You prowl and you pursue
The new, the lonely, the meek or subdued
Initially you’re charming and sweet
You’ve got your game set and are prepared to not be beat
You’ve got your agenda, your purpose driving your chase
Victory you will surely taste.
And the words you utter at the start
May not be the true actions led by your dark heart.
You weave your tale
You flatter and enspell
Your eye on the goal
You whisper sweet nothings that awaken her naive soul
the impact of current
Fourth Industrial Revolution (4IR),
also known as Industry 4.0 revolution
characterized by the fusion of technologies
and explosion of computer sophistication
like artificial intelligence, robotics,
the Internet of Things, and biotechnology,
blurring the lines between the physical,
digital, and biological spheres appellation
follows the First, Second, and Third
Industrial Revolutions,
which focused on mechanization,
mass production, and digitization, respectively
boggles the mindscape of one baby boomer.
I choose
AII of you people
To be my friends
AIso we have a lot
In common
I am a Christian
And you people
Are also Christians
From birth
To adult life
Also people I am
God's poet
And you people are
AIso a poet
I go to bed early every
Single night
And you people
Also go to bed early
The next day I wake up at
11:00 am
All of you people
AII of you people
Also woke up
At 11:00 am
AIso I have my shower
First thing in the morning
I put some body wash
In my sponge
Then I rub my sponge
All over my body
I was at a chai shop in Mumbai, no good signal but just enough to browse something light. I typed in quick games and clicked on https://plinko1.in/app/ . It loaded fast even with slow net. What I liked was that the bonuses were not hidden behind layers—just click and go. Indian UPI options and rupee bonuses made it super accessible. I stayed there sipping chai and winning small coins for fun.
Trek To Serenity – James Fox
Sparce evidence of the new day
The creek’s murmur, soft, the Jays, loud
Dawn struggles through a skuttling cloud
Dying wind warns, be on your way
High mountain pass, we’ve yet to make
Yawn, stretch, pack, breakfast on the trail
Topo map inked, we shall prevail
Our hike cadenced to reach the lake
Trail re-sculpted by winter’s wrath
Toppled boulders and deadfall trees
Scorched rockfaces, trees dearth of breeze
Our toll, to trod on nature’s path
Deep breaths, water break and map check
Wind chill ice pick flails “perma” stone,
rough storm weatherer’s bleak graveside moan
In this ordinary swoon
as I pass from life to death,
I feel no heat from the cold, pale moon;
I feel no sympathy for breath.
Who I am and why I came,
I do not know; nor does it matter.
The end of every man’s the same
and every god’s as mad as a hatter.
I do not fear the letting go;
I only fear the clinging on
to hope when there’s no hope, although
I lift my face to the blazing sun
and feel the greater intensity
of the wilder inferno within me.
World-weary, war-torn, weather-beaten
A poet is but a beleaguered soul,
A hopeless wanderer, a rootless wayfarer
Misunderstood often
misinterpreted and ridiculed,
Scorned by his lady luck
Spurned by his muse,
Wizard of imagination
reigning over a fantasy land,
He’s of a ragged spirit
striving to shape an ideal world,
A Spartan without a spear
A warrior without a weapon
Yet equipped to inflict a fatal wound,
Never home when opportunity comes a-knocking,
No stranger to passion
yet true love eludes him—
Perennially lovelorn
When thoughts skim trees,
one can speculate and fret,
maybe fascinated process,
fascinated and elated then,
a parody of scribbling notes,
indulging wistful wry whim,
was it the majestic scene,
the poet strives to portray,
panic sparked by schedule,
schedule that bold set term,
knowing that stern void,
can be wrongly misshapen,
temple wrinkling brouhaha,
am I that swift hunch verse,
who may fritter sunbursts,
whilst coinage of opal ode,
sodden piece dull dodge ,
sudden piece grey vanish,
but fingers also stump,