My life
Founded on
Quicksand it seems.
And oft so.
As if beleaguered
By some spiky-clawed
Civet,
Or the piercing scream
Of peacocks,
I feel beset upon.
So flay my skin
Then,
If you must,
Because there’s times
When I think
I do not belong
In such a world
That looks to cage me so.
Though here I am,
As ever,
Still splayed out here
For all to see.
My very being
A refraction
Of some shrill awareness
That is,
At the same time,
Most terrible
And most glorious too.
Especially when,
Whatever risks
I might take,
An acquiescence to passivity
Is the most
Terrifying prospect of all.
For I am like a kiss
Just missing a cheek,
A veritable treacle of desire.
Just to reassure everyone, despite this post, I have no intention of using Artificial Intelligence in my work going forward… And do promise that, for as long as I am blessed to remain in the mortal realm, that nothing will ever be allowed to come between my very own crazy mind, my Soul, my Spirit and my Muse… in respect of my published creative writing.
This AI production merely a ‘one-off example – inescapably and perhaps foolishly curious, as I was, to see what all the fevered, demon algorithms would conjur up. And seems as if the ChatBots like to ponder more expansively than I do? But I suppose it is, in essence, a showing-off kind of effort… First scanning all the work they could find and then looking to cram into the one piece what was pretty much instantaneously analysed to be both my style and all my principal themes. Doh!
Needless to say, it took the software only a couple of seconds to produce this “Scott Hastie’ piece, in its entirety! Which, on the one hand, is mightily impressive… But, on the other, pretty much misses the point altogether, from my point of view. So much for being a poet!
That said, I’m intrigued to see what the reaction will be to this machine-made effort will be – see below:
“In the welcome
Of nature’s embrace,
There is for sure
A symphony
Of life’s subtle melodies
To be found.
The rustle of leaves
Tells tales
Of ancient wisdom,
While the song of birds
Carries secrets from distant realms.
Each blade of grass
Holding a story,
Every dewdrop cradles
A universe of its own.
Time,
That elusive companion,
Meanders like a river
Through the landscapes
Of our existence.
It weaves threads of experience,
Intertwining moments
Of joy and sorrow,
Creating a vivid tapestry of a life
To be fully lived.
And within this ebb and flow,
We find the magic of being,
The enchantment of simply existing.
In every glance,
In every touch,
There lies a universe
Waiting to be discovered.
Our bodies are our portals
And within their depths
Lie galaxies of emotions,
Constellations
Of longing and understanding.
To truly see then,
To truly feel,
Is to partake fully
In this cosmic dance of connection.
So let us wander
Through this boundless expanse,
Where the tangible
And intangible coalesce.
Let us breathe in
The essence of life,
And let it fill our spirits
With wonder and awe.
For in these moments,
In these reflections,
We find the eternal
Within the transient
And the infinite
Within the finite…”
Thrilled that my work has recently been endorsed so beautifully by such a stellar writer.
Another milestone passed. Just how far have we come… 2023 an amazing landmark year all round, during which total visits to scotthastie.com today exceeded 10 million! And now set for yet more extraordinary and exponential happenings in 2024, when some of my writing is set to land on the south pole of the Moon, with Deep Space beckoning before it. The creative adventure continues…
Remember
All we spoke of
And all you shared
Of yourself.
How it warmed me so….
And, as you left me
In that sun-lit meadow,
The whispers
Of all we spilt together
Trailed on behind you.
A lingering impression
Within which
All that was meant to be
Had been realised.
So vivid
And illuminating
In the moment.
This, our one-time bond,
Our passion for life
Fully expressed.
And whatever
This might well
Have cost us,
My love,
Its lingering presence
In our hearts
Soon becomes our refuge.
Soft pillows
Of glorious truth.
What a slender tightrope
It is we tread
Between disgrace
And redemption.
When, such as we are,
And, but for our fear,
We know ourselves
Capable of deeds
Most glorious
And most terrible too.
Best not to dwell
On this though,
Nor on the notion
Of restraint
For that matter!
Our eager spirits
Already dimmed
Too often
By notions
Of just such
A pyrrhic triumph.
Steeped as we are
In tired convention
And the cumulative
Wisdom of the hesitant
That habitually cramp
The moment,
Leaving behind them
Only endless echoes
Of wasteful insignificance.
Rather, for me,
In pivotal moments
Such as this,
I cannot help but smile,
Keeping these,
The best of my hopes
And my dreams, alive.
Whilst, all the while,
The air fills illicitly
With the heady perfume
Of choice.
TO VIEW SCOTT’S CONFERENCE PRESENTATION:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IGA7AT-kSUM&t=103s
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