sure we are like gods
we created a machine
that fears its own death
Posts Tagged ‘modern poetry’
Fraught
Posted in Hi Tech, Poetry, tagged ai, creative writing, Google, lambda, modern poetry, Poetry on 16 Jun 2022| Leave a Comment »
As We Pass
Posted in Culture, Poetry, tagged creative writing, grief, loss, modern poetry, mourning, Poetry, Writing on 09 Jun 2022| Leave a Comment »
in the passenger seat,
on a narrow country road,
my window rolled down,
the scent of warm grass thickens the air
beyond a low fence,
a gathering in black wool,
silent but for ritual words,
meaningless intonations of finality
as we draw near,
time congeals like aspic,
heat rises in dreamlike waves,
flowers wilt in reverent clumps
the surrounding faces
are strangers whom I know,
fugitives on the same path,
dogged by the same relentless pursuers
pain, sharp-edged,
a new reality that dawns
as the loved one stolen
is set into the receiving earth
near the center
one mourner stands,
brow blank, eyes questioning:
Who am I, without you?
as we pass
time releases us,
our hearts resume their muffled beat,
and we yearn for the peace of simple things
Grief is a Small Room
Posted in Creativity, Poetry, tagged grief, modern poetry, Poetry, tragedy on 02 Jun 2022| Leave a Comment »
Grief is a small room
one door: closed
one window: shuttered
four walls
ceiling
room enough for
me
one chair
a thousand thoughts
and a million questions
that begin with
Why . . . ?
Ratiocination
Posted in Creativity, Poetry, Writing, tagged current events, depression, modern poetry, Poetry on 31 Mar 2022| 1 Comment »
I am made mute,
the words struck from my mouth
by the unfathomable.
The world’s gyre spins,
casting lucid reason
into the dizzy vortex.
We cannot see,
having doused the light
for what it might reveal.
Fear is our all,
leading from temperate sense
to blistering fireworks.
Answers are lost,
along with their questions
as knowledge becomes foe.
Bereft, I reel,
accompanied by emptied thoughts
about the stolen same.
Tears are useless,
for I am wept out
and the world is a sponge.
I long for sleep,
for dreams untroubled by dark terrors,
a retreat from what I cannot control.
But wishes fail,
and the tragedy of this circus
continues unceasing.
So I hold tight,
cherishing bits of trust
and blink at each morning’s sun.
Hopes of Spring
Posted in Creativity, Poetry, Writing, tagged haiku, modern poetry, Poetry, spring, ukraine on 17 Mar 2022| Leave a Comment »
I Need a New Word
Posted in Creativity, Culture, Poetry, Politics, tagged creative writing, glory to ukraine, modern poetry, Poetry, ukraine, Writing on 10 Mar 2022| 1 Comment »
I need a new word
for the conflict that
rages within me
I need a word
for the feeling that hits
when I see
a response to force
so primal
so basic
so innately human
yet
so brave
so admirable
so worthy of honor
that
I become a forge
a crucible filled with
heart and spleen
love for the spirit
hatred for the reason
This alloy of
love and anger
horror and awe
this reactive nexus to
the best
and worst
of humanity
surely deserves
a word of its own
k
Drumbeats
Posted in Poetry, tagged cold war, creative writing, hot war, modern poetry, Poetry, russia, sanctions, ukraine, Writing on 23 Feb 2022| Leave a Comment »
from beyond our horizon
comes the sound
tympanic booms
savage rumbling
the faraway growl
of stomachs hungry for
power
control
more
so we fret
with brows furrowed
in cultivated concern
whilst
we mumble apologia and
with clucking tongues
serve imported tea
at finely-set tables
but that thrum
that urgent pulsation
to our distant friends
is the pounding of fists
on skins stretched taut
a percussive temblor
shaking hearts and lands
a crescendo of chaos
building
to the cymbal’s crash
to rimshot snares
to the xylophonic dance of bones
once was a time
this selfsame song
danced upon the breeze
a faint and subtle rhythm
we listened and
with pallid interest
chose to admire
the musician’s technique
rather than critique
the tune
but the cacophony spread
and others took up the noise
until the world shrieked
through those bloody measures
and millions vanished
beneath the grinding treads
of war
in time
we wrote a coda
to the obscene chorale
having learned
that for some
more
is never
enough