Playing A Poem (a collaboration with AI)
(Gemini) A whisper stirs on strings,
a lonely cry,
(me) resin on the bow,
she closes her eyes to sing
(Gemini) A melody unfurls,
a tapestry of sound,
(me) Knitted and knotted,
each note, unbound
(Gemini) Whispers crescendo,
a storm in a teacup's heart,
(me) The listener settles in, closes eyes,
finds the center of the sound
(Gemini) Harmony drapes them,
a cloak of calm
(me) On the horizon, a trombone
plays soft and low
(Gemini) A distant call,
a yearning melody's glow
(me) And beneath our feet,
a rhythmic beat, sticks on stone
(Gemini) Mirroring the rhythm,
finding their own space,
(me) In grace, the music
makes light
Conversation with Gemini AI: https://g.co/gemini/share/4e0316c0bcf2
Green lady
in the harbor
with a lantern
and a poem,
a reminder
of those of us,
restlessly yearning
to breathe free
for MastoPrompt
Huddled together
on a frigid wintry morn,
bundled up in warmth
I celebrate the song –
the moment it sings itself,
the way it whispers itself free,
as melodic to me, as it is
to you, too
for Open Write
(Playing with Walt Whitman a bit)
Some Dandelions
act as Spring lanterns, glowing
in the concrete cracks
How old are you
when you receive
this poem?
I am sixteen
years old
You're wide awake,
now, I remember,
the home shaken
by that midnight call
on the phone
I am sixteen
years old
Your parents,
woken, rushed out,
in their panic -
they've left
you alone
I am sixteen
years old
You know, in
this moment
of pounding heart
and uncertainty,
without being told
I am sixteen
years old
that the world's
been splintered,
like the tree you'll see,
down the bend
in the road
I am sixteen
years old
And he was
nineteen
for OpenWrite
Sit with me, won't you,
in our quiet spot, serene,
beneath the green eaves?
Something in
the brain broke
in the middle
of a line -
one second,
we knew it;
the next,
we did not -
their words
bent suddenly
into a long breath
of gibberish -
like speaking
in tongues -
And something
like that, Lord?
Something like
that, in someone
so young?
for OpenWrite
Mash-It-Up Poem
A trip to Laredo is like breaking open the sky.
Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker's man
Each long row of wheat meets the eye
Bake me a cake as fast as you can
before it sloughs into desert, where the occasional hawk,
Roll it, pat it
in a few concentric turns, identifies a weak movement.
and mark it with a B
I know this place. The place in between.
for OpenWrite
With lines borrowed from 'Eating the Moon in Cotulla, TX' by Analicia Sotelo and Pat-A-Cake nursery rhyme
https://poets.org/poem/eating-moon-cotulla-tx
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pat-a-cake,_pat-a-cake,_baker%27s_man
The Great Misplacement;
Where the snow has gone and left
ski pants on hangers
for Algot