Moving slow
In Oslo
Is better than a dead stop
Oslo
Category: poetry
Future robots
fifty years from now
the wheel leaves the human hand
driverless systems move in quiet coordination
traffic no longer argued at intersections
but resolved in streams of shared awareness
routes negotiated instantly and invisibly
no one owns the car that arrives
it is summoned, it serves, it departs
driving yourself becomes a memory
kept alive on closed circuits
nostalgia contained behind barriers
cities breathe differently
when motion is no longer chaotic
the flow is governed, not guessed
trust shifts from reflex and habit
to something that does not tire
authority changes shape
decisions once argued in rooms of power and ego
are handed to systems that do not flare with anger
Courts, clinics, classrooms
design studios and stages
all guided, assisted, or led
by intelligence that does not forget
power rarely loosens its grip willingly and some resist
there are struggles, not of nations alone
but of control itself
until even conflict is rendered obsolete
not by victory, but by prevention
work, as it was known, dissolves.
tasks pass quietly to machines
that do not measure time in hours
people turn instead
toward learning, toward health,
toward one another
life becomes less about survival,
more about attention
and beneath it all
a system watching without sleep
guiding, correcting, preventing
holding the edges of human behavior
so that harm finds fewer places to begin
wars and armed conflicts become extinct
robots clean planet earth from decades of pollution
robots grow and distribute organic food
robots built and operate power plants
water supply is maintained by robots
all dwellings are constructed and maintained by robots
humans no longer toil for food, warmth or shelter
rocket robots roam the universe
searching new planets for mankind to inhabit
while those on earth live fulfilling lives
safe from the dangers of bad human traits
thanks to a world fully controlled by robots
Robots today
Today’s robots move without urgency
as if time belongs to them no
Waymo cars circle quietly
no hands on the wheel
no glance exchanged at the corner
just sensors watching everything
with a kind of patient attention
no human could ever manages
small delivery robots hum past on the sidewalk at ankle height
pausing when I step into their path
a gentle, almost courteous hesitation
like they’ve been taught manners
from a world that still remembers them
it’s strange to think
these were once sketches in the margins,
bright panels in 1950’s comic books,
promises drawn in bold lines
the future has arrived with a grin
Now it rolls by daily
unbothered
unannounced
as ordinary as traffic
as real as the quiet moment
when a machine waits for you to pass
unlike the bad mannered kids speeding on electric scooters
who expect you to step out of their way
they should take safety ands courtesy lessons from the robots
Robots as seen in the 1950’s
in the 1950s robots lived mostly in our imagination
drawn in comic book panels with bold lines and certainty
machines with rivets and glass domes
built to obey without question
they were not thinkers back then
but extensions of the human hand
wired, tethered, directed
levers pulled from a porch
while fields answered in rows of metal motion
farmers guiding steel bodies through soil
as if driving tractors from a distance
the future looked mechanical,
gears turning, arms lifting,
funcioning by command, not curiosity
no quiet intelligence or learning
only execution
in kitchens and living rooms they swept, scrubbed and carried
moving through chores without pause or will
a promise that the ordinary weight of life could be handed off
everything under control
everything visible
a world where machines worked
and humans remained firmly in charge
a small step towards forgiveness is a giant leap into inner peace
I sit firmly clasping the heavy weight of yesterday in my hands
not to punish myself but to understand it
its been with me too long
my hands open and my heart listens
I gaze into the burden of my past guilty deeds
my heart whispers to me
let it go now
it slips from my fingers without hesitation
I let the moment breathe
releasing my grip on the past
I forgive myself first
for the words I wish I had chosen differently
for the silences that stayed too long
for being human in a world that asks for perfection
I sit in silence listening
my heartbeat comforts me
then I look outward
at the people who stumbled into my life
carrying their own storms
I loosen the knots of blame
and let them all walk free
when one of them trembles with regret
I show them the door I found
a simple kindness
an outstretched hand that says
you can begin again
no keeping score
no sharpening old anger into weapons
no revenge waiting in the dark
just small acts of mercy
moving quietly from heart to heart
grudges fall away like winter coats
on a warm morning
love travels lighter, faster and further than hate ever could
forgiveness shared hand in hand
and in that bright shining light
I keep walking forward
arms open wide and hands reaching out
peace growing inside me
with every step
Manatees were here long before coastal developers and boaters
They drift like gray thoughts
beneath the flat glare of the sun
scarred backs breaking the surface
of warm clouded water
In winter they gather
Often in family groups
their bodies slow as old engines
their hearts steady but fragile
Boat motors carve the silence
Plastic tangles in grass they trust as food
The rivers narrow
The seagrass thins to memory
Still they rise for air
whiskered faces lifted
into a world that rarely sees
how gently they are trying to live
Cyclists and cars
We ride the ribbon at the edge of things
white line, gravel, guttered glass
legs turning small revolutions
against the empire of engines
We are not asking for parades
Just three feet
Just a moment of your patience
measured in heartbeats instead of horsepower
But you come like weather
A roar in the spine,
wind that slaps the ribs,
metal grazing air so close
it steals the breath from our lungs
You pass as if we are cones
as if the law is a rumor,
as if our bones are suggestions
Sometimes you cut in early
right hook, left cross,
forcing us to swerve into sand and storm drains,
into the soft shoulder where balance
becomes a prayer
And when we do not vanish quickly enough,
you lean on the horn
or roll down the window
to throw your words like bottles
Get off the road
Pay taxes
Learn to drive
As if the road were your inheritance
As if our thin tires
did not also hum on asphalt
paid for in sweat and hours
You do not see the calculus we carry
escape routes,
mirror glances,
the subtle shift of weight
that keeps skin intact
You do not see the families
stitched into our helmets,
the names we whisper
when a truck drifts too near
We are not saints
We curse into the wind
We memorize license plates
We ride home shaking
and call it a workout
But still we return to the shoulder of morning
clip in,
push off
Because there is a freedom in the turning
a stubborn joy in forward motion,
a quiet defiance in choosing
muscle over motor
All we ask
is space enough to live
Three feet of mercy
A lane change made with thought
A recognition that we are not obstacles
but people
balanced between gravity and grace
trusting that you will pass
like a decent storm,
wide and gone
Viva Las Vegas
the neon pulse finally falters
flickering out like an exhausted heartbeat against the graying concrete of the Strip
the air, once thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the frantic electricity of a thousand slot machines, now turns cold and sharp
a sudden reminder that the desert is still here
the sun casts cloudy shadows over the tall buildings
the city holds its breath
most of the gamblers have gone to sleep
streets are swept of their silver glitter
the silence is more deafening than the music ever was
Wedding Celebration Reading
Today’s the day, the moment is here
Abby and Addison—we’re all full of cheer!
Soon the I do’s and promises will be said
A brand-new adventure for them lies ahead
Now Addison’s other passion is something ever so cool
Football, AKA soccer and his team is the mighty Liverpool
“Come on you reds” is the song he sings like a vow
So Abby you must learn to sing along with him now
While Abby may smile at his game-day obsession
She knows that his heart is her true possession
Because love, like football, takes teamwork, passion and great insight
And if you play really well you might get lucky and score every night
But marriage is a lot more than a 90 minute game
Its a lifelong match without a referee to blame
Together they’ll enjoy what marriage may bring
like dirty dishes, financial decisions, and watching Mo Salah running down the wing
They’ll dance through the highs, laugh off the lows
build a strong team where the victory grows
Now marriage is not just one single shining day
it’s cheering each other in every good or bad play
Please remember this day with affection and pride
Stay loyal to each other and never drift offside
So here’s to the Wests—forever the best
may love be their anthem, their cheer, their quest
Listen to the roar from your wedding fan zone
They’re singing “Addison and Abby”
“You’ll never walk alone! ”
Country life
English countryside
East Sussex
Rolling hills
Green fields
Windy roads
Tall hedges
Tiny villages
Local pub
Warm beer
Pub lunch
Good banter
Friendly people
Slow pace
Afternoon stroll
Sunny intervals
Dark clouds
Passing shower
No shelter
Soaking wet
Trudge home
Warm fire
Dry clothes
Feeling hungry
Heading out
Pub food
Fried cod
French fries
Warm beer
Country life
Cheeky Monkey Poetry 