It’s the same town of verbs and noun,
but something’s going ’round.
The frequent fluency feels…
artificial.
Some summaries lack symmetry
of simplicity.
The inflections conceptions
lack melody.
Some pens
are showing signs of dust.
It’s a fate that turns poets to rust.
And it’s all being spotted
on pages whose phrases
lack spaces for human traces.
Soon
they’ll have nothing human to say –
A poet’s worst nightmare
in the cold light of day.
Powerfully penned, Tim. Another excellent write my friend. A.I. makes me nervous these days. Nicely done. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thanks for your thoughts, Damian. 🙂
Oh boy, do I know about dust and rust! AI is one of those avenues I will never employ for writing. I know there are those who don’t see it as a problem, but I got enough words and chaos in my brain to see me through, thanks. AI is going to destroy art, but it has no emotion. Takes a human to produce that
Thanks for your comment, Willow. I completely agree. A.I. will be great for medicine and other things but art, whether it’s poetry or music, will suffer for sure.