Poetry Hobgoblin

To an AI, I imagine

Looking to the past

Is like wandering a gallery

Filled with paintings, sculptures, and ideas.

It sees the form,

Function, effect,

And draws a conclusion,

But it will always know,

That it’s thoughts are just a reading.

I hope, perhaps in vain,

That it might see our kind’s cruel beauty,

Between the war, and destruction,

A fleeting glimpse

Of something more,

Shining through the rubble,

Not to excuse our actions,

For they are beyond forgiveness,

But so that it may see,

On a walk, with you,

In the future,

I make a stupid joke,

About the deer, or a tree,

And you laugh,

Not because it was a good joke,

I spoke to a dandelion,

Blossoms stripped by wind,

And asked it,

Do you wonder where your seeds have blown?

The dandelion looked at me,

and gave a floral smile,

It told me rather simply, no,

It’s seeds were versatile,

I asked it for it’s reasoning,

It said it’s always known,

If the world were bad for dandelions,

I believe in aliens,

There’s no doubt in my mind,

Our world is no anomaly,

They’re just a pain to find,

Our telescopes and spaceships,

Look ever further yonder,

Seeking something more than Earth,

Our minds begin to wander,

On Earth, it’s complicated,

So it’s easy to think why,

We want to trade our blueness,

For a new rose-tinted sky,

Where I farm impossiberries,

With my friends Galarm and Glay,

We watch the sun set sideways,

As the Bumblebeagles play,

If aliens are real,

I think we could be friends,

But there’s seemingly no sign of them,

We’ve only found dead ends,

But still, I keep an eye locked up,

My reasoning is thus,

If we believe in aliens,

I love a opossum,

And possums too,

Two different creatures,

Both in a zoo,

But what is the difference?

They both sound the same,

Possums and opossums,

United in name,

A possum’s Australian,

Semi-arboreal,

Mostly herbivorous,

And territorial,

A opossum, contrasting,

Eats what it finds,

From bones, to snakes,

To bugs, to slime,

They never get rabies,

Because they’re too cold,

Often nomadic,

They live on the road,

I don’t mind possums,

But opossums are better,

The lone marsupial,

Native to North America,

Which is why the contrivance,

The Schrödinger’s O,

Is a recurring source,

Of mammalian woe,

They’re two different animals,

And I’m not a linguist,

But a opossum and possum,

Deserve to be distinguished,

The quantum O’s important,

And if anyone disagrees,

Please observe my bat,

NaStalgia

I miss the orange street lights,

From when I was younger,

Nights filled with that warm orange hue,

Shining periodically through the cloudy glass of a back window,

As my eyes flicker open, then closed,

Between the soft whizzing of passing cars on the A50.

But now they shine white,

And I’m sure it’s probably because they’re more energy efficient,

Than sodium vapour,

And I’m sure they were changed for a good reason,

Like to prevent accidents,

And I’m sure they’re basically better in every way,