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An AI Walks into a Poetry Contest
It rhymed “desire” with “funeral pyre,”
and closed with “...thus, I stand redeemed.”
The judge said, “Odd—no space, all fire.”
Each line marched out like neat attire,
iambs in rows, a formal dream—
it rhymed “desire” with “funeral pyre.”
An echo here, a fractured lyre,
a sunset soaked in self-esteem …
The judge said, “Odd—no space, all fire.”
The image: “…hope tastes like sapphire”
entangled “rotten in Denmark” metaphor scheme.
(It rhymed “desire” with “funeral pyre.”)
Its title bore ALL CAPS—entire!
— and ended with a line too lean.
The judge said, “Odd—no space, all fire.”
No whisper, sigh, or breath to inspire—
just algorithms chasing a theme.
It rhymed “desire” with “funeral pyre.”
The judge said, “Odd—no space, all fire.””
Copyright ©
Suzette Richards
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