These lines
were not generated by anybody’s AI or chatty chatbot
that’s been programmed with an algorithm
to simulate a human rhythm,
and mass produce original poems.
These flawed and never-ending searches for meaning
are entirely my own,
filled with foibles,
invented words,
mixed metaphors,
remote rhymes,
and cracked cadences that sometimes stop, start, turn,
and veer right over the center line.
There is no master machine driving this car—
just a crazy old man behind the wheel
who writes about whatever whim or whisp
strikes a chord or tickles a funny bone,
or helps sort through the wash of emotion
or digest a tidbit of life:
something someone says,
a look on a friend’s face,
or a lingering line from a book.
Fragments floating like flotsam,
half-baked thoughts,
stray sounds with no words,
words with no sounds,
beginnings with no ends,
ends with no beginnings,
and middles with neither,
all send me on a chase to pull the thread,
untangle the tangle,
and see what’s on the other end.
I can’t come up with a split-second response,
but need days or weeks to process a moment,
and even then,
piles of poems litter the landscape,
and raging rivers of words
pour into the wastebasket and overflow their banks.
No, no bot haunts this house,
only a disorganized, but creative mind lives here.
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Larry, nobody should ever question the integrity and legitimacy of your Friday afternoon literary output! In today’s world, there is an enhanced desire for honest, sincere communication in politics, the arts, and in our various communities. Sometimes you wear your heart on your sleeve, often you find humour in the mundane, but always you enlighten! Our Friday’s wouldn’t be complete without your email. Thank you! R
definitely strikes a cord and brings a smile