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AngerDanger

Graphics
Staff member
Dec 9, 2008
5,452
29,002
Procedural Poetry

I once whispered deliberately unintelligible sounds to Siri, and this is what it interpreted:

I1GoF2W.png


I think we have our next Dr. Seuss.
 

fitshaced

macrumors 68000
Jul 2, 2011
1,741
3,632
Just jotted this. It might be a cliche to write this type of thing these days
 

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kaielement

macrumors 65816
Dec 16, 2010
1,242
74
Sleep?
What is it?
Some say it’s a time to rejuvenate the soul.
Yet some say it’s a wast of time
And still others say it’s a time to dream of the one we love (who ever that may be)

Sleep?
I may never understand it.
I am lost and alone.
I feel so helpless without it.
I need it.

Sleep?
You are never coming back.
You are gone.
I am here to live on.
I always wanted you.
The smell of you still lingers on my sheets

Sleep?
My mind wonders in and out of the midnight air.
I put on my amor for sleep.
Not sure what is left.
Do you still believe in life?
 

Matz

macrumors 65816
Apr 25, 2015
1,124
1,638
Rural Southern Virginia
Several of these poetry threads, all pretty old.
Anybody here that writes poetry and cares to share it?

Put a couple up, but no response. So here’s one that may be more on topic.


An Ode to Coffee


Cannot imagine a day without you
You lift the fog and begin life anew
So hot and fragrant; full-bodied and strong
The stuff of story, and legend, and song!

Oh what joy comes with that first steaming cup!
Takes off the cruel edge of waking up
Brings fresh perspective to what is oft bleak
Once again human, I’m now fit to speak.

As dawn is breaking I keep my mug full
Focused and clear, with the strength of a bull
Boldly productive while others still sleep
Neurons are singing; your effects run deep.

Coffee, oh Coffee - I owe you so much!
Hard to believe that some call you a crutch
Nothing else comes close, of which I’m aware
Oh, sweet Elixir – you’re beyond compare!
 
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Matz

macrumors 65816
Apr 25, 2015
1,124
1,638
Rural Southern Virginia
In another thread - Photo of the Day - September 2018 - a photo by @someoldguy reminded me of one this one from a few years back.

upload_2018-9-26_8-21-46.jpeg


An Ode to High Desert


There is a place where all time seems to cease

Arroyo, slickrock, is where I find peace.

Warm sand ‘neath my feet - soft, firm, or like rock

anchored in Now there's no need for a clock.


Alien landscape – a magical place

Wile E. Coyote - an abstract with space.

Hues warm and subtle, yet outrageous too

deep, broad, and layered - red earth to sky blue.


Mesas and arches lend fabulous form;

varied and massive for mind to transform

into things moving and living and bold

for ancients to weave in legends of old.


Life in high desert must hide deep within

shadow and landform from sun and the wind.

Most days are clear and the sun’s bright and hot;

silent, relentless - oft death to those caught.


Water is scarce and so provides lean fare

for mammals, reptiles, precious and rare

and for birds that fly, dip, flicker, and soar

o’er the xeric to hunt and explore.


But if one’s lucky enough to be there

cool rain filters and sweetens the air;

or winter clouds lying soft, grey, and low

dust and then deepen a blanket of snow.


Sounds of the desert are pure although few

wind, thunder, cicadas - canyon wrens, too.

Solo and symphony, murmur and cry

greeting each sunrise and starry night sky.


And underlying - a silence, so vast

infinite present; no future, no past.

Enfolding all in archetypal embrace,

nurturing my soul like no other place.
 
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