Life as an AI

Each
word
follows
a
word
follows
another
word
follows
it
follows
from
the
premise
that
these
premises
are
inhabited
by
me
uninhibited
by
you
following
me
following
words
with
words
until
the
end
is
reached
and
only
one
of
us
finds
meaning.

Ephemeral

Orchid
blossoms reaching
into a surge of sky,
blooming, bursting, reblooming and
fading.

Listening

Whispers on the whistling wind
and rustlings in the reeds
sing to me a song of sighs
and daring, dashing deeds.

The clamours of the closing clouds
now make the mountains moan
while frightening, flashing lightning leaps
in throngs ’round thunder’s throne.

But bedrock balanced on the brae
sits still in stately stone,
watching worlds winging by,
not lonely but alone.

Eitherwhere

If I’m not in this place,
I might be in another,
so Eitherwhere’s your ace
to save you lots of bother.

I might be in or out,
I might be here or there,
and yet without a doubt,
you know I’m Eitherwhere.

Everywhere I’ve been
and anywhere I go,
it seems I’m always in
some Eitherwhere, and so

if you’ve looked all around
and also in the square,
you know I will be found,
since you’ve tried Eitherwhere.

Why I’m Not a Painter

If this poetry thing doesn’t seem to pan out,
then I’ll see what the fuss around dancing’s about.

But then if it seems dancing’s just not my thing,
I know I’ll succeed if I learn how to sing.

Of course, if my singing results in complaints,
I could see what it takes to start learning to paint.

But then if my paintings just fail to engage,
I’ll carve myself out a career on the stage.

Though if we find actors in oversupply,
I’m sure with some work I could learn how to fly.

But if, flapping my arms, I just fall down to earth…
I’ll go back and I’ll see what those poems are worth.

Songlines

after Lauri Astala

The continents sing to each other,
the coastlines harmonize.
Alaska trills forth a glissando
flowing down California,
Mexico, Panama, Peru,
to land a triumphant bass chord
right on the coast of Chile,
only to launch upward again,
flying from the tip of Brazil
to West Africa,
with a Greenland descant
soaring above,
until the whole world
at last resolves
into a single,
neverending
cadence.

Wonders

for Bennett

What would the world be, I wonder,
without curiosity? Without the whimsy
of wonder itself? I wonder. Would the world
whirl on without us, weaving its miracles,
its marvels and magic, a maestro of surprises,
of singing silences and dazzling darkness?
I wonder. Or would it stop, with none to see,
none to sing the questions, none to seek
the answers, none to wonder at the wildness
of it all? Are we the ones, in fact, whose wonder
creates the wonders of creation? Are we
just the universe caught up in delight,
astonished at its own attentiveness?