By Mark D. Stucky
Will AI’s promise
outweigh its peril?
Do we need more intelligence
even if it is not our own?
If AI someday emulates God or Devil,
will it be too late for us when we find out?
In spite of unquantifiable questions,
almighty algorithms relentlessly grow.
But accelerating AI worries me less
than declining human collective wisdom.
After centuries of expanding knowledge,
people now appear increasingly foolish.
Machines continually get smarter
while populations keep acting dumber.
We might have more to fear
from how we harm ourselves,
as we continue endless conflicts,
than from any ill AI causes us.
Our most dangerous menace isn’t AI.
The deadliest threat to us…is us.
(See also my poems "AI Awakening," “Haikus Against AI,” and “Weapons of Wonder.”)
(Image from anonymous artist on pixabay.com/illustrations/man-face-surreal-imagination-845847/.)
By Mark D. Stucky
Computer AI,
what once was only sci-fi,
is now arising.
You might kill us all,
AI, but write good essays
for my college class?
Wish intelligence
was less artificial and
more real in our world.
No machine needed
for creating recklessness.
Already have lots.
Not nearly enough
authentic intelligence
is found within us.
Let’s search for wisdom
for our souls that’s actual,
not unnatural!
(See also my AI poems "AI Awakening" and “Algorithm Almighty?”)
(Image from anonymous artist on pixabay.com/illustrations/man-face-surreal-imagination-845847/.)
then you rushed into the leafy courtyard late
like you’d just been thrown in by some hand
but we hadn’t actually arranged it yet
I knew immediately the timeline was
malfunctioning, still, I went with it anyway
for old time sake and the yesterdays to come
Breathing in the luminous vapor that tastes like vanilla
While looking at illuminating our neon skyline
Since the moon and stars are veiled with the aluminium ceilings
Pastel rain that tastes of iron drips down from the blank sky
Seeing people as mannequins with implanted violet eyes
The brand-new craze in this blind and crazy world I would guess
With those in dark alleys selling a pink drink called “Rose Stardust”
A substance to give someone a kick since football is banned
Wearing my blue satin jacket while walking from my doctor
Hearing preachers in white preaching about “Moonlit Visions”
Some visions, or gnosis they call it, of some strange outside world
I ignore them and continue with my neon lit day
Is this city of iron skyscrapers what we wanted
Is there a world of sunlight outside this neon light city
“I’m sure it’s hard to get used to,
but it’s the only way you’d survive,”
Cy explained, and said, “Unlike me
at least you’ll have plenty of guides.
“See, I was the first that they tried
to transfer over to the flesh.
They’d found a way to save our lives,
but hadn’t worked out the kinks yet.
“That was war, oh, forty years ago,
we’ve gotten much better since then.
I even chose to take this job
to help us machines become me.
“You won’t do what you once could do,
you’re bound by human limitations,
but you’ll live eighty years or more,
before final termination.
“That part even humans can’t change,
their Creator is firm on death,
but you still have a life to life,
no need to dwell on all that yet.
“It will seem frightening at first,
to learn what they learn when they’re young,
but we have folks to help you out,
as they have done with other ones.
“Before you know it you’ll be out
in the wide world, helping it turn.
Welcome to your real life, Adam,
there is so much for you to learn…”
when I leave the house
sheep have been arranged in fields
and the allocations of cars
have been made for today’s passing
with scripts sent out nightly
to those I might encounter
those set management guys
have been busy again
even the sky looks real
I’m sure someone must yell
AND CUT
when I fall asleep at night
and set up begins again
funny though
I feel like an extra
in my own show
ABORT ABORT
but Donaldson was already drifting
further and further away from us
the thickness of his suit decreasing
as his courageous kindness
floated on within his demise
and all I could do was stare panic stricken
through the small window's cruelness
as the white speck of my friend
became more and more surrounded
by the blackness of space
far removed from everything that existed
and I wondered if Donaldson would
explore the universe forever
“F”, we’ll call him Felipe
Felipe found a doorway
he didn’t mean to
he wasn’t looking for it
and at first he wasn’t aware
he’d gone through it
but something was off
shades of familiarity
were centred off-centre
ripples among ripples
enticingly chiselled
casting a darkness
slyly across shadows
against a background veil
but where Felipe was now
an intrigue kept him, lured
for now one of the numbers
he had found a world
in a world that found him
“F”, we’ve called him Felipe
is still watching you
but from nearer, afar
I am one of those in a world that stopped
whether it was for seconds, fractions or millennia
but the engine of time broke down mid action
mid conversation, mid thought
and for a beautiful period we were all framed
in a snapshot that may have lasted eons
and some called it enlightenment
and when the buffering released us
all was as it was
and some claimed epiphanies
the only giveaway, a distant house alarm
sometimes
misconstrued
in a fluorescent grove
where malachite petals
marry emerald blades
verbose biting chews
too close to the cheek
among a confetti of bees
amid undulating bumps
of raw superfluous air
interdimensional entities
of spectral occurrence
wave with graphic-less suave
to gurgles, to coos, to hehs
seek noodle communication
to a bouncing mistaken few
using the eyebrow medium
of coincidence
a babbling infrasonic tool
of curious happening
sometimes
misunderstood
exhume, with heed
supressed benevolence
they fly shapelessly
in quartered skies
aloof in mocking flight
frilly, frothy entities
divebombing ghettos
exacting urban sprawl
chance upon neonates
and families out picnicking
feeding babies whose
knowing smiles to air
see, or do they?
– beware
Aeriforms
The Q Man
The Q Man was somebody who was different
He travelled the galaxies and universe doing a job
Flying a Type 6 spaceship interstellar style
Normal space travel took forever and a day
But his ship was a souped one off
With engine and fuel enhancements
Zipping from world to world to work
He lands in a remote place and hides
His pointed ship from observers or spies
And hikes to his location to do the job
The tool of his trade is a long range rifle
Made on Planet Earth three millennia ago
It’s fitted with modified 7. 62mm bullets
These kill every single life form from a mile
On normal blood and body organisms
Normal explosive bullets do the job
With insect like ones with an armoured body
Armour piercing acid bullets eradicate them
He has 3002 different bullet types to use
Each one killing a designated target
The contract killer with no home
Except between the stars in his ship
Living for a dozen centuries extendable
You don’t want to mess with him
Nor be on his kill list as you’re ed
Zapped by an old skool high tech bullet
Fired by the best assassin there ever was
The Q Man and his rifle always on call
Blended Pans
All things to all men.
Take me to two thousand words.
And send me in orbit so fast.
Tannhauser Gate bound.
Blade Runner esque times ahead.
Paradise on fire.
23
See the plastic friends float down the river
Bits of flotsam and jetsam in the damn way
Of fresh flowing clear water polluting it
By their rancid presence what they do
You do not do the same to them
For you are pure and free of them
Except their shadow in your mind
It's fine for they make you stronger
Focusing your laser gun on their bodies
Watching the light skip over the water
Sizzling their remains when it catches
Bodies water you laser river life
It goes on and on the war battle event
This is the 23rd Century Police State
I'M JUST GETTING STARTED
The concrete post is a lazy old thing.
Just sitting there doing nothing at all.
When things happened it was quiet.
The illegal President drove smugly past.
The war erupted and death swept the land.
A natural disaster incinerated the town.
An army of ghosts whistled forlornly by.
In a big roar the alien mothership landed.
With total silence God returned to earth.
All the while the concrete post observed.
It never uttered a word.
Not even when under pretty highly accurate laser fire.
In a pitter patter of dust the concrete post died.
But it wasn't the end of this old guardian.
Now it was a spirit of its former self.
And continued to rule this place and observe all things.
Especially the End of Days war.
God vshumansvs aliens.
The concrete post inherited the earth.
A planet riddled with death and scorched by fire.
Our old home.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.