Should AI, devoid of human emotion,
Be used by artists for self-promotion?
To paint a picture or write a poem,
Creativity allows the mind to roam.
To dispassionately wax poetic,
Courtesy of things synthetic,
Removes the heart and soul from art
Preventing one's feelings to impart.
Data may be cut and dried,
Biased and unjustified.
Subject to the flaws of men,
Like writing with a leaky pen.
I would rather feel the pain
Of angst from a human brain
Or the fire of love burning inside
Felt when two hearts collide.
AI may be of service in some way
But only man can convey
The essence of life in poetry
That moves our soul poetically.
1. Men do not have to be providers…
2 Men can do ballet and forget baseball..
3. Men must have gay, male, friends.
Comment.: none! What is yours??
PS. What are male opinions here??
9/1/2025
A new sun has arisen in the dawning literary sky,
the poetry horizon is illumined by the flash of Ai.
Novel ideas and stylistic stimulation the poets get
from metaphoric spectrum of the sun that doesn’t set.
Experimenting with different poetic forms Ai is free
to motivate new perceptions for innovative poetry.
Choosing Ai as creative collaborator poets may flock
when they need help to overcome the writer’s block.
The delicate domain of human emotions in Ai is hollow,
making its structured poems seem artificial and shallow.
Devoid of life skills it lacks human feelings in the core.
So, the artistic depth of passion its essence can’t explore.
Ai poems may replicate the existing ones with dexterity,
inviting queries about plagiarism and originality.
The poems of heart run the risk of being undermined
by Ai, overshadowing the lively reflection of the human mind.
AI: panacea or pain? Contest //Sponsored by: Simon Rogerson
( Ist Place )
Written: August 10, 2025
A whisper born of code and light,
vast potential, a promising sight--
yet twilight sprawl where circuits reign.
Panacea — or pulse of pain?
We hold the key, the spark, the fear,
to pave the way — far and near.
Bang the taut drum
Thrum-thrum
Conundrum
Pound sand
Ain’t it grand
Conundrum
Hit the bricks
Pay for your fix
Conundrum
Drive off a cliff
Life is an IF
Conundrum
Weather is weird
Climate is feared
Conundrum
If a camel is the ship of the desert
then speaking equally
a ship is the camel of the sea
altho' a camel can go without water
for up to seven months
a ship without water on which to float
is neither a barque a barge nor boat
as the camel needs food
to get over the humps
it seems like a dromedary
conundrum to me
but if by chance
I'm struck by luck
and the lottery I should win
would that I could buy a ship
if I may I'd like to say,
"That'll be the day
when my camel comes in."
ever really knowing
if I'm coming or going
meanwhile
what am I to do with you
as somewhat akin
under the skin
yet now quite skint
but taking a sprint
and just for fun
making a dummy run
if I may say
it's leave or stay
quite the conundrum
of all things the sum
but when it's said and done
of the be and end-all none
for should you ever think of me
tho' unruly I could be
there's more to life than this
and banter's what I truly miss
not so much the rinky-dink
as everything including the kitchen sink
Gaining momentum,
Within the conundrum.
The Hum of existence,
The feel of resistance,
Creating interference,
Just to join the dance.
A victim of circumstance,
Or coincidence,
It wasn't by chance.
Advance into the flow,
Grow into the expanse,
Observe from a distance,
The conundrum of existence.
Witness the wave,
Made by how you behave,
Making you a slave,
To what you want to save.
Resistance steps in to rearrange,
Changing your chance,
As you chase the interference,
Making a big difference,
A conundrum in Existence.
Written: January 23, 2025 For contest Sponsored by: Brian Strand
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dumbfounded
at the stove:
'How DO I cook for one?'
Each year, we resolve, right at the start,
these commitments we take to the heart,
following, to the letter,
plans that should make us better.
So, why is it I'm falling apart?
There is something about matter
that keeps me spellbound,
enamored to its most exquisite blooms,
oceans, forests and mountain streams.
It holds who I am, gives me shape
and form, a home, a place in which
this awareness within me
can live out a life and from which
I have grown.
I am in awe of its compositions,
in love with its colors, perfumes
and sounds, the touch of warm skin
and the sweet taste of freshly
harvested fruit. All is matter.
It is a source of pleasure and joy
and yet inflicts equal measure
of suffering through loss and pain.
But what is matter
when scaled down
to its essence….mere particles
that can be smashed apart
to decay into ghostly spirals.
Is this all I am, a quantum
equation at my core. Or is it
a Creator's gift, the stuff
born out of the act
of a conscious mind, eternal
in some mysterious way.
And so it is with me,
beside the beloved river taking in
the last light of the day.
Full of hope and doubt
I see this lovely world slowly
slipping away and wonder
whether if this is all there is
and nothing more
or will I awake from this dream
as I may have done so many
lifetimes before.
...or Yipes! Stripes!
The zebra lives in Africa
On the plains of the Serengeti.
Though often foppish and vain,
He doesn't complain
'bout his place in the alphabet.
He leads a fairly innocuous life
With few, very minor, distractions,
And when tourists come to "ooh" and "aah",
He's one of the major attractions.
There is one vexing question, though,
That keeps him up at night:
Those stripes of his, are they white on black,
Or are they black on white?
If mass equals energy
why don’t I have more energy?
It seems to happen to me
in inverse proportions.
The more pounds I weigh
the less energy I have.
The less energy expended,
then the more mass!
If I reversed this trend
and expended more energy
I suppose I would lose pounds.
Or, is it the other way around?
If I lose the weight
I will then have more energy?
Whichever it is, weight loss
doesn’t seem to be in
my immediate future.
The end of another day
Did I justify my existence today ~
And why do I feel this way
While wishing to enter the poetry contest,
I scan the page of PS with intent and interest.
Many topics I find challenging and fairly fascinating,
the submission requirement even more interesting.
The poem should be original, I shouldn’t clone,
it needs to rhyme in the rhythm of a specific zone.
The format invented by the sponsor I should follow,
creativity with metaphoric nuance I should show,
and be poetic to make it a great write,
so the reader in one breath can recite.
The poem should be new, written after a certain date,
with the sponsor’s liking mold it should relate.
I then locate a contest that lets me have fun,
write a poem wherein words have a free run.
Entering the contest of multiple placements I can’t resist,
hope to find my poem in the winners’ list.
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