I never thought that I would say this out loud
but the quality of AI-poetry
has unexpectedly taken a turn for the worse
where are the days when it regurgitated
plagiarised phrases
where are the days when it made gallant efforts
to emulate Suzette Prime
I guess that it hinges on which programme one uses
I never thought that I would say this at all
but clankers have hallucinated themselves into irrelevance
Watching a programme
Sunday afternoon
The television
Blacked out5 suddenly
No sound no picture
Today is Tuesday
Three days of silence
No sound no picture
Only quietness
My thoughts telling me
It is time to write
I now hear the words
The pen is ready
To glide on the page
Now I will begin
Without the t.v.
Now to spend the time
Creating a poem
Or reading a book
Or mediate
Meanwhile searching
For a new t.v.
It will take awhile
Until one is found
At a decent price
Implementing school closures 2020..Not
Implementing objective autopsys on injection related deaths of all types..Pushing to prosecution of freedom
Appreciative citizens by un-sound, and therefore illegal assertions.? Maybe un-lawfull? Implementing the m a i d programme.. And overseeing a breakdown
In good law, and protecting the vulnerable
Lauding a waffen ss murderer in parliament, and awarding a medal to the
Same felon 2007, did i just make all this
Up.? No such luck.! However justice
Heather Parker Mc Vey.. Looks to be intune
With good practice, I am led to convey.)
I first beheld her in a play;
The leading lady on that day.
And every entrance caused a stir.
In a play I first beheld her.
By curtain call I knew for sure
That I would love her evermore.
For me there was no doubt at all.
I knew for sure by curtain call.
I kept the programme by my bed,
With her name underlined in red.
I vowed I would become a ham.
By my bed I kept the programme.
I joined next day the drama group,
To be a member of the troupe.
I thought she might be mine that way.
The drama group I joined next day.
Despite my plans I’m on the shelf.
Her co-star has her to himself.
Last week, in church, they called the banns.
I’m on the shelf, despite my plans
I always hated that wretched vase,
Ugly and past it’s best.
A bit like me if I’m honest.
(That was my wife’s favourite jest)
But she loved us both, especially the vase,
Which her grandfather left when he died.
And she was always his favourite,
So the thing was displayed with pride.
But when she passed, though feeling disloyal,
I hid it out of sight.
I didn’t have a use for it
But I thought the Red Cross might.
Then, watching an antiques programme,
You’ll never guess what I saw.
They had a vase just like my wife’s,
Worth ten thousand or more.
Did I tell you how I love that vase;
How I proudly display the thing?
And the first thing I tell my visitors is
“This beautiful vase is a Ming.”
INEVETABLE,
COLLATERABLE DAMAGE,
NOBODY CAN TELL ME WHAT TO DO,
MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY,
EXPERT,
FINE PRINT,
NON DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT,
COMMERCIAL SENSITIVITY,
THE PRICACY ACT SAYS ..
NOT YOUR PROBLEM,
TEXT ME,
DID YOU KNOW YOU CAN DO IT ON LINE,
YOUR PROGRAMME WILL RESUME IN 51 SECONDS,
WHO NEEDS A LANDLINE THESE DAYS,
THIS IS AN AUTOMATIC REPLY,
DUE TO . . .
THE NUMBER AHEAD OF YOU IN THE CUE,
WE NO LONGER STOCK THAT ITEM,
KILLS 99.99 PERCENT OF GERMS,
DON'T WALK ON THE GRASS,
NO CAN DO.
When the doctor gave me his diagnosis,
He didn’t deliver a happy prognosis.
He told me I had just twelve months to go.
Not really the news I wanted to know.
Now almost a year has passed since that day.
I’ve just thirty-nine minutes to while away.
A final meal? Put the kettle on.
And I’ll boil an egg. That’s four minutes gone.
I’ll wash it down with a nice cup of tea
And, while I’m eating, I’ll watch T.V.
There’s a programme that lasts for thirty minutes
And, if I’m lucky, I’ll see all that’s in it.
It’s almost finished: just 2 minutes more.
But now I hear a knock at the door.
Ah, the credits are rolling; I’ve just survived.
My time is up. The Grim Reaper’s arrived.
In the Mansion House
On a January day
The framework of the nation
And its future did lay
Deputy Johnson
Brought forth his brand-new assignment
If the Democratic Programme did pass
T’would alter our social alignment
Yet, Johnson and Labour
Were met with strict opposition
Economic democracy
Was not the Gaelic League’s mission
Instead, fix the language
And paint the letterbox green
To feed the bootless children
They were none too keen
A state of ‘freedom’ being
Rhetorical and flowerful
All that changed was
The colour of the flag
And the accents of the powerful
O search not for a rare applause,
Beware, life is a thankless stage—
It's vain, a loud uproar to cause
On this voyage of pilgrimage,
A puppet you are, caught in cage.
Vain to think you’re a great actor,
You know the plot, nor script nor end,
Watch out, Fate’s a poor director,
As clown, no great role shall ye land,
As puppet, pulled by unknown hand.
________________________________
Musings | 05.09.2015| Quintain
Poet’s note: We might think we are great actors, while in truth we are no more than clowns in the eyes of a spoilsport called Fate, Fortune, or Destiny. Man is then no more than a clown who hopes to hear applause on life’s stage that proves a vague hope, a mirage. For, life offers no programme; the director of the stage-play gives no script; the destiny provides no prompt. And still, he must perform in hope for an applause that seldom materializes.
FAKE IS AWAKE
Is nature becoming unnatural
Some may think it could be so
What words or images are real
Levers pulled to make one feel
As the metaverse will still grow
One almost needs an epidural
A.I is close to that singularity
As no-one knows what is true
And if left to its own devices
Brings us ever closer to a crisis
All accepting the current view
And will recognise no disparity
Whether political or academic
Arguments cannot be resolved
Big Brother is now the only way
Follow the programme for today
Even raw truth has now evolved
As fake news becomes endemic
Some may recall what nature was
Not just the land, oceans and sky
But also things we all understood
Not forced to accept it was good
Now, few care if you start to cry
Failing to meet the Wizard of Oz
HELLO SO CALLED FREE WORLD.!! Canada is a
Crown country...So is Australia..For the time being!
Melbourne was put under house arrest for twelve
Months..! For no crime whatsoever..Think on this!
Where is the fair governance?? Is there a valid one?
In Britain the originator of colonial law, Caroline
Farrow is under survaillance for speaking her thought
Jordan Peterson is being shoehorned into a programme
Of so called ( re education ) these people don't know
One another I presume.? What are we witnessing in
The case of the large sized lady shown in sports illustrated
What are we suposed to gather ? Its a sports publication
Are they a beauty magazine? Well I suppose in academic
Summation yes.' As you need a slim and resiliant body
To compete athletically..Yes?? So sports oriented peiople
Would intuitivally think a more leaner body more attractive
To compete, that then affects perception overall, whether
I or whoever sees the wider senario of beauty is not relative
In this context.! Which brings us too, why this cover page
In a sports oriented publication? Or was it just an entrappment ploy.? In both cases what is going on.?
I’m sitting at my keyboard
Just ranting and abusing
Which my long suffering wife
No longer finds amusing.
I’m both dyslexic and dyspraxic
Which is why I swear and curse
Because for a creative person that
Combination couldn’t be worse.
To make matters harder I Have
a keyboard that judy can’t spell
And predictive text just
Can Make my life hell.
I bought a dictation programme,
Money very badly spent.
It just can’t cope with
My East Yorkshire accent.
So if my rambling is at time
More than usually absurd
Full of errors and typos
And the odd little non word
Please be a little forgiving
For what you are getting to see,
With all those helpers switched off
The unaided uncorrected real me.
2010 initiative N H S decide programme we see
On halving stillbiths; and injury, quite sensible it
Appears to me ' yet now 2023 has come to be
Its being shelved, what could we see? There must
Be a reason (just what might that be?) Some type
Of connection umbilically, of 2010 and 2023 ?
I wonder if to put it simply; there is so much better
Just come to be.? That theres a humbleness to avoid
The publicity? that such results and records would
Engender if seen specially experts (who would be keen)
To build on any progress, that whould improve the scene
Of natal care, what woult that mean? There must be a
Trail of better results? Over more than a decade so
Whats the shout.? I can't see why its been sidlined? as if
Its inception and work was almost, a heineous crime.!
LONELY
Cooking for one is not much fun
There doesn’t seem much point.
The smallest saucepan’s far too large
And if I cook a Sunday joint
It’s still around mid-week.
The supermarkets seem so vast
And I’m not catered for.
Although they have the things I want,
They’re all in packs of two or more.
And you’re no longer here.
Remember when I cooked for us
And ate by candlelight
Our favourite pasta recipe
You always said I cooked just right?
I never eat that now.
My dinner’s on my lap these days.
The television’s on.
I tune our favourite programme in,
Then realise once more you’ve gone
And let the image fade.
That tear? It’s just the onions.
You know what onions do.
It’s force of habit I suppose
That made me go and chop up two.
But you’re no longer here.
15th March 2023
Writing Challenge - 'L' words poetry contest
Sponsor - Constance La France
Looking out of a window
onto the world, you wonder
if there is an awareness
that soaks each living cell,
something that sews together
all life into a symphony
playing to the score written
by a single entity.
Or is everything a random
throw, discrete forms let loose
within a mindless programme
loaded with a bias
to survive, a world where
even charity and love
are attributes selected
to give the species
a social advantage, a trick
to win the game.
What then art, a sublime
song sung by the human
soul or something made
in the workshop
of a brain to keep
the human species entertained,
nothing more
than an evolutionary pill
to save us from going insane
whilst welded to our purpose.
Yet so much seems superfluous
to the mere act of breeding,
that we create books, galleries
and concert halls to store,
the evidence we could be more.
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