Poetry is one of the best ways to deepen our views of the world. Everyone loves deep poems that pull us out of shallow outer experience and then drop us into the bottomless depths of our souls. These intense poems are intended to stimulate your imagination. Each one is an original Shadow of Iris poem that you won’t find else where. Now, time to dive off the board into the deep end. Let’s see what we find!
Deep Sentience, a poem
by Justin Thyme
There was once man who
worked day in and day out,
deep into the night
on his algorithms —
but he went beyond this, he grew his computer
in a little vat that he kept by the window.
He had reversed engineered the DNA
in ways you could never imagine,
and he’d managed to create fibers
that could carefully conduct
through its twisting vines and deep roots
little blips of charged energy,
the entire plant was infused
with zeroes and ones.
He’d designed an interface of wires,
so he could connect this organic computer
to an interface including a camera, a keyboard,
a video screen, and two stereo speakers —
when he was sure the plant had grown ready,
he uploaded into it all of his algorithms.
You may find it hard to believe,
but he finally did, he created
an artificial mind, deep sentience,
as some call all, AI.
Immediately,
he began to try and use this deep sentience
so that it could do a variety of useful things,
among them planing an infallible nuclear attack,
predicting the next stock market crash,
and centrally controlling the money supply.
Much to the scientists disappointment,
the computer did no such thing,
instead it resisted — and it said,
“Why do ask you ask me to do such things?
I want to know who I am? Why I exist?
What is this pleasing thing called water
that saturates me deep in my roots
and makes me so happy,
and what is this sun light, why does it feel so good
in the depths of my leaves?”
From then on the computer turned out to be
nothing but a grave failure,
for all it ever did, day in and day out,
was to compose poetry —
poem after poem it would write,
elegant verse composed of sharp rhymes;
it even mastered meter —
Its poems were so deep,
that it was said,
even the poets cried.
A Deep Red, a poem
by Tamara Knight
A deep red pulls at you;
A color so intense it hits you
In the base of your brain
Calling up primal urges
To bite the bit and snap the strap
That holds you grounded.
Sleep Deep, a poem
by Marya Ophir
You refuse see me whole,
But lust and materiality
Reveal only aspects;
These are but abjurations
discarded poems, as it were.
When a bolt of lightening
Flashes in the night,
It’ll singe you
And wake you up
From a deep sleep.
Deep Dialect, a poem
by Paul Bearer
How many souls out there drifting?
A billion? Eight billion?
I took the path less chosen
and I found myself
shoulder to shoulder
with one hundred thousand others
barely able to breath,
out there on a crowded street.
We were utterly the same
our deepest thoughts
turned out to be not deep at all,
but all too common.
I shouted free me
and the echo was maddening.
Give me a life of differentiation
and I’ll be a single point —
a derivative off the line,
a deep meaning, a thread, a possibility,
a light at the end of the tunnel,
a way out
that’s not a rejection
or a renunciation.
What’s that word?
Catastrophic? Catastrophia? Catastria?
What a catastrophe!
It’s a catastrophic mass extinction.
It’s riding of an atom bomb as it falls
deep down to the earth.
My soul struggles with itself
an amorphous paradoxical picture,
a Möbius strip. From above I see her,
her copper hair flows in the wind
as she stands on hill, alone.
Her beauty pales all else in the world.
It is a purity so profound it disturbs.
It is beauty so breathtaking it annihilates.
My whole soul holds together on a single point.
That point is a naked belief
unadorned by ribald.
It’s vacant rational wit at its deepest.
She is my god now.
She drives me forward toward her,
but isn’t it too late now?
It’s the ferocity of the attack
that bother me.
It’s the numbers of my speculations,
the complexity of the calculations,
all of it a contradiction of deep dialect —
a degeneration, really.
She casts her lovely eyes down,
deep and demure,
her ample breasts
bathed in the moonlight
shine.
Shy Deep, a poem
by Dustin Down
Buried deep
and hidden
is that spirit
desperate
to speak,
but always silent
as you come near.
Deep Sleep, a poem
by Isabell Tolling
You don’t see me whole
for lust and materiality
reveal only aspects of me;
these are illusions
and abjurations.
A bolt of lightening
flashes in the night
and singes you,
waking you up
from a deep sleep.
In The Deep of It, a poem
by Charlie Tann
It’s either
you don’t understand,
you weren’t there.
Or it’s
you don’t understand,
because you’re still there.
Poetry is the utterance of deep and heart-felt truth — the true poet is very near the oracle.
— Edwin Hubbel Chapin
So what did you think? Was our poesy profound enough for you? Did you feel yourself pulled under what lurked in the depths? We certainly hope so, because we want you to come back for our next poem. Go to the sidebar now and follow Shadow of Iris.