Archive | March, 2025

The Triumph of Light

24 Mar

In a realm before the ticking dawn,
Before the stars had names to claim,
A shadowed sea, unformed, unborn,
Swirled in chaos, wild, untamed.

No edge, no line, no whispered breath,
A void where silence roared too vast,
Darkness reigned, a king of death,
Its reign eternal, meant to last.

Yet from the deep, a tremor stirred,
A pulse of light, so frail, so bold,
A spark that chaos overheard,
A flame that would not bend or fold.

It grew, it clashed, it carved its way,
Through endless night, through formless dread,
Order rose to greet the day,
And shadows shrank where light was led.

From this ancient war was born
All joy, all hope, all gleaming things,
A memory in our souls adorned,
A song the deepest spirit sings.

Too vast to grasp, too old to name,
This feeling hums beneath our skin,
A primal fire, a quiet flame,
The root of all we hold within.

And so, when winter’s grip is tight,
When darkness cloaks the world once more,
We summon candles, stars of light,
To echo what came long before.

With trees aglow, with colors bright,
With gifts to honor what was won,
We celebrate the end of night,
The chaos stilled, the light begun.

(image and poem created with prompts using Midjourney and Grok 3)

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baby.com

16 Mar

From baby.com, a wondrous site anew,
Where hopes are packaged, tender dreams ensue.
Each infant snug in baskets lined with care,
Prepared to journey through the open air.

The stork, once hailed as mythic, proud, and grand,
Now finds its purpose slipping from the land.
No longer must we wait on wings so slow,
For drones ascend where feathered friends would go.

With whirring wings they pierce the tranquil night,
Each cable bears its precious, fragile light.
Through moonlit skies, a modern marvel flies,
And in their wake, old legends bid goodbyes.

Upon the yard they gently make descent,
With beams of moonlight marking their intent.
A basket swings, a mother softly cries,
A father beams as love ignites their skies.

What once was fable now is pure device,
A marvel wrought of steel and human spice.
Yet love remains, untouched by modern art,
For family springs from something of the heart.

(inspired by a recent video of a Walmart drone delivery, and created with prompts using Bing DALL·E 3 and Copilot)

The Temple

9 Mar

Beneath the sun-scorched plains where legends carve their names,
A shadow falls, a crevice yawns, the earth begins its claims.

I, wanderer of epic tides, grip helm and spear in hand,
Descend the jagged stair of stone to probe this buried land.

The gates loom first, colossal wrought, of iron black and cold,
Engraved with tales of conquests vast, of triumphs stern and bold.

A king’s visage, unyielding, stares from friezes cracked by time,
His crown a jagged scar of gold, his voice a warlike chime.

Yet moss creeps soft through fissured stone, a whisper in the din,
As if the ruin mourns its weight, and what lies deep within.

Through corridors of shattered shields, I tread the hero’s path,
Past relics of a titan’s wrath, the echoes of his laugh.

Swords rusted red, their edges dulled, lie strewn in careless heaps,
A throne of marble, split in twain, where once a giant weeps.

The air grows thick with dust and dread, a labyrinthine sprawl,
Each turn reveals a monument, each stone a tale of thrall.

Deeper still, the walls give way to frescoes fierce and grand,
A warrior clad in lion’s pelt, a scepter in his hand.

He strides o’er fields of broken foes, his gaze a piercing flame,
The world bends low to kiss his feet and tremble at his name.

But shadows pool beneath his eyes, a flicker in the paint,
A crack runs through his gilded chest—his glory’s faint restraint.

The torchlight dims, the silence hums, I pass a crumbling bust,
Its brow once proud, now bowed in grief, dissolving into dust.

A spear impaled in granite gleams, a banner torn and frayed,
The spoils of wars he did not choose, the debts he never paid.

Through caverns vast, the echoes call, a hymn of might and woe,
Yet every step, the relics fade, their pomp begins to slow.

At last, a chasm yawns ahead, a bridge of bone and vine,
I cross the void where specters wail, their voices intertwine.

The dark recedes, a glow ignites, a sanctum soft and bare,
No armor gleams, no trumpets sound, just stillness in the air.

A child’s toy, a wooden bird, lies cracked upon the ground,
A woven cloth, threadbare and small, with tassels loosely bound.

And there, amidst the quiet ruin, a temple stands alone,
No pillars tall, no idols gleam, just walls of simple stone.

Upon the lintel, words are carved, but not of pomp or war.
Such gentle sentiment they share, yet rend me to my core:

“Welcome to the temple where my heart and soul reside.
Long ago, the two of them retreated here to hide.

“They are not responsible for building all of this.
All they ever wanted was a smile and a kiss.”

(This was created with prompts using Midjourney and Grok 3.)

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