I’m a house on the Oxfordshire road up the left, You are the one, Looking at me every day. Opposite each other, But one in heart. The families of old 17th and 18th century cottages,

Poems are an alternative way of how to put imagination into writing. And in the following one I have imagined a world of sentient tree like beings in a nitrogenic atmosphere with their conscious great but working in a different way and speed to what we may be used to.

For thee, dear Petri dish, Which supplies us knowledge, with culturing what we can not see, Thanks for the insights that enlighten us . Let us fill thee with agar,

Whale-ing around the cosmos on engines old and rusty, Stopping at clusters on the way, To trade, to live to breathe. For I am a whale, many miles long,

In the land of the free, Where you can do whatever you imagine, On condition, Of the holy chip inside your head. Whatever knowledge you want, At finger’s point,

Good morning sun, good morning everyone, the woody neurons inside my hollow head are waking into a lovely day a new. You may wander who am I, and what is going on as a reader of my notes, it may be me who is reading it when I’m old and senile, or audience that long forgotten about us and all that came before.

From a viewpoint of objective observer at centre of galaxy identified as Messier 31 or as known “Andromeda galaxy” by the robotic observer of high elevation of AI it appears that the super massive black hole at the centre, harbours different characteristics to previously identified patterns in the database.

Motors are humming into a silent dawn. My head resting quietly onto glass of magnificent machine, that is carrying us over terrain unknown. Eyes slowly opening, watching horizon grow into a mixture of colours.