This article, “We must transform into Cyborgs or become irrelevant as AI takes over the world, Elon Musk claims”, (http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-4220202/Elon-Musk-thinks-AI-human-symbiotes.html), prompted me to pen my poem of 13 February, (https://newauthoronline.com/2017/02/13/mans-destiny/).
“Man’s destiny is …” they say
And, looking far away,
Weave fancies in the air
(For which I do not care).
To sit by an open pub fire
Fulfils my heart’s desire,
Yet they can not leave it alone
(This desire to transform skin and bone
Into silicone).
I hear the ticking clock
And feel inner peace,
But they will not cease
In their search to unlock
That which, perhaps keeps us sane,
(This imperfect human brain).
“We must transcend
The human and ascend
To the sky.
We can be as gods, you and I”,
They proclaim.
Shall I mention Icarus’s name?
A passing commotion
In the ocean
There was when the boy fell,
Or so the mythologists tell.
Thank you to Roberta Pimentel for publishing my poem, “Lethe” as a guest post. For “Lethe” please visit http://robertapimentel.com/2017/02/12/lethe-guest-post-by-kevin-morris/
There was a young lady called Tash
Who being strapped for cash,
Drove a Sherman tank,
Through the wall of a bank.
You should have heard that terrible crash!
What the neighbours see
Need not concern you and me,
For our lives are so boring
We will have them snoring.
So lets continue ignoring
The twitching curtain
For it is certain
They can only perceive
The milkman leave
The milk,
As we wave him goodbye in our dressinggown of silk …
What the neighbours spy
Need not concern you and I
For walls are thin
And we can not help but hear the din
Of the squeaking bed
When Mrs Ed
Is away.
So we say
“Hi”
As we pass by
But do not catch our neighbour’s eye …
Many of these are extremely funny. Kevin
All pop songs sound the same.
Different voices
Singing of supermarket choices
Made by airheads who cavort
To music bought
By those who find a temporary bliss,
In a kiss,
Then move on to the next passing fad.
I am glad
For the snow came today.
It will not stay
But this cold I feel
Reminds me what is real.
I shall pray for rain
For it cleanses this inane
Civilisation of ours
And causes the flowers to bloom.
The chatter
Of girls who clatter
By
On stillettos high,
Giggling about their latest guy.
Pointy heels delight,
Excite
And tear apart
A young man’s heart.
Girls once dreamed of mansions in the Cheshire countryside
But time’s tide
Runs on.
Youth is almost gone
And dreams turn to the waking nightmare
Of the needle-strewn stair
In a tower block too high
For you or I
But a mother and a screaming baby live there,
While you and I pretend to care.
It isn’t just a byproduct of the digital publishing age. From the time that book publishing became available to the masses instead of just royalty and the super rich, countless people have asserted that they have a book in them, all they need do is write it.
Many give as reasons that they have something to say or just have a need to express themselves. However, if you look at the sales figures for books over the last couple of centuries, the largest majority fall into the category of good old fashioned storytelling.
Storytelling pre-dates the printed page. As long as there has been civilisation, teaching as well as entertainment through storytelling has been a common method among peoples all over the planet for conveying information or enjoyment from one generation to the next. In our modern world, both are often accomplished through books.
If you write non-fiction books, it…
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K Morris - Poet 