The unskilled claim to possess the art of penmanship,
The uncalled insist they hear the summoning of the muse,
The untraveled assert they sail with words,
The plain claim to be the portrait of an enigma.
Winged by AI,
They soar on the wings of their assertions.
AI doesn’t delve into the depths of the soul,
It doesn’t wander through the realm of mysteries,
It doesn’t perceive the blooming meadow,
And it can’t be stirred in the stillness of the night.
AI can assist in chiselling,
It can aid in painting,
But it can’t envision the right colours,
It doesn’t recognise the approaching light.
September 9, 2025.
Categories:
chiselling, inspirational,
Form: Free verse
The morning slaps me awake
with a frozen windscreen,
keys in hand, scraping frost like
I’m chiselling through someone else’s mistakes.
My breath hangs in the air,
a ghost of myself
mocking the effort.
The cold flirts cruelly with my cheeks,
leaving them raw,
only for the radiator’s blast
to burn them out of spite.
The heating bill waits in the wings,
a villain in this pantomime.
“Put on another jumper,” I mutter,
as if wool could conquer capitalism.
Blanketed, I surrender to films
where faces blur into
a tinsel-coated déjà vu –
different eyes, same dialogue,
happy endings so loud
they drown out my cynicism.
Stupid Christmas songs screech
their hollow cheer,
and I let them.
They’re easier to hate
than my own thoughts.
But the air is so fresh
it cuts clean through the noise.
For a moment,
the world feels lighter –
even the weight I carry
shrinks to something
I can hold in my hands,
turning it over like snowflakes,
watching it melt
into the brittle calm of this season.
Categories:
chiselling, christmas, imagination, morning, poems,
Form: Free verse
beak’s pecking away
chiselling wood from my side
hole reveals insides
is it work or play
pecker’s constant yammering
or to stir me up
plug up scab or slug
the critter who’s fleshing out
a home for squirrels
i’m feeling squirrely
running on a hamster wheel
pounding on the walls
Elmer Fudd my spouse
guns blazing looking for fight
wily rabbit laughs
morning to midnight
tiptoe open door slowly
feels swoosh of bb’s
No birds were hurt in the writing of this poem ;)
Categories:
chiselling, bird,
Form: Senryu
I
I could copy, imitate and duplicate
The words of heart-and-wordsmiths
O muse, help me rather emulate
The genesis of natal pedigree, truths
And touches of agape-Love
II
To speak of aging, arriving, mature
With shy eyes that blossom respect
Lips that don't intimate lust, adventure
But dependence on another pair yet
For air, their mutual sheltered Cove
Categories:
chiselling, 12th grade, beautiful, love,
Form: Rhyme
To bed just after one
Awake by half-past three
The words in my head
Swirl around and torture me
All I did was have an idea
A simple story in my head
Now condemned to hard labour
Chiselling pictures, I cannot shed
The characters stare while I slumber
Like a child’s scary dream
They poke and they prod me
Sit in my mind, an endless scream
I wish I loved simple maths
The equations make me sleep
But my mind’s a jumble of words
Lying tangled in a heap
As knotted as my wife’s ear phones
As frustrating as laces in a shoe
I wish that I loved maths
Then I could sleep, just like you.
David Cox 27/10/20
Categories:
chiselling, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form: Couplet
Your warped song and dance play to my soul
twisting and turning me inside out
melting and moulding my depths
creating, shaping, chiselling away to new form
until no longer do I recognise
the one whom it is looks back through the mirror
a reflection of self
Categories:
chiselling, anger, angst, confidence, confusion,
Form: Free verse
I had a waking moment but it was soon
to be forgotten.
Rising from a peaceful sleep, now I'm
intrigued.
Feels like myself and my mind have made
a deal, for now this revelation has to
remain concealed.
I know in perfect timing the truth shall
be revealed. Right now I shall continue
chiselling at my chains, it's strange because
the words "free bird" seem to reign.
Categories:
chiselling, bird, forgiveness, freedom, hope,
Form: I do not know?
Notes put to page by mage intent
Attempt at acting sage pro temp
Unheard notes of songs and hymns
Unsung as yet unwrit
Using rythym of rhyming repeating
With rippling echoes reacting
Hanging ten while surfing brainwaves
On the sharpening edge of reason
Activating nodes in thinking patterns
Chiselling in stoned memories
Easily remembered by simple repetition
Pictures registered in singing words
Sunset clouds of changing color
Shaded hues of blue and red
Golden notes of symphonies
Counterpointing purple coastlines
Islands float in cloudy seas
Songs unheard but plainly written
In time to changing winds
Dancing silhouettes of sunlight hung
On shining stems of windblown waves
Of bending blending grasses
So many strings vibrate together
And in minor chord the brass is sung
By a thousand birds on cue
Crickets add a million cymbals
Until curtainfall is due
Categories:
chiselling, art, life, music, nature,
Form: I do not know?