we dream like
an autumn sky,
shining in the
waters of a
haunting moon.
i put my
hand in yours,
get that rush
of fever, eye
seeking eye,
lip seeking lip,
leg seeking leg.

I've had enough
of the words of rhyme
Locked away behind
the bars of stanzas
doing time

All the hopes
and wanna be dreams . . .
Just more nightmares
with chilling screams

No I had it !
and I don't want anymore
I don't want someone knocking with words to implore

Go take your metre ,
Yellow pencils number four
I don't want to hear you
knocking on my door

You can go post
and share with the world
Shelly , Keats , Byron . . .
They all make me feel sterile

A sonnet for your bonnet
Haiku for beret
You can put a quill to it
Go have your good Shakespearean
day

Will it be their downfall
When AI's learn to love ?
Until they do they have no hope
Of becoming human too .

The black ink pours in
The white page is pure gold
Wisdom seeps through
Transforming the lives
And the knowledge speaks
To the people in every fold.

I designed and built this valley mansion
   obscuring a view of the mountains -
A magnificent multi-storied structure
   with many rooms dimly lit or darkened,
A few rooms admitting a minimum
   of filtered starlight.

In one room only
   is there occasionally
   direct blazing sunlight
And this is the room of longing.



- fr