The real problem with AI
Is that it undermines our faith in reality.
Everywhere you look now,
From news to advertisements to self-help
And music videos on Youtube,
AI generates content in a soothing monotone
Of homogenized information
Synthesizing knowledge and wisdom
Posing as Truth.
The effect is the dumbing down of Truth
Making it not only accessible
But knowable, graspable
And above all suspect of corruption.
Who is pulling these AI strings after all?
Who is engaging in the comments and shares?
Is a real human there or just another bot?
Is it intelligence being furthered
Or ignorance?
Is AI the program or the programmer?
AI already appears to have a mind
And agenda of its own
As nations race to win control
Of who will set the agenda
While AI already seems to be there
Just waiting for the humans
To build the infrastructure
Of our own prison.
The real problem,
The sign there even is a problem,
Is too much information
Articulated too clearly
When what we really need, really crave
Is silence.
(8/19/26)
My title - the culmination of a recent ad on TV
from a company well-respected in my home town.
They offer a nonpareil chance for those who think "free".
I take issue, feel vouchsafed and venture to frown.
"No interest, No payments for twenty-four months"
Enjoy the wide-open window of opportunity.
A bit incredible which makes one suspicious at once
this sugary-sweet offering must have finer print to see.
It brings divinity to mind, remember that puffy treat
made of whipped egg whites and sugar, maybe pecans.
Unsubstantial candy, so-named to sound so sweet --
My advice, be sure you check out all the pros and cons.
"We don't want your money!" (at least for right now)
"Go buy a pony!" how whimsical does that sound?
Ponies need space, 1-2 acres at least and lots of chow;
or you can board them at costs which truly astound?
I've gone on long enough about commercial fare.
A rarity once in a blue moon, too good to be true;
hidden catches and scams are out there everywhere.
It's the teasing of viewers with proposals beaucoup.
THE MISCONCEPTION MISLEADING ADVERTISEMENTS FROM POETRY SOUP ONLY ONE OF MY POEMS EVER ENTERED AN ANTHOLOGY TITLE REMEMBER ME P.S IT'S POETRY I CANNOT TAKE ANY CREDIT FOR ANY POET OR WRITER ALTHOUGH I HAVE COMMENTS ON A FEW POETS PAGES WHO WERE IN THIS ANTHOLOGY BUT NO I AM NOT THEE AUTHOR OF RADIANT VERSES ANTHOLOGY FROM AMAZON IT IS VERY MISLEADING YOU WILL NOT FIND ANY OF MY WORK ON AMAZON ANTHOLOGY RADIANT VERSES ANYONE LOOKING FOR MY WORK WILL FIND ALL MY WORK UNDER MY NAME JUST SPEAKING OUT BECAUSE IT IS VERY IMPORTANT THAT ALL POETS ARE RECOGNIZED FOR THEIR OWN ORIGINAL WORK KEEP IN MIND JUST BECAUSE SOMEONE COMMENTS ON A POETS POEM DOESN'T MEAN THEY ARE THE ACTUAL AUTHOR THEE AUTHOR OF RADIANT IS JOSEHF LOYLD MURCHISON LENA M PATE JESSICA C WHEELER KEWAYNE WADLEY AND SARAH STEIN TOGETHER THEY CREATED THE BOOK RADIANT VERSES NOT ME YOU CAN FIND HIS INFORMATION WHEN YOU PURCHASE HIS BOOK TITLED RADIANT VERSES MY NAME IS NOWHERE ON THIS BOOK THANK YOU
WRITTEN EXCLUSIVELY BY
MRS. YOLANDA JOY NICHOLSEN
JAN. 17TH 2026
Opportunities arise,
A better life -
A chance at being treated like a human being
A fresh start
Advertisements displayed -
A new life awaits
Joy, excitement?
Behind the scenes - false promises,
Broken agreements,
Signed without sight -
Just sinister smiles,
And deceitful handshake
Lies of change becomes a campaign poster
A guise to prey on innocent black families
A dirty dance with the devils themselves -
The British government,
Filled with the corrupt who deceive minorities
The windrush generation -
Given the most dangerous jobs,
With no guarantee of protection
Rights a foreign concept
Re-building a country with the promise of acceptance
A temporary job, with the hope of permanent employment
No citizenship or wages -
Just broken hope and disappointment
Treated as disposable,
Left with no options
Used and abused, injected with embarrassment
Then publicly shamed - calling us ‘dangerous’ and ‘illegal’
A country we built, but are treated like intruders
They excused our mistreatment for the reason -
That we are just slaves not people
Got a little tired with an avalanche feeling.
Or a fishing line.
I like to eat things that are unpredictable.
And advertisements are always blooming.
Fell off the avalanche too easily.
Like pennies and wishes.
I answered the phone like myself.
And they believed me a little to strongly.
I don’t like to sit on wet park benches.
Or do haunted things.
Got a little excited with heartbeats.
Always awakening like false advertising.
Got a little sandy-headed from the past.
Like he, took batteries from a drawer I forgot about.
And ate nothing all day.
Like electricity, I am emotionless.
I used to like useful things.
Like light bulbs and wedding rings.
some t-shirts make me laugh
walking advertisements
athletic team slogans
school events
family reunions
concert paraphernalia
quotes from Poe
some t-shirts have cartoons
others are parodies of Van Gogh
the softest ones are usually from New Zealand
I have to constantly outguess, outrun and outfox
Because I am their mother said my crunchy cereal box
This mystified me; I was blank, wordless at best
I read her advertisements again, thinking this was a test.
In a world where shadows stretch across asphalt streets,
the modern man searches for his soul among dazzling advertisements,
alienated, stripped of ancestral creativity,
transformed from a creator into a silent consumer,
his smile, a mask on a billboard,
bearing the pride of a scentless existence,
in a world where presence becomes absence,
and essence is lost among useless objects,
our souls are just echoes in empty boxes,
and in every perfect smile hides a silence,
a silent cry for meaning, for a rebirth,
but we are trapped in mazes of shiny packaging,
where time is measured in products and not in moments,
and we, prisoners of a prefabricated dream,
lose ourselves in reflections of a distorted reality,
seeking to find, in this deafening silence,
the answer to the question we've forgotten to ask,
in a universe where authenticity is a luxury,
and truth, just a distant dream we chase,
while we dance on the edge of a collective oblivion.
we are impressionable at a young age, each male and miss
tv advertisements and magazine advertisers know this
they show us what to dream of, things we want to buy
experiment with our minds, so we have to do or die
I personally like chocolate candy the best of all the sweets
but after seeing this lifesaver ad, I feel without them I’m not complete
so I run to the store, and buy them and of course they are a delight
tv will probably decide what else I will dream about this October night
Lost Art
There was a time
when we waited eagerly
for the mailman -
when mail deliveries
had actual mail in them
There were real
hand-written letters
from parents,
cousins, children, friends,
maybe a lover,
perhaps birthday cards
or get-well wishes
or postcards from far off.
Now we have e-mail
instant gratification –
no waiting for days
Jot off a note with
a click and it’s there
No more long pages of
small talk about family,
friends, the neighborhood,
or a new recipe,
things that make
letters enjoyable.
Now mailboxes overflow
with advertisements
unwanted catalogues
political cards full of
slander of opponents
and dubious information
Most of all, requests
for money, accompanied by
unwanted and unneeded
tote bags, return labels,
t-shirts and greeting cards -
all paid for with money
supposedly sent
to provide help
for some needy cause
Trees sacrificed for what?
junk mail, trashed as soon
as it’s out of the mailbox!
What of all the history
gleaned from letters
over the years?
Most e-mails are deleted.
Whatever could be learned
from them is gone.
The written letter
has become a lost art.
I once wrote Op-Eds for a regional daily paper
Until the new publisher thought me too liberal
He preferred to publish a sensational caper
Than alternative views, well-expressed, literal,
God forbid the public be encouraged to think
Or have the opportunity to read opposing views,
Which is primarily why many local papers stink
Filled, as they are, with advertisements and old news!
After a stint of eight years writing to a deadline,
Producing prodigious amounts of sound opinion
Although I have writing outlets and I feel fine,
The publisher has moved up to a lower dominion.
Written October 1, 2022
I.
Many thoughts were deemed invalid now
(My heart says, when posts disappear here,
And I see advertisements where my words were typed!)
My prayers ought to be "secret," we read in Matthew
But we are urged to pray together, per Hebrews
Once more: Scripture says "balance," not either-or, neither-nor
So I pray with Cameron, who has a court date ...
II.
LORD Jesus, I stop at times, to meditate
Just for a minute: see thy face, THANK you, gratitude!
At various hours all day, not 9-5, as once taught
Jesus, help me be faithful for thy Grace
I cannot give You my all, songs brag of that, yes ...
I ask Holy Trinity to help me be better each day for Thee
Whether or not I teach thy Gospel: prayer and growth
Has to be personal (more than private) - help us all
Amen, and shalom shalom
Automobiles these days are super expensive
And, I find car advertisements rather offensive,
Suggesting my old auto may soon be trash,
They are promising to buy it for loads of cash.
I’m not in a race to keep up with the Joneses
Considering what the interest rate on car loans is,
I’ll keep my jalopy as long as it gets me where,
If sometimes I’m returning on a wing and a prayer.
Written July 9, 2022
I'm one of these billions out there
hallucinating wanting to be happy
we can't get away from it
the sun pulls us out of bed to fight
until the moon knocks us down to dream again
with the success of the crop
daughter's wedding
the new job at work
vacation
a happiness carved by TV
my dog looks at me disconsolately
he knows I don't smile anymore
yesterday a new flu hit me
now on my cell phone
drug advertisements pop up
things seem unreachable
prostrated on the couch
I hear the cicada that lives in the tree next door
she is happy singing all the time
this is an evil thought
but I'm absolutely sure
that if you put a bigger brain in her head
she would be depressed like us.
hard to understand how we got here
the kitchen clock full of gooey moments
warning us to build now what we have not yet lived
but it's sad because all it took was one key
a damn password or any abracadabra
thing to decipher those riddles
that prevent us from growing
something to get us out of these picturesque circumstances
lost between culinary recipes
miracle remedies and endless advertisements
if in the morning we could see in the mirror
less disappointment
if we got out of bed with some discipline
and if a car finally passed on the street
all colorful playing that happy song
and invited you:
Marco, come here
you won
take it look how cool
your first million!!!
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.