Moonlight memories are decidedly very human traits
How then, will AI be able to judge what a hand will write?
if bots have no heart nor soul, will they hesitate
to pass judgement? Will they find this to be their plight?
Throw in the gloom of rain and emotions are in full swing
Can bots comprehend the feelings of emotional pain
or will they judge on Thesaurus words. That's their thing.
Using AI to check for AI... that seems ludicrous and arcane
I like my doughnuts raised and glazed
coffee black and sweet
my fish a salt and battered
but you're my favourite treat
Indian is hot and spicy
Chinese it gets old
Italian can be fat and greasy
salad leaves me cold
I like my dumplings round and plump
vegetables stir-fried
prefer my fruit firm and fresh
but you're the best I've tried
man cannot live on bread alone
or so I was taught
you're my soul food make me whole food
you're my food for thought
I like my chicken finger-licking good
martini stirred not shaken
my medicine with sugar
but you're the best I've taken
there's no confusion I've come to the conclusion
if nothing else you are delicious
and at the risk of sounding repetitious
I've decided you're decidedly delicious
A beggarman got in my face today
yelling and screaming, his finger poking my stomach
He showed me how cruel I’ve become
when I dared call him a filthy bum
Of course he exploded, called me all sorts of names
most of which were decidedly not me
‘til I gave that man a piece of my mind
which he spat on although it was free
Three seasons in the making:
patiently knitting, weaving, cultivating.
From light of day through darkest night
I worked away without respite.
I washed it gently with soft spring shower,
then dried it in the summer hour.
When the coat was a perfect fit,
with autumn shades I coloured it.
But when winter chills closer drew
you lost it to the first wind that blew.
Decidedly Deciduous!
You ungrateful child, you.
(7th placement in Rob Carmack's Screwed XXII Contest)
The more I learn about people,
the more I like my dog.
~attributed to Mark Twain
She is decidedly anti-mingle,
preferring her cozy hermitage
in the verdant valley meadow.
She feels like Rip Van Winkle
waking at last to find the world changed,
but really it happened so fast!
While she wasn’t watching,
the world remained unrestrained
in its quest for pleasure.
Her hermit house was secure
with boundaries to keep people out,
except for delivery drivers bringing this and that.
Even a hermit has to eat,
so she mingles on social media
a little bit chagrined she needs technology…
because she talked it over
with Pippi and Poppi, the Pomeranians,
and they agree it should always be.
just we three!
This late morning's high noon scaling, steeply-ascending, ragged herald
Hauls himself upwards into the roaring expanse of the dizzying sky
To chance upon this, might though his very soul should be imperiled,
When lording over which is constrained within a dispassionate, encompassing eye.
From the feathered throat abruptly pours such Mellifluous harmony
As, lifting higher and higher, he negotiates a ledge inside a wisp of
broken cloud;
Those rich, dulcet notes, more decidedly sweeter than any liquid honey,
Irresistibly flowing Earthwards... a continuous symphony of unparalleled sound.
His alone the rushing glory! His alone this almost unattainable niche!
For up here, rarified and raw, the air is breathless and sparse where thins.
Then the song fully enveloping the shrunken patchwork of fields beneath...
Whereon, delivering forth from bursting lungs, that final triumphant salvo
he heroically flings.
Wouldn't it be great
if all this oil ran out
No brush cutters, lawn mowers
or blowers about
Today it's Easter Sunday
on the edge of a large town
There's stillness and calmness
the decibel level decidedly down
The birds they are a'chirping
leaves are rustling in the breeze
The flowing bubbly sound of our nearby creek
all designed to calm the soul if you please
The revival of community
all together lend a hand
Gather fresh organic home grown food
heads no longer buried in the sand
consistently
impulsive
decidedly
preoccupied
with
desires
earnest
&
stirring
delicate
& warm hearted
gleaming
flickering
fancies
flaring
changing
pervading
the calm
in
sensitive
expression
with
smooth
sentiment
I knew a young girl
just a pretty face
who lost her mind
in outer space
with a celestial body
decidedly racy
out of this world
but totally spacey
not quite the brightest light
it's true (but what a view) and yet
when gazing at the moon
turned loony... a space cadet
and 'twas the lunar orb
(waxing, waning, new or blue)
of that there's no doubt
whose gravitational pull
simply put... spaced her out
I am playing with mommy’s make up
While she’s tired and putting her feet up
I’m supposed to be having rest too
But face painting’s a fun thing to do.
Mommy placed the curlers in my hair
She tells me it gives me added flair
So I’m painting my face, as mom does
Hoping it makes her happy heart buzz.
My hair will become curly whirly
And my face decidedly girly
With my lips covered in red lipstick
Blusher on my cheeks, and green eyelids.
Mommy is bound to have a surprise
When she wakes up and opens her eyes
I'm sure she'll say that I look charming
Don't know what she means by self harming.
I do not live in Missouri
But I want to be shown
Those who are in a hurry
Often give facts overblown
I cannot be told to believe in this or that
My experiences are vast, decidedly phat
I will make up my own mind if you please
Some of the stuff I read is gleaned out of cottage cheese
Another farfetched story from Helen Louise
Bizarre, fantastique, grotesque if you please
Eccentric and strange, decidedly *****
I ran out screaming, for embellishers I fear
We had a prophet in our trailer court
His sign said “the Amazing, Seer, Mort”
He told fortunes all day long
Some predictions were decidedly strong
A few naysayers tried to chase him away
But the rest of us mobbed up and insisted he stay
I will be a queen in my next reincarnated life
The woebegone neighbor will soon be rid of her strife
The block’s meandering husband will soon come back
Mort the magician’s predictions have nothing to lack
We are all uplifted, when he reads our palm and face.
His prophecies are marvelous, full of lightness and grace.
Star shaped, seriously sassy
Nodding needle-nosed, light chassis
Capped column, looking conniving
Irregular yet interesting without striving
Decidedly diabolically dendrite-dated
Practically perfect, placidly plated
Snowflakes have six points or six sides
Depending on moisture in clouds and temp outside
Daze and days of penmanship
Potent perhaps a touch of sun
Shipshape warming of outlet ink
Ishmael invites a tale; I say: “stowaway”
Stop all blubbering; just get yammering
Yo ho soupmates, we must steer the ship
Stir golden pot of disbelief and brass tacks
Torrential corkscrew pasta, perhaps?
Pish posh of the alphabet riding the waves
Wending its way, each letter to the crew
Conspirators of sonnets, limericks and dust
Dangerous alliteration, elevation and descent
Decidedly dizain, free verse or blank; thats it?!
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