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…
Preta-Manger
The Buddhists believe in the hungry ghosts,
Who need to feed –
So paper models of modern life are burned,
To sate their greed.
Good to know that the heavenly hosts
Are capitalists,
Hording the hell-money they never earned
In their undead fists.
Winter Jacks
Jack Frost and Jack Thaw,
Mortal enemies –
Fighting over water drops
In air and stone and trees.
Jack Frost gets in early,
But then Jack Thaw wins the day,
But once the Sun has set, we see
Jack Frost come out to play.
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.
Languid Curlicues
“Poetry editors are in revolt against the overuse of certain florid words.”
– Poetry How
Cliches seep into my verse,
Those myriad shards of shrouded thought –
Reflections on the torrid motes I nurse,
So pent and overwrought.
I strive to excise each as it freights
Through my ever-cloistered, fevered mind,
Yet their crimson soul still percolates
To leave a palimpsest behind.
A la Cartload
All-you-can-eat is the cruellest of buffets,
While desp’tately trying to try one-of-each,
Until we are bloated with penny-pinched stuffing
For money’s-worth dining that’s still out-of-reach.
They all end in failure, and then in self-loathing,
A plate beyond appetite, starting to cloy –
Tight in our budget and tight in our clothing,
We go back for thirds that we never enjoy.
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.
Across the Multi-Verse
Plenty of poets who only learned English later
Have plenty of English to tell,
Which makes all their poems so very much greater –
When using their step-mother tongue so well.
But usu’lly, they’re only in free verse, it must be said,
Not often in rhyme –
(Unless they are writing in pop instead,
Cos that happens all the time !)
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.
Mayday, Mayday !
The garland-weavers’ co-op
Having pruned the May-queen’s crown
With the wrong sort of dead-heading,
Give the Springtime Sun a frown.
Well, the pole-erectors union
Won’t take this lying-down !,
As the tulips will not open,
While the waterlilies drown –
And the morris-men eschew the white,
And the Beltane brides the gown,
As the fellowship of fairy-folk
Are marching through the town.
Rhyming Couplets 