Seers

On an image from ‘Inspiration Corner’

We know they’re filtered, coffee grounds -

the same for sound bites that we hear,

now with AI, the site’s not clear,

but open-eyed - save tromp l’oeil?

For fear, deception, anchor points,

like verify on broadcast news,

so, spot what differs, puzzle page,

my belt and braces, shapes compared.

When talking to the colour blind,

I know their blue is brown to me,

so labels differ, spectrum’s range,

but they still know when autumn dressed.

One may be day - a sunny beach -

the other night with limelight shift;

but reason and experience

suggests art trickery afoot.

We need our seers, with second sight -

I call them poets in disguise -

who see beyond first glancing show,

wait long enough for afterglow.

Perhaps it’s back to stand and stare,

maybe reflect what’s really there,

the tree from Eden to the skull,

or Bhodi lore, to contemplate.

The more I see of canopy,

the acorn with inherent growth,

webbed mycorrhiza underneath,

I see tree teleology.

For if alone, this tree in pose,

unsettles me with eroteme,

the Greenman has fulfilled his cause,

and pilgrimage for me begun.