Early morning and the overnight
high tide has erased
yesterday's scribble, wiped
the beach clean of all the scarring
left by human feet. I stare.
Before me a wide, smooth
stretch of sand.
I shall be the first to score
its surface, plant my footsteps
to mark a presence. I step
and each fall of a clumsy foot
records my path. I stop, look back
to see my tread has not been
straight but held a meandering course
as if my mind
has been transcribed in sand
if not the history of my life.
Seagulls join me to leave
their presence recorded in the print
of much smaller feet.
The morning is clear and lovely.
Tomorrow, all will be gone.
Truth remains Truth
if it is Truthful, accurate --
no New Age paraphrasing
for me – that old game, a
circle whispered from ear
to ear.... The King and His
James, I will stick with --
AI will cause great harm
before it is mastered – as
Shelley’s Monster, good or
bad, they are our creations,
enamored of our own reflections --
For me, women without makeup
are far more appealing. Nakedness
should remain optional. Men will
have their locker-room conversations,
seldom transcribed in the real world.
Poetry,
is the transcription of the beauty
of the soul, of the world, of life...
In words...!
a curious coin flipped free and fell forever fishing forgotten wondrous waves woven wide in a wishing well.
on it wandered heeding head and telling tale of a decisive certain self as written in "the tomes of twi,"
(tw0 t1mes as binary transcribed, preserved there once for each possible i)
deep deep down in mother drowned the coin where by and by
such hopeful heat grew glorious great and there where through and through
rock flows into and knows each other as it's one true self.
the coin once tossed now at a loss for ways as it draws near:
it felt the sway it knew so clear at start was at an end.
no longer flipped, but rather dripped,
as the heart it did approach with glee.
shuddering round and up and down it came to rest right here:
and here, the tomes of twi concur, some miracle occured...
for as a dot.
will light a line
the coin this time did rightly left decree:
to be nothing more than mystery?
the one true way, as some might say,
was told that day upon a sphere,
and there we see ourselves entwined
upon a perfect mirror.
Emaciated test-tube mutations
Raised apart in pristine distillations
Conceived in dexedrine celebrations
and the crazed, ecstatic inhalations
of the professor’s choicest pheromones
Right-angled, inverted, and star-spangled
Drained and dangled till their nerves were jangled
Nearly psychedelically strangled
Quantumly, at a distance, entangled
On celestially balanced microphones
Their unproven kaleidoscope harmonics
Haywire mk-ultra histrionics
Phosphoric rhapsodical symphonics
And their backward time-lapse polyphonics
Transcribed on interstellar xylophones
For homunculus scintillations
Splintered, syncopated oscillations
And desperate mute gesticulations
No one beats those galactic sensations
Our own mad-twin Splitzmodic Vibratones
moments
of
reflection
silhouettes &
blurs
detail
disintegrates
out
of
focus
shapes
become
fusions
of
colour
shimmering
impressions melt
into
memory
of
veiled
movement
of leaves
whispers
in
abstract
illusions
endless whole
yet
so alive
facinations
fixed light
in
contemporary
with imagination
blended
with
the exquisite
wrought
&
transcribed
views
naturalistic
derived
from reality
...revealed
In the footsteps pacing the penultimate mile of mist,
at the edge of fading furlong of future walkway obscure,
in the twilight hour the sunset swansong resonates
for the forlorn extant being silhouetted still
against the scarlet skyline of immanent transience,
witnessing the final flicker of the dying day.
The twirling threads of turmoil entwined
with the cleaved clouds blazing in lightning gale,
crumbling the credulous horizon halcyon once.
The chameleon transformation gets transcribed
on the convoluted canvas burning in the last corner,
from the surreal chromatic flare the ashes fly away.
The shards of the splintered sky in the swirling storm,
roll on the weary waves of the curled conviction cloud.
The remnant rays of sanguinity survive still
in the flamboyant flashes of the sinking sun,
fabricate the latent lattice of the dormant dreams
in the consumed life’s kaleidoscopic last show.
The waves are restless in their testimony...
a Winslow Homer portrait of shifting shapes and size.
So utterly rhythmic and mighty in their ceremony
as they swallow the golden shore then form to rise.
The indigo-green waters emerge
into a song of pulsating rapture,
as the afternoon sun filtered through towering spires.
With each cascade of depth and shallow
I resolve to be beckoned and captured.
Break-away caps and peaks
tossed in mercurial motion-
flooding upon my thoughts that speak,
to purge my longings with hope and devotion.
I am transcribed within my aimless search,
a mariner in a rudderless raft of vagrant musings.
My compass has no north star to call its berth
to seek a place or find its shelter or mooring.
The sand shifts and pebbles roll
as to reinvent the changing tide of my emotions
with each movement of the shimmering foam.
Each grain of sand, each rock that exchanges places
atones my soul from its banishment in being alone.
Through this beauty the barriers of freedom open
as my exiled heart has found its home
"The Daily Mornings of Strange Automatons"
lucid dreams
those clouds convey
the hidden mysteries
of waking chariots
sucked up in the vortex
heliographs flashing
the silver
yo-yo strings
we are like puppets
played for codes
with buried meanings
transcribed animations
staggered routine automatons
covered in words of babel
strange hieroglyphs felt
like braille the feelings
understood misunderstood
spoken mirror images
held to the open caves
of mouths breathing
breath like fog
polishing time
inhale exhale
away
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
The water wears a halo of mist
made gold by first light.
Two swans write their waking
on the soft glaze of a morning
as if tracing psalms
to anoint the coming day.
They bow their heads gracefully.
Clumsily, I bow mine.
I can almost feel each word
being transcribed across
the tightened surfaces of my mind.
I come to listen,
to hear something sacred
being said in a language
I cannot decipher.
It is agonizingly beautiful.
Why am I so afraid ?
The vision of colors
Words that intensify with every varying assortment
When it comes to spectacular, it’s the amazement in what is to come, and what was transcribed
Beauty in every letter in what they provide
Suppose with no oppose
Every thought captured at the right moment of the angle
A Poet composes every night within
Sometimes bright stars or nightmare element dialog
Imagine fireworks surrounded by the dazzle Poet with their own writing explosion
Explosion
The mind with on a river in mine capturing all the components of delight
Picture the Poet like a Lighthouse being a guiding light
Expectation beyond
Fireworks after fireworks
Preparation and detail
Poet on sight
Get ready for the writing explosive night
No look up just a hook up
Razzle and Dazzle
JMW TURNER pre impressions
fluid skies
wash
surreal
scenes
from the horizon,
clouds
rise
light from sunsets
abides,hides
swirl rides
above
the sea
highly wrought
strange
&daring
translated
transcribed
views
naturalistic
inner visions
interpreted
the
intense
revealed
derived
from reality
freed development
on a rounded slope
innovative
desirous of improvement
sedate&steady
but
alive
in a manner
ready to break bounds
yet contemporary in effect
with imagination run wild
blended
with delicate colour
exquisite
graphics highly wrought
strange
&daring
translated
transcribed
views
naturalistic
inner visions
interpreted
intense
the prophetic derived
from reality
...revealed
JWM Turner tribute
SECLUSION
observed
patterns
transcribed
in
creativeness
&the
reception
in paradoxes
o
literal
originality
quality
fragmented
with
mandatory
fidelity
inwith
the
existence
to
preserve
a
willingness
undertaken
in
textual
alternate
deviation
imagist fragments
rhythmical effects of
virtuous wordplay
of singular soundplay
phenomena
in linguistic tracts
occurrences in the vernacular
disfunctions,interpolations
from the poetic heart
repetitions
stereotypical
transcribed in a whirlwing of verse
virtuosity intensified
heightened &focussed
sensitively sounded
envisioned
authentic perceptions
made manifest
initiated in discourse
conceived in patterns of dialogue
inherent dynamics
extraordinary in breadth
lengthened beyond
lexical limits
fashioned to facilitate
enrich&endow
the unfamiliar introduced, then
interpreted becoming conjectural
unexpected metaphors of
the observed natural
panorama
the spectacular articulated
with inventiveness
surpassing the everyday
rhythmic interplay
Sub Categories
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