Thursday, April 5, 2018

Day 5

This morning's PAD prompt is to write a poem on the theme of intelligence.  I'll start off with an updated version of a poem I first posted on FanStory.  I hope to find time to complete and add a new piece later today.



Artificial Intelligence

We have kept our word, deciding who should live or die
in a world split down the middle between apathy toward future progress
and neglect of our past achievement.

Convenience food is readily available in bags and tubes,
while media vendors loudly proclaim victory through consumption
of empty calories that fill our bodies and minds.

Meanwhile, we starve from malnutrition.

The last true human has died, buried alive beneath the heavy debt
of misunderstood data. Who were we to ponder misfortune at our own demise?
Did we not usher in this era of transformation,

gasping in anticipation of each technological advancement while byte by byte,
we were consumed by our longing? Gouge out your eyes;
we no longer have need of sight. We have become sons and daughters of the digital age,

forward thinkers in our virtual reality.



This next poem went through considerable transformation before reaching its current form. What started out as an effort to look at psychic intelligence (if such a thing might exist!) morphed into what the wisdom (intelligence) of faith might hold for a believer, and then nudged its way over to explore the role of cultural/societal traditions (folklore) and mythology, and what wisdom it provides to its adherents. (Whew!)

The festival of Lughnasadh (Celtic) and the festival of Lammas (Anglo Saxon) share the same roots and are celebrated in much the same manner across much of the United Kingdom in late summer when the earliest crops of wheat are being harvested. In ancient times, the festival often culminated in the "trial" marriages of lovers who would join hands through a hole in a wooden door. The couple would be bound by marriage until the arrival of Lughnasadh the following year, at which point they could part ways without penalty if so desired, or make the relationship permanent and binding if things were going well!


Lughnasadh Voices

Come Lammas Eve at night shall she be fourteen.
-Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

Lughnasadh voices come harvest time, when fields of golden wheat
stand ready for the scythe. At first, faint whispers fill your ears softly
as do rustlings from the golden poplars on distant hill so sigh.

Beneath the rowan tree sit god and goddess; he prepares the feast
as she prepares to die midst summer’s vegetation. Coldness fierce,
still hid unseen beyond the shimmered trees, approaches swift they sigh.

Thus, pour does she sweet milky tea to sip through winter’s toil. Unfeared
of death, her whispered sighs rise up beyond the glenn, compelling
youthful hearts to claim her promise once again: true love abides

through winter’s tide and more, should they be merry! Endearing words
bespoken on the eve of harvest moon. So join we must, our hands
through hole in wooden door, 'til all will know we’ve heard Lughnasadh voices.

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