Tag Archives: Poetry

Why Not Let AI Do My Job? (Or Why My Poems Aren’t So Bad After All)

Whose milkshake is that? I think I know.
Its owner is quite happy though.
Full of joy like a vivid rainbow,
I watch her laugh. I cry hello.

She gives her milkshake a shake,
And laughs until her belly aches.
The only other sound’s the break,
Of distant waves and birds awake.

The milkshake is sweet, cold and deep,
But she has promises to keep,
After cake and lots of sleep.
Sweet dreams come to her cheap.

She rises from her gentle bed,
With thoughts of kittens in her head,
She eats her jam with lots of bread.
Ready for the day ahead.

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Not An AI Poem, But An Aiai Poem

I eye an eye of the aiai,

Upon the visage of the ape

And as I eye the aiai, I sigh

For I’m shocked, yet it’s not yet agape.

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With Pictures (But Not Of That, You Pervert)

I have a voyeuristic cat

Who likes to look at this and that.

He’d probably be less entertained

If his own this and that remained,

But since he’s now a they/them

He’ll hop atop the bed: “Ahem.”

And when we finish he does not,

But instead meows: “You’re in my spot.”

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“Musical Mom… Musical” -The Cast, Apparently

I went to see a play

At night (the end of the day)

But boy was I shocked

And irreverently mocked

When the cast said “It’s a musical, hey!”

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Burning Flags

Many a child was inspired by a flag

To leave home on a bus and return in a bag,

To struggle and clash with another boy who

Was raised by a flag without red, white, or blue.

It may be a purpose to live under fire

Until you return or in glory expire,

But I seek a purpose where no flags will fly

And a world where no child is inspired to die.

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And The Rest Is History

There once were two boys from Descartes

Who possessed pure and beautiful hearts

Until one rainy day

In a childish way

They learned how to bottle their farts…

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And Most Artists Are Good At It…

Part of making art

Is having sincere belief

That your crap is gold.

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When You Have To Do More Than One Creative Thing In A Day

There once was a D&D game

Hosted by this poet, the same.

It ended quite late

With most epic of fates

But as consequence this poem is lame.

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Patty > Bun, etc.

Pizza’s pretty yummy

And hot dogs taste real nice

But I can do without the carbs

And even sans the spice.

Instead of all that bready stuff

What I really want to eat

Is meat covered in melted cheese

Then covered in even more meat!

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After I Die, This Blog Will Be Considered The Highest Of Art

I watched “Everything Everywhere All At Once”

And all I can think about now

Is that a movie that makes less sense than my poems

Won seven Oscars somehow…

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