Repository Poems | Examples

AI miscellany

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

Until my demise

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

My device

My device

 I have created a repository of knowledge of nature and life within myself.
 In order to realize the good and strong transfer and production of all the accumulated knowledge...
 And to propagate it from the device...
 I started using it in the celestial field.


 The power of the gods was in the power of this device.
 He was showing the spread of the feeling of love with his gases.
 I wanted it to slowly carry production and life into infinity with its endless creativity power.
 However, after using my device too much, they did not want it and my device was destroyed.

If It Wasn't For Poetry

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

Weekend Recitation

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

Drop the Crop

.
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.

Zen Butterfly

     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

Prose As Poetry

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

Deja View

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

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!

Priory Woods 2022

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

 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

Adventures In Childrearing

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.

Wardrobe

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!

The Creation and the Riddle

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

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