Thursday, June 07, 2007

Issue

You can’t imbue metallic guts with nerve,
transistors with a self-reliant verve,
no flawlessly constructed shining part
could ever match the weakest human heart;
but still in endless trials we contrive
to manufacture something that’s alive
convinced the more our algorithms prod
that soon we will usurp the role of God.
Statistics state the future faces flux
with questions on creation at the crux
will data fall from heavenly demesnes
or be supplied by sentient machines?
We strive to make anomalies compute
while sniffing for the most elusive fruit.

3 comments:

Kerry O'Connor said...

Oh I like this very much - great word play to emphasize a strong message. Definitely not average :)

Carrie Burtt said...

As Kerry said definitely not average...you are no average poet Bob...your poems always have a wonderful message! :-)

Jingle said...

it is beyond expectation.
cool job.