties and is too deep for words
Ever and anon, through smiles and giggles,
Through every twist and turn of life,
We were (are) together as a pair of twins,
Prodding each other to move ahead
This garland of words with much love
I hang on the portrait of my mom
______________________________
June. 23.2022
~Placed First~
Women in My Family Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Sotto Poet
Mad Max and the Thunderdome
Matinee at the brand new cine
money for tickets but little else
Indeed we had not any
my purse the repository
Each a burger and coke
finding the theater empty
Look it's ours,in union spoke
Finding a tier of few chairs
Simultaneously we plopped
Only to find them unbolted to floor
As our secreted foodstuffs we dropped
Onions flagrantly scenting the air
Our toes to the ceiling
Without any flair
cans of coke rolling away without care
Hurriedly jumping to feet
Scrambling contraband to secrete
Cat back in the bag before usher arrived
Offering free popcorn, SAAWEET.
The Wardrobe.
shrine of memories,
disguise dressing room...
Guards my life
daily,
festive,
funeral...
Each outfit a character....
A cross-dressing artist,
but never repository
of me... naked... natural!
Human Beings In the image and likeness of the Creator
Now the nature of being Creator is eternal,
and ephemeral the nature of men
moving in the movement of the diverse.
Men are like riddles
Without wings, they can fly up to the sky and they are the repository of knowledge.
equal in number to the stars,
but they don't shine at night.
Unpredictable although they constantly seek that brilliance invoking the help of gods and goddesses,
mute idols of clay by the way
Mere Human Beings In the image and likeness of the Creator-
Men, if the created copy agrees with the original
so that each one of them reaches the highest perfection
the copy must become an ally not only of perfections but of various pleasures and satisfactions.
Man cannot see the reluctant and unsociable nature of the other in himself, neither the defects nor the lack of understanding.
So ... the original or the copy. What is finally the most authentic?
Until the end of time, Creation and The Riddle will remain
The weeping came late
After we lost the pearl of heart
With the cruel twist of fate
Death arrived and made us part.
Voices cry when anguish dictates,
The unheard, unanswered repository.
Where the cold wind breathes
A message exhales into the foggy fray.
Sadly, beautiful I remember the day,
Freedom is the essence of despair,
We were sad when you went away,
Delirious and unaware.
How time releases the brave soul
And gave joy to the eyes of the world
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