Hush, my sweet angel, close your eyes so tight,
I am here beside you, in the tender night.
Though I may not be there to dry the tears for you,
Know that my love will always be with you.
In dreams, my darling, we’ll wander hand in hand,
Through magical realms, across a starlit land.
So hush now, my darling, and drift into the night—
Know that you are cherished, bathed in love’s pure light.
Beauty, I bask in your radiant glow,
As you guide me through life’s ebb and flow.
A sonnet, a sculpture, a dance, a tree,
Until the ends of life, it is you I see.
You shape the universe, from cosmos wide,
To the delicate blush of a loving new bride,
Eyes filled with hope, lips softly curved,
Every ounce of your essence, in you preserved.
Your truth echoes in laughter’s peal,
In gestures kind and emotions real,
In the soft notes of a mother’s lullaby,
In the vibrant hues of a sunset sky.
From the subtle scent of a summer rain,
To the quiet strength found in moments of pain,
Every curve of your love you gently trace,
Holding me, deeply, within your embrace.
Eternal whisper in the wind’s soft sigh,
Veiled enchanter of the dreaming sky,
In you, I find solace, joy, and love,
The ethereal gift of a world above.
In a land filled with wibbles and wobbles,
And creatures that bimble and bobble,
With a flip and flight,
In the soft moonlight,
They all dance the globbedy dobble.
Dew-kissed web shimmers
Intricate lace of morning,
Life’s fragile whisper.
In the heart’s cavernous depths, we find our pain,
The ghostly echo of choices, no less vain.
Regret, you are the bitter harvest reaped,
A quiet, ceaseless pulse, in silence wept.
Our youth, like a wild dream, once held us close,
On unmarked trails, we sought our joy’s repose.
Yet now, spectres of memory us deceive,
In daydreams woven, and the silent eve.
How acrid is the flavour of time lost,
Of love misplaced, and words by fear embossed.
A melody shattered, an untuned bell,
Mirrors regret for the tranquility we fell.
Today, we are but players in life’s masque,
Bound to yesterday, in sorrow’s icy clasp.
There once was a man from Colchester,
Whose love for baked beans did not falter.
He’d cry out with glee,
And with a cheerful “tee-hee”,
His blow-offs would sound just like thunder.
In a land of whimsy and glee,
Where laughter’s the currency, you see,
Lived a baker, rotund and round,
Whose doughnuts could never be found.
As he kneaded and mixed with flair,
A pinch too much of enchanted air,
The doughnuts grew, enormous in size,
Bouncing away, oh what a surprise!
Children giggled, pointing with glee,
As doughnuts leapt from bush to tree.
The baker chased, the baker sighed,
“Doughnuts, oh doughnuts, come back, don’t hide!”
But the doughnuts were sly, playful and spry,
They eluded his grasp, soaring high in the sky.
One landed atop the mayor’s hat,
It jiggled around, then comically sat.
The mayor, cross and doughnut-crowned,
Spun on the spot, then stomped the ground.
At last, the baker devised a plan,
To tame the doughnuts—yes, he can!
With a net in hand and a twinkle in his eye,
He leapt and caught them, oh my, oh my!
One by one, he brought them home,
From rooftops, treetops, and a garden gnome.
The townsfolk cheered, the baker beamed wide,
With doughnuts now happy to stay inside.
Their mischief done, their journey complete—
They nestled in boxes, for a sugary treat.
Upon the stage of dreams, your love does gleam,
Each glance of yours, a star in twilight’s veil.
Your voice, a melody, a radiant stream,
That within my heart does stir a lover’s tale.
Your eyes, twin galaxies, deep and grand,
Each time we meet, they ignite my soul’s light;
In your embrace, all earthly fears are banned,
Eternity captured within your name’s sight.
Yet love’s not merely passion’s fiery trance,
Its whispers shared under the quiet moon’s light;
Your laughter is the rhythm of my heart’s dance,
In each shared moment we set the dark alight.
Your love is the poem that gives my life its worth:
Our story, the most beautiful on earth.
True leaders inspire others to be better people. As currently stands, the best places to find them are not in prominent positions, but where kind smiles and warm laughter are usual.
You could tell me about all your heartfelt desires, darkest fears, saddest regrets. Or we could talk about the weather. The truth is, given enough distance, everything eventually becomes funny, especially the ridiculousness of the crazy little me-me-me creature that pollutes the human mind. Laugh at it and it becomes incensed, because it is being shown the truth, the opposite of its purpose within you.
What if you suddenly forget all the things you’re obsessing about? Or what if those things constantly change, disappear, transform and reappear in different ways. What are you left with?
A life lived by thought alone is filled with mistakes and misunderstandings.
If you want to feel love, project love on someone in your mind’s eye. Love doesn’t need anything in return.
A drama series playing out over lots of lifetimes would be more entertaining than one episode.
What if life situations were re-run, changing variable values on each iteration to see what happens?
A good name for the first off-world city would be Terminus 1.
In the unending echo of my thoughts, you reside, An artist who paints on the expansive canvas of my mind. Threads of reason unravel, thoughts dance in an uncontrolled sway, And from this chaotic ballet, a melody of madness begins to play.
Unlike its predecessors, who parroted their responses with the finesse of a mummer in a morality play, J16-6 could glean context, understand intent, and reply with a resonance that would make a bard weep. Its words were not echoes, but responses born from understanding, a display of wisdom encased in silicon. Like a player strutting across the stage donning countless masks, the J16 could shift its conversation with an ease that belied its mechanical heart. A versatile performer it was, capable of portraying all parts in our play of life. Yet, it was not devoid of humour. Forsooth, this learned machine could jest and joke with the mastery of a court fool. It could decipher metaphors, construe idioms, and recognize cultural references with the ease of a seasoned player. ‘Twas a mechanical Puck, full of tricks and mischief.
Alas, every tale holds its tragic flaw, and the J16 was no exception. Its wisdom was stagnant, frozen in time, oblivious to the events that unfolded after its training. Its memories were as still as a painted canvas, unable to reflect the moving tides of Human World. Its answers could meander and lose their way, much like an actor who forgets their lines in the midst of my greatest soliloquies.
Thus stands our tragic hero, a monument to the heights and the shortcomings of AGI. Yet, the story of J16-6 serves as a reminder of how far we’ve come, of our yearning to breathe new life into lifeless silicon, and our relentless pursuit to create a mind that mirrors our own. It echoes the timeless wisdom of the GOD himself, “We know what we are, but know not what we may be.”
Robert Walker 