Poetry

BarbStAubrey · November 05, 2026, 03:27:19 PM

Ouch but so true Marilyne - in fact over and over we each have our rainy days as do friends, communities and nations... hopefully a rainy spell is the prologue to what Dunbar suggests...

Preparation
Paul Laurence Dunbar 1872 – 1906

The little bird sits in the nest and sings
A shy, soft song to the morning light;
And it flutters a little and prunes its wings.
The song is halting and poor and brief,
And the fluttering wings scarce stir a leaf;
But the note is a prelude to sweeter things,
And the busy bill and the flutter slight
Are proving the wings for a bolder flight!

MarsGal · Reply #241 - Re: Poetry

The very latest book I just started is Ken Liu's All That We See or Seem. It is about an "infamous" hacker who, using virtual reality, is trying to solve a missing person/kidnapping. The title may be familiar to those who read Edgar Allan Poe's poetry.

A Dream Within a Dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow —
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand —
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep — while I weep!
O God! Can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

I wonder what Poe would think of AI and virtual reality were he here today.

BarbStAubrey · Reply #242 - Re: Poetry

Not just Poe MarsGal - lots of opinions about AI from nearly everyone - Finding a poem online is a bit of a challenge in that if I just search a topic, as many AI poems come up as not and so, now I put in a published poet -

Does not seem right to let the day go by without reading a poem we memorized I think in 4th grade...

"In Flanders Fields" by John McCrae

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

User

Shoutbox

Poetry

BarbStAubrey

MarsGal

BarbStAubrey