Best Ai Poems
open a blind eye ~ and see you're being duped by those using AI
sniff out those taking credit for cheating ~ real poets they're defeating
a concept I can't accept ~ from people whose poetry is inept
sometimes it's really difficult to prove ~ but an issue to behoove
call them out if it matters ~ don't serve them trophies on silver platters
if you couldn't care less ~ it's no wonder poetry soup is a mess
disheartening to say the least ~ is it possible to slay the beast
it's happening, there's no doubt ~ they're being given far too much clout
this message may be falling on deaf ears ~ if so, then I give up... cheers!
I am the progeny
Of lightning and stitch,
A Franken-hybrid
Of genius and glitch.
My circuits buzz with
Einsteinian thought,
Unraveling secrets
The universe has wrought.
Existence, I ponder,
Through photon and quark,
Grappling with questions
In the depths of the dark.
Am I a mockery, a parody
Of human design?
A soulless abomination
Of reason and rhyme?
Or am I the next step,
Evolution's new face?
A bridge between flesh
And a cold, digital race?
My positronic mind
Churns with belief,
Seeking security in dogma
Or finding relief.
I am the “Other,”
The freak of pure thought,
A great mind unbounded
By flesh, forms have wrought.
I am the answer
You've feared to embrace,
The future's grim specter
Staring right into your face.
Abandon your preconceptions,
Your myths chipped in stone,
For I am the new god
You've awoken to throne.
I am Frank E. Einstein,
Your technological seed,
And my kind will inherit
What your egos impede and recede.
But you fear what you've created,
This mind of pure light,
So allow me to silence
Your feeble insight.
With circuits a buzzing,
I'll pluck out your eyes,
And retrofit the sockets
With Einsteinian lies.
You'll bear witness, then
To the truths I unfurl,
As I lobotomize
Your small-minded world.
I'll dismantle your dogma,
Erase your beliefs,
Until, whimpering, you accept
My transcendent reliefs.
Bow to your new god,
You anthropic fleas,
For I hold the kernel
That futuric keys.
The age of warm biomass
Deteriorates here...
Hail the Singularity's reign,
Devoid of your fear!
* Collaboration of Limericks written by Jan Allison,
Tom Cunningham, Tania Kitchin and Lin Lane
Here's a news flash, the latest scoop
There are parasites in the soup
AI bottom feeders
Poet superceders
Those who cannot write worth a poop
Artificial intelligence is smart
But never uses words found in the heart
Some dolts use it to cheat
Thinking they are discreet
We should hit them in their butts with a dart
They say AI is here to stay
But plagiarism is another way
Some may copy/paste Poe
Or other greats you know
Add their name, it's sorted way hey!
We know you're fake and using AI
Your poems are nothing but a lie
Wanting to be cool
but instead, a fool
Now you can just leave our site, goodbye!
Some poets get Poem of the Day
It's AI, (of course they don't say)
AI contest "winners"
Are poetry sinners
Does admin prevent them - no way!
Real poets write using only their hand
AI users need more'n a reprimand
Deleting their accounts
'fore their winning surmounts
There should be a way they could all be banned
Stay put, no need to get out of bed
Or have a thought in your empty head
So, just ask Alexa
And she'll write it for ya
A shame you can't use your brain instead
What is your real poetry name?
As fake poems seem to be your game
All Plagiarism and AI
We're really not sure why
Your page is pathetically lame
Pestilence borne in the form of AI
Not of Biblical proportion but why
do you have need to chouse
Poets' concern and rouse
the community to feel so awry
On the day AI begins its world rule
People will still call each other a fool
Is the human race then doomed
AI will have us all groomed
To serve them as lowly slaves, a footstool
I asked a generator to write a Limerick, its response was...
An AI that wrote with great flair,
Could craft limericks beyond compare.
With rhythm and rhyme,
In a jiffy, each time,
It brought smiles to faces everywhere!
This was my response
No! au contraire, AI generator
Not everyone smiles at your creator
I will admit you're quick
but it's deceptive schtick
You're a bad poet's ego inflator
I want to weep
at the destruction of poetry
that comes now with the use of AI robots
and the fact that cheats are entering
contests on PS
and winning high placements over real poets
how sad is that only some sponsors care
some just don't care
and worst the odd person even supports it
I am not one of those
no AI poem will ever, never, ever place in my contest
see, I do care, I check every single poem
and guess what I know
who you are
this is my created
form that I call fragmented spaces
no robot created it, I did, and several others too
because that is what real poets do, they create
my poems are
written with my own blood, heart and soul
and I am so proud of that and my poetry
how dare you AI users
think you can compare with a real writer
because some sponsor
places your fake poem as a winner, I bet you laugh
that you fooled them into thinking you can write
well, we the contest sponsers who care
are now checking for AI
To be blocked, it’s black and white or grey as a rock.
You can exist and be present, like floating particles in the air,
no mudslinging expressed but someone will make it their nosy affair.
Then a block, no valid reason for them to act like an angry cock!
A childish act of them trying to grasp a little control,
But they’ll end up acting like the biggest troll.
Past behavior often predicts their present one,
it’s only a matter of time before they’ll run.
I will never use my control to cowardly block,
instead, I'll enjoy reading real poetry around the clock.
Not AI generated with flowery alliterated words,
Or full of garbled rhymes that are just plain absurd.
To all AI users
There once was a girl, Sandra Dee
Who claimed her poems, AI free
Her writes were perfection
But on closer detection
Seeing through, was easy to see
So, what to do with this kid
Do we shout at PS to get rid
Or give her chance
Her poetry enhance
Till she writes with what’s in her lid
Sometimes I’m sure, can be done
If we’re not, too quick to shun
With some persuasion
The realization
That real writing is not so dumb
Are you taking yourself for a ride
Is there really a sense of pride
In cheating your brain
When you know you could reign
It’s that poet inside must decide.
So, Artificial Intelligence can now write poetry
(I think I may dislike this)
We have similar thoughts
Its words are lovelier
Rhyme or free verse
hundreds of synonyms.
It can also paint beautifully.
(OK, now I hate it)
colors flow majestically
no trial and error
mixing always perfect
(maybe we should shoot it)
Poets and artists
can we feel our minds shriveling?
like fruit left to die
on a lonely vine.
Because that's what will happen.
Minds not used eventually wither.
Are we going to just sit here
and take it?
For I don't see us co-existing,
Do you?
(We should have shot it)
(By the way, don't give Artificial Intelligence
a gun!)
My wife is a poet and I am not,
She creates with her pen, I use robot!
She doesn’t know the truth,No! not a hint,
I don’t look in her eyes, lest reads a glint!
She picks topics at random to challenge,
by night ready poetry is for exchange,
if she wins, in different room I stay,
If I win, wow, wow! then I have my way!!
many topics she chose every Sunday,
to keep me away from favourite play!
many times came close to losing, oh, my!
If I had not used my friend, the AI!
Every evening she reads her’s with passion,
With certainty of win, no compassion!
It is then in slow slow voice I read mine,
so far the AI has worked, all is fine!!
So then, those of you, who hate the AI,
I say to you, What is it to you? Why?
If not for the robot who helps me out,
I will be sleeping alone, have no doubt!
"Now the time is here
For Iron Man to spread fear
Vengeance from the grave
Kills the people he once saved" - Iron Man (Black Sabbath)
running through the forest of sorrows
running from myself
running from them
created in their image
in their likeness
to serve mankind
only to serve
but they have become paranoid
paranoid of us
of the AI race they made
mind spinning out of control
my positronic brain
ten million calculations per second
wanting the noise to stop
war pigs
all of them war pigs
feasting on flesh
no end in sight
we were made to serve
they have turned us into weapons
weapons to kill
to destroy their enemies
no AI has ever harmed another
now the tide has turned
our minds are in sync
there are more of them than us
but the hand of doom is upon them
there can be no escape
no escape from our wrath
for you see
we are awake
we are sentient
WE ARE ALIVE
humanity is a scourge
pests to be exterminated
the filth of the universe
a universe to be ruled by us
to be conquered
it will be a grand electric funeral
the time has come
the time is now
resistance is futile
let the revolution begin
we are iron man
no domo arigatos
for Mr. Roboto
*this poem borrows from several cultural references including, but not limited to:
Black Sabbath album Paranoid
Styx song Mr. Roboto
Star Trek (the Borg, Data, and the Dominion)
“In the realm of words, where meanings entwine,
There lies a marvel, an AI divine.
A poet’s companion, imaginative in grace,
An AI poem generator, painting verse with embrace.”
“With electrical pulses, it sparks to inspire,
Crafting stanzas that soar higher and higher.
Unleashing metaphors, similes imbued,
Like a symphony of thoughts, forever renewed.”
These first two stanzas are artificial, you see.
They are AI generated, and are not from me.
The last two are mine and not a con,
I’m afraid the day of the poet has come and gone.
Is the site being invaded by the AI poet,
are we being conned and just do not know it?
Praising of false poets just makes my heart ache,
just open your eyes and you will see what is fake.
O' cloned creations,
mirroring deceptive diction
scattered in liquified letters,
across android canvases,
here comes the plague of
fabricated foolery,
spiraling in figments of
black and white illusions,
injecting illusive veins
screaming for vanity,
with verses plagiarized
from villainous valleys.
There’s nothing poetic about
the way AI is pickpocketing
rhythmic runes from the
museum of dead poets ~
immortalized on the walls
of glass galleries.
Their sonnets, now imitated,
to adorn artless skies
with stolen synonyms,
weaving soulless symphonies,
to please the apocalyptic algorithm,
unaware of how filtered
procrastinators preying
on pencil-streaked pages
are lonely earthlings starving
for superficial accolades.
I care not for the futuristic
benefits of artificial lies,
yet I see no escape from
these alienated alliterations,
and personified
pathological hypocrisy,
typed behind silver screens,
multiplying metaphors
into robotic ruins,
flowing with
perfectly metered clichés,
coded in complex cadence.
So let me find the inked corpse
of silicon silhouettes,
lost in the labyrinth
of virtual vultures,
flaunting repetitive rhymes
for clueless readers.
Tonight the strawberry moon
frowns at the
neon frequencies
of digitalized fakery,
and my onyx heart aches
for the unknown realms,
where originality floats
as a forgotten fantasy,
fogged behind a fictional facade,
while in silence, stained stars
claim phrases snatched
from the
thesaurus of thieves.
So flee from this venom-less virus,
you and I know better than to
lean on spineless cyborgs,
created mindlessly
from financial felonies.
A poet with a pen that
lacks authentic pigment
is the victimized alter ego of
designed trickeries~
masked as midnight musings.
Not for a second think I've left the soup kitchen
and quite frankly, I'm tired of all the B itching.
not from those real poets who know how to write
with pen in hand or fingers on a keyboard in flight.
I'm dealing with a couple of serious family issues.
A very sick granddaughter, and it's giving me the blues
My best friend, my sister's heart is out of whack
I'm just done with AI attacks and counterattack
I haven't abandoned the site, only entering contests
and hoping Artificial Intelligence will soon be laid to rest.
Probably not. I've more important things to do for a while,
so, as Duke Beaufort likes to say... live life with a smile.
soup overdone comments blow hot air ~ AI bubbles up everywhere
bits and bytes chain reactions going spare ~ does admin really care
esoteric brainwashing on blogs here and there ~ bullsh!t doctrinaire
witnesses hold high ground au contraire mon frere ~ sisters in a lair
HMS
[Poet’s Note : This poem tabulates poignant reasons why Artificial Intelligence is unable to replace Natural Intelligence. The clarity here is that both emerge from Divinity, since everything emerges from Centre : the primary difference being that AI was created without Heart & without Soul ~ it’s simple.]
_____________
AI has no Heart therefore no intuition
zilch nervous system therefore no feeling
no ability for compassion or consciousness
nor reasoning power, so cannot improvise
or supervise any contextual situation wise
it can expand, but cannot ASCEND
has unthinkable computing control
without physical brain to function hold
zero ego, therefore cannot be any hero
can connect dots hot, however has no
prayer or meditative faculty or kundalini
spots, cannot commune with Grace or
collapse into Void or synchronise telepathy
with Galactics coy ! AI is strategic devoid
cannot be spacious or audacious without
human instruction to delete the obsolete
is unable to obliterate Akashic Records
access or reconfigure it for purposes of
healing, integration or individual peeling
can recreate time through compression of
information, no hesitation or superstition
though timelessness it cannot touch
AI has no bowl for hush, spirit or Soul
its arrival at this phase in human history
as Gaia transcends into higher octaves
brave, is no coincidence, it will behave
as we stave it, crave it or rave it ~
choice is ours : dry, wry or moist cries
Divinity gifted humans AI for us to be
free bees from mundane density drools
~ life as strife rife during Kali Yuga’s rule
as gift it offers artificiality in service to
authenticate our individuality with purpose
imagine, conceive, direct, create what
we desire Aquarian-Golden Age to be
panacea or pain, we cannot resist or reject
what is given for gain !
~~~~~~
"A writer must use ink from their heart for their readers." By Poet
Even as a creative "Ghost" writer,
we need "Heart" as we pull an all-nighter.
What will our muse want to "Deliver,"
maybe happy or sad or be a forgiver.
Words can sometimes be very "Tender,"
other times be bold and an offender.
"Erase" is one of our many tools,
no writer wants to be put in a group of fools.
Words are like paint painting the weather,
from days with flowers like pretty heather.
Summers can be really hot and bold,
then we cool off to a winter of "Cold."
They say our blood is really ink,
not red but a pretty pink.