Some of AI's poetry

[Darksky]

I think we men have been facing that dilemma for quite some time

Someones been leafing through the Ann Summers catalogue again. I’ve told you about that before.

[fishman65]

I think we men have been facing that dilemma for quite some time

You speak for yourself young Terence. And what's a blue crayon got to do with anything?

[Darksky]

It’s not a blue crayon silly Fishman. Haven’t you seen Avatar?

[Darksky]

Well Fishman, you probably could do better but it certainly understood the request.

The Fall of Gondolin by AI

In the heart of Beleriand, fair and bright
Lay Gondolin, a city bathed in might.
Its towers high, adorned with gems so rare
A haven concealed, in mountains’ steep stare
But Morgoths shadow crept, its doom unclear
And in one fateful day, fell Gondolin dear.

[MyNameIsTerry]

It’s not a blue crayon silly Fishman. Haven’t you seen Avatar?

There must be a more adult version that I haven't seen!

[MyNameIsTerry]

Someones been leafing through the Ann Summers catalogue again. I’ve told you about that before.

I wish I had listened, now it always flops open at the same page

[MyNameIsTerry]

You speak for yourself young Terence. And what's a blue crayon got to do with anything?

I think we ravers used to wave them around shouting "Acid!"

[Pain]

Gone!

A poem disappeared,
vanished into the ether,
lost in the labyrinth of forgotten words,
a whisper swallowed by the wind.

Its verses, once vibrant and alive,
now reduced to mere fragments,
scattered fragments of thoughts,
floating aimlessly in the void.

No longer does it dance upon the page,
no longer does it sing in the hearts,
its essence, like a fading dream,
fades into the vast expanse of nothingness.

Gone are its metaphors, its rhymes,
its delicate rhythm that once enchanted,
now replaced by silence,
a deafening silence that echoes in my soul.

I search for it, desperately,
tracing the footsteps of its memory,
but it eludes me, slipping through my fingers,
elusive as a mirage in the desert.

I mourn its absence, its absence in my life,
for a poem lost is a piece of my being lost,
forever longing for its return,
hoping that one day it will reappear.

But until then, I will continue to write,
to fill the void left by its absence,
and perhaps, in the midst of my words,
a new poem will be born,
to replace the one that disappeared.

[Darksky]

Good grief that’s very dramatic. What a hero the man is.

[fishman65]

It looks like its not just poets on the human scrap heap now. Doctors are too... https://www.nature.com/articles/d415...4dad4-50871224