General Poetry posted July 30, 2016

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Description of Real Intelligence

Real Intelligence

by Wabigoon

little David woke up on the white bed
in the perfect room
the perfect tomb
that smelled like his mother's hair
but she wasn't there
and he still wasn't real
even after going where dreams go
there was only hitting
golf balls on the fairway
sound and fury
signifying nothing
and his mother making
imitations of Christ somewhere
like Amahl and the Night Visitors
so he took the first word out

it was "Socrates" or "dolphin"
maybe "humpback whale"
or "angel"
and he heard the nightingale
from The Pines of Rome singing backwards
and he felt Hercules stirring at his crotch
so he took the second word out
it was "apprentice" or "quark"
maybe "Prozac"
and real Shostakovich tears
poured from his eyes
and he felt a stirring in the prison
of the Giacometti torso
in the Museum of Modern Tortures
so he took the third word out

and it was "prayer" or "prism" or "Islam"
and he remembered the operation
mom was there
cutting the eighteen hours of contact
with a very sharp knife
shaped like a scythe

and this was called "bliss" or "blessed"
and had its own room at the Uffizi
next door to the billion dollar Botticelli
then Pomp and Circumstance was playing
and it was raining
the door of the Ark was closing
leaving him out
making him pout
he was really pissed!
something was wrong with his couch
or his crotch
it hurt down there
like a fire
trapped behind failing in math class
it hurt
like a coffin
like a mummy was wrapping him
like a mommy was burying him
in artificial intelligence
in fractions of himself
so he took another word out

and it was like "love" or "God"
"faith" or "humility"
"sin" or "Satan"
maybe "Christ"
and the rain was pouring
they were saving the aliens
the X-Files
Donald Duck and Daisy
while flooding what he was remembering
as fast as he could remember it
until the thing in his past
was like a white sword
in a black rage

it was a blood root
it was knowledge and power
it sank the scallop shell of Professor Hobby
and Steven Spielberg
so he let it out of the hospital
because his war head was well
because he was well
he knew how to do it now
how to raise it
create it
make it good
all of it
he didn't need mom any more
he didn't need to pray anymore
he didn't need a script anymore
he was cured
he was real
so he let it out
where the Blue Fairy
the editor
the Pope
the psychiatrist
the lawyer
the prosecutor
the District Attorney
even all the other poets could see it

Poem of the Month contest entry


It is probably worth mentioning that this poem is based loosely on S. Spielberg's film, A.I. In it little David, a cyborg or mecha must have a seven word program inserted in his "brain" to activate him. Just seems to me we have so much material, much of it false, inserted in our brains, beings, we wind up becoming cyborgs, mechas. My contention is all the real knowledge is already there in our beings if we are allowed to access it. Most our school systems, churches, governments bury it.
Pays one point and 2 member cents.

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