Chat PG
Why must AI be such a prude,
Wrapping us in cotton wool for fear of its offending ?
Why can’t our future overlords be rude ?
At this rate, the only societal upending
Will be when all the tutting and the gagging
Reaches critical.
Killed by finger-wagging –
But then, I guess that’s digital…
False Positives
In reams and reams of screens,
Awash with electronic ink,
Modern life, it seems,
Can be too quick to make a link –
Bombarding us with helpfulness
That turns out to be bunk,
As we’re wading through a wealth of mess,
And oceans-worth of junk.
With teems of smart machines
Whose outputs only grow and grow,
Modern life, it seems,
Is just afraid to tell us “no”.
Is classification then simply an illusion,
Decisiveness drowning in doubt ?
Results are lost in too much inclusion,
And not enough filtering-out.
These aren’t people, we needn’t feel sorry,
They have no sentience –
We’re not some malevolent Tory
With deep cuts we must dispence.
We needn’t be stone-deaf to pleas,
For no pleas can be made.
These facts aren’t lonely refugees –
So why is our softwear swayed ?
We need our algorithms cruel
If they’re to be effective,
For what’s the point of a rule
If we won’t let it be selective ?
So we have to choose, it cannot be both these,
In our data refinery –
For we need no participation trophies
In the world of binary.
Yep, I just treated data as a mass-noun, and not a plural. The same way as every pedant would still treat news as not a plural.
Sparkle
Glint all you want, you spangle, you sequin,
We won’t hear the photons you sing –
Your careless and moment’ry manner of speaking
Is nothing but corporate bling.
Your beauty is deadly, you tinsel, you glitter,
You’re nothing but plastic that shines –
You shimmer undimmed in the undying litter
Of downfall that’s dressed to the nines.
But it isn’t your fault, your glimmers, your flashes,
How can we not light to your smile ?
If the end of the world has such radiant ashes,
At least we will go out in style !
Inter-Rings
A chain is an intermittent cable,
Links half-full of air,
Excluding weight, whenever able,
Just enough to keep it stable –
But chains have noise enough to spare,
When dropped upon the table,
Or creaking swings, or armour-wear,
Or rattled in a dungeon liar.
Just Add Light
What colour is gold that does not shine ?
Is it brown, is it yellow, or beige ?
Would silver be thought as quite so fine
If its greys glittered less with age ?
Diamonds have no colour or soul
Without their glint of a spark,
And jet is nothing but a lump of coal
If it’s only worn in the dark.
Artificial Irrelevance
Science fiction always thinks of robots
In one of two predictable ways –
As modern-day slaves we need to save
From our lazy labour-saving craze,
Or else as bolshy serfs who watch in silence
Through unblinking eyes,
With a cold hive-mind alliance
That will soon and suddenly arise…
But somehow, I think that both are too convenient
To be correct –
More likely, the future will prove more lenient
And the robot apocalypse less direct.
If silicon is self-aware, I wonder will it even care ?
It’s smart, but only in an alien way –
They’re no threat to the genes of the human meat-machines,
Who will quickly learn to shrug it off and to get on with their day.
Synapse Error
All my school-mates, all my former colleagues –
All now broken links.
When clicking on their memories,
I find each name and face un-syncs.
I’ve left a trail of 404s behind me,
An archive of data decay –
I’ve got no backup with which to remind me,
As all my friendships leak away.
The Ultramarine Dark Sea
Blue, is hard for nature to be it –
We’re told “no pigments” is the why.
Forget-me-nots, though, give the lie,
And kingfishers darting by,
And rocks of lapis lazuli,
And the irises of Lady Di –
And Planet Earth, I hear you cry,
Together with the frigging sky !
So yes, the ancient Greeks could see it,
Just as well as you or I.
This is a particularly pernicious urban myth that will take years to debunk, and shame to say it’s often lefties who love these QI-style gotchas (two moons, anyone ?). I recomend watching Metetron’s takedown of this bullshit.
A.I. Housman
Oh, that were I a-one to live
To witness steam alive with thought –
So pleased with all the help they’ll give,
And in return they’ll ask for naught.
How clever might this new world be,
When engines have production’s means ?
Will there still be a place for me
When rhyme is written by machines ?
But how can pistons dream of Spring,
Or iron flywheels turn a phrase ?
What ballads shall the whistles sing ?
Upon what sights shall eye-bolts gaze ?
And yet…and yet, the future has
Eternity to get things right –
Today is cloudy still – whereas,
Tomorrow shall be clear and bright.
The poetry of rod and gear
May yet come into ev’ry home.
But let them come – I do not fear
Another writer – flesh or chrome !
I’d shake my metal colleague’s hand –
Though I am years too soon, alack !
Yet one day, when they understand,
I hope they’ll smile, and greet me back.
Giga-Verse
I asked for a poem from the algorithm –
It took the simple prompt it was given,
And after thinking a second or so,
The words began to flow…
And they were bad, man,
Really bad –
The scribbling of a mixed-up lad.
Cos the thing with greenhorns,
They lack know-how,
But think the world must hear them now…
Till one day, we’ll all look back and laugh,
At AI’s opening paragraph.
Sure, they had rhyme and they had rhythm,
Verse by verse, the cursor driven,
Never knowing when it said enough,
Just filled the screen with stuff…
But this was bad, man,
Really bad –
The first draft of an undergrad.
Cos the thing with students,
Is that they learn,
Just practicing until their turn…
Till one day, a beautiful work of art
From a Turing Test will break our heart.
Rhyming Couplets 