A SONNET OF BLASPHEMY,
by Aleister Crowley
EXALTED over earth, from hell arisen,
There sits a woman, ruddy with the flame
Of men's blood spilt, and her uncleanly shame,
And the thrice-venomous vomit of her prison.
She sits as one long dead: infernal calm,
Chill hatred, wrap her in their poisonous cold.
She careth not, but doth disdainly hold
Three scourges for man's soul, that know no balm
They know not any cure. The first is Life,
A well of poison. Sowing dust and dung
Over men's hearts, the second scourge, above
All shameful deeds, is Lying, from whose tongue
Drops Envy, wed with Hatred, to sow Strife.
These twain are bitter; but the last is Love.
A SONNET OF BLASPHEMY. - VOLUME I - Collected Works - The Libri of Aleister Crowley - Hermetic Library
Aleister Crowley was born on 12 October 1875 in Royal Leamington Spa, England, and died on 1 December 1947 in Hastings, Sussex, England.
BLASPHEMY
Uplifted hands, I knelt beneath the flame,
And sang hosannas wrapped in holy dread.
The mercy-seat was cold, but still I came,
Where saints once walked and mortal martyrs bled.
She rose in grace, a whisper in the fire,
Her robe adorned with lilies and despair.
Her voice—a psalm too sweet for true desire—
Spoke truths the pulpit never dared declare.
“Behold the dance,” she said, “where idols stir,
Where Shiva weeps among the veils of Rome.”
I bowed and wept, though my intent was pure:
A lamb misplaced within the hallowed dome.
O praise the name, though none recall the tune—
The altar cracked beneath the midday moon.
Microsoft Copilot 15/7/2025
Where to draw the line? I find it rather disconcerting that people are so reliant on quick fixes like AI checkers, instead of using the obvious tool at everyone’s disposal—namely, their own brain. Don’t be fooled by the seemingly innocuous topic; nothing appears to be sacred anymore when it comes to the mass production of poetry by AI with its obvious clichés and ready to hand stock phrases, and incongruous settings, mixing and matching cross cultural metaphors till its machine heart’s content.
Please note that the above poem, Blasphemy, was generated using the first poem as an example, to illustrate the points made.
‘Blasphemy’ is 85% AI per Scribbr, but only 56% AI when it was first filtered through NOTEPAD. However, it is 100% AI-generated, as stated. Therefore, the best AI detector still remains one’s own eyes and brain.
A zero-AI check doesn’t guarantee untouched authorship—it’s plausible a poet rewrote or repurposed AI output with emotional intention and human edits that slip past detection.
Why does it matter to me what other poets do? Because it reflects on all of us! According to Similarweb’s traffic analysis, PoetrySoup had around 448,000 visits last month, with an average of 3.81 pages per visit and a bounce rate* of 48.76%. That suggests a decent level of browsing, but not necessarily deep engagement. The largest age group of visitors is 18–24, and the audience skews 59% female.
To recap, see my earlier blog:
JUDGING GUIDE FOR SPONSORS - Suzette Richards's Blog (poetrysoup.com)
This is not a nudge, but a wakeup call.
Happy quills!
Su
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*bounce rate: Single-page session: A visitor arrives, views one page, and exits.