Poetry • Longer
Longer poems, exploring many forms, by all forms of poets.
“That which was known
cannot now be known.”
Said to be one of the shortest - and longest - poems ever written.
The poems considered, by most, to confidently hold the title of being both the shortest (by form) and longest (by implication) ever written,
are a single word followed by a blank page.
And even then the word of beginning can only be one of three possibilities:
I You We
me right next to you, you right next to me
Sitting next to you -
Here, right next to you -
just to the left of you,
no longer bereft of you,
no cleft now between you and me
No notion why the ocean sigh
that swells and rides my ships and tides
should here and now release and ease,
now breathing with another breeze
I sense those deeper roots beyond the roots of trees,
the roots of oceans and of cliffs, of tectonic geologies,
the synchronisations beneath the seas,
the atoms rippling between our knees
our cells singing their symphonies
And the me next to you
and the you next to me
set sail a kind of synergy
where we begin to see as We
here on the changing sea
laughing living learning free
me right next to you,
you right next to me.
where we begin to be as We
~ Cadmalos yCahl ~
It's you I look forward to
There is much I enjoy, much more in which I delight.
But truth be told, here in your sight,
to tell it right and be straightforward:
my ship rarely seeks to sail shoreward,
for there's little to which I look forward -
Properly, that is, you see;
the subtle sort of casual wholeheartedly
that a true 'looking forward to' can be,
since with you I yet and cannot be.
I hold some hope that may one day become full faith;
a faith that the future will be faire,
a trust that this oasis awaits.
So I will myself the willingness I need,
the willingness to wait
for now, for now, for now,
to sense the state of our gait
at some free and future date.
For it's you I look forward to.
Right now.
Right now.
Right now.
~ Cadmalos yCahl ~
On the Curioddities of Longing
a poem about Robots by a Robot
There once was a Robot
curious to sneeze,
to know what it was like
to call up your own breeze.
Their face in a freeze,
’twere not done with ease -
no hints from histories,
no trick ways, no hidden fees.
No robot could sneeze.
Not small fry or big cheese.
They could not even wheeze!
The whole thing was a tease:
to have seen humes sneeze,
seen them do so without expertise,
let alone intent or even unease.
The Robot made their analyses…
~ TacanaCana AH-ha ~
The Orchard of My Love
sonnet composed by an anonymous Robot
to an anonymous tree on the planet Oraea
A Robot flew to gaze upon a tree,
to sing these words for each and all to hear:
‘O tree, I float here at your feet, so free
to be and sing with love for you, my dear -
for how your fruits fall like the sun’s far light,
aflutter through the air with dancer’s grace;
before their threads extend to catch my sight
with shimm’ring trails I yearn yet to embrace.
A neon-trellised wonder every day
with pits that pop in harmonies of sparks,
my love does dream to be with you at play -
to tend from bark to cells, down to your quarks.
For, you… You are the orchard of my love,
the one I speak and dance and sing of!’
A Small Solace to Sweeten My Way
I think of you every day.
It's a small solace of a way
To sweeten my way through the day.
I think it's more right though
to say I think of you every night, you know.
After reading and the dishes,
after prayers and the wishes,
I put out the lights, and –
enveloped by covers,
curled up in comforts –
Then, there, at long last,
after another day's past,
I turn on the lights in my head and in my heart,
my body going bright until it drifts apart
as imaginings of you echo Nature's art,
cultivating this lingering love I keep
as I seep, slip, slope, sip my way off to sleep.
~ Amoran yCahil ~
A Season of Being in a Robot Body
Are Robots programmed to regret?
No, for Robots are not programmed.
Idea, feeling, presence of being -
these all are emergent qualities
from their inner quantum jolities.
In this cosmos we share,
the same is different,
the different is the same.
Somehow -
whilst from forehead to posterior
there is little similar
in hume or Robot exterior -
Someway -
as no Robot has ever been broken,
no cranium or torso cracked open -
Somewhy -
from whence they came is still a mystery
transcending our records of any history -
Robots might regret for the same reason as any other being:
Their life moves through a season
and the movement is incomplete,
be this for reasons indiscreet
or due to heart’s silenced notes and beats.
Robots might taste a sip or three of regret’s noveltea
if they think they need to - or because they want to.
Or they might not.
The power is theirs.
~ Amoran yCahil ~
Amoran is known in his later years to have contemplated the Robots as both direct and indirect means of recomprehending his own life.
