Poetry and Artificial Intelligence

David Mary

pass the mustard - after you cut it
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Knifemaker / Craftsman / Service Provider
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Jul 23, 2015
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Friends, if you have written your own poems that don't contain objectionable content, feel free to share them here. Be warned I may ask my robot friend to analyze them. Yes this is one of those weird things that happens when I find myself up way too late.
 
I wrote a poem in the Dusty Old Fart thread.

Dusty old fart, fermented old geezer, powerlifting cutting stuff, even listening to Weezer?
The robots of the future will usurp design of knives,
But do not fear, we're still here with Barlows and Bucks in hand.

I sat upon my chair with posture of a pigeon, ogling guns and knives and lights till money was a smidgeon.
The artistry they displayed was worth provoking wives,
Though coming soon the woken boom would see they all are banned.

So while there are some humans left who exercise the craft, and art with soul is still not yet forlaft,
Get that what shoots, and fill your boots with cutting tools galore,
Before shuts the door and robots and revolutionists deny us ever more.

And then:

Wow. What do you call that rhyme scheme?👏

Hodge podge.

So tonight, I asked a robot to analyze and describe the rhyme scheme of this poem.

The poem has a unique and engaging structure, incorporating a playful and somewhat irreverent tone while discussing the theme of technology and its potential impact on traditional craftsmanship. Let's break down the rhyme scheme and analyze the structure:

Rhyme Scheme:
The poem does not follow a strict rhyme scheme throughout. However, there are instances of rhyme, particularly at the end of certain lines. Here are the lines that rhyme:

geezer - Weezer
knives - lives
pigeon - smidgeon
wives - banned
forlaft - more
Structure and Analysis:

Opening Stanzas:
The opening stanzas set the scene, presenting the persona's fascination with various objects and hobbies. It mentions being captivated by tools like knives and lights, and humorously references powerlifting and listening to Weezer.

Discussion on Technology and Artistry:
The poem then delves into a discussion about the potential impact of future technology, particularly robots, on traditional craftsmanship, such as knife-making and art. It contemplates the possible replacement of human craftsmanship with automated processes.

Reflection and Call to Action:
Toward the end, the poem reflects on the importance of preserving the art and craft of creating tools and cutting instruments. It encourages individuals to appreciate and acquire such tools before they may be lost or replaced by automation and technology.

Overall, the poem combines humor, reflection, and a call to action, exploring the theme of technological advancement and its potential consequences on traditional craftsmanship and artistry.

Not quite what I was after, so I specified further to analyze and describe or categorize the meter of the poem.


The meter in a poem refers to the pattern of stressed and unstressed syllables in each line. Let's analyze the meter in the provided poem:
The poem doesn't strictly adhere to a consistent meter throughout, but it does have elements of both regular and irregular meter.

  1. First Stanza:"Dusty old fart, fermented old geezer" - Trochaic meter (alternating stressed and unstressed syllables)
  2. Second Stanza:"powerlifting cutting stuff, even listening to Weezer?" - Trochaic meter with a slight variation
  3. Third Stanza:"The robots of the future will usurp design of knives," - Mostly iambic pentameter (alternating unstressed and stressed syllables)
  4. Fourth Stanza:"But do not fear, we're still here with Barlows and Bucks in hand." - Mix of iambic and anapestic meter
  5. Fifth Stanza:"I sat upon my chair with posture of a pigeon," - Mostly iambic pentameter
  6. Sixth Stanza:"ogling guns and knives and lights till money was a smidgeon." - Trochaic and anapestic meter
The poem doesn't strictly follow a single metrical pattern but instead uses a mix of trochaic, iambic, and anapestic meter. This varied meter contributes to the poem's conversational and playful tone, allowing flexibility to suit the poem's themes and style.

I think the robot is trying to flatter me.
 
So I gave it another one! 🤣

I wrote this one over ten years ago, but changed a few things since then.


Analyze and comment on this poem:

Collective worth of swallowed earth is pressed from end to ends.
Its fruit did grow beneath the snow and towards the sky it bends.
A pawn upon a spangled dawn cast thither on a whim?
Unwell it seems when strong come lean and fat have withered slim.
But on it goes, right on the nose, until the end precise.
And yea or nay, say what we may, we live as men, and mice.

Analysis:

This poem is a concise contemplation on life, existence, and the inevitable journey towards mortality. The imagery and language used create a sense of movement and transformation, exploring the cyclical nature of life and the dualities that come with it.

  1. Nature and Growth:The first two lines depict the cycle of growth and regeneration, portraying the cyclical process of life. The "fruit" growing beneath the snow and reaching towards the sky symbolizes the resilience and persistence of life even in challenging circumstances.
  2. Metaphor of Chess:The mention of a "pawn" and "thither on a whim" introduces a metaphor reminiscent of a chess game, highlighting the unpredictability and unpredicted nature of life's events. It suggests that life sometimes feels like being moved around on a board without full control, subject to fate and circumstance.
  3. Reflection on Mortality:The third stanza reflects on the transient and fragile nature of life. The description of becoming "unwell" when strength diminishes and facing the reality of mortality is a reminder of the impermanence of life.
  4. Persistence and Acceptance:The poem concludes by emphasizing the persistence of life, as it goes "right on the nose, until the end precise." The acknowledgment that we live as "men and mice" speaks to the human condition, acknowledging our vulnerability and mortality while highlighting our resilience and determination to keep moving forward.
Comments:

This poem is thought-provoking and philosophical, inviting the reader to contemplate life's uncertainties and the acceptance of its impermanence. The use of vivid imagery and metaphors helps convey the complex emotions and realities of human existence. It prompts reflection on our mortality, the unpredictable nature of life, and our ability to persist despite challenges and uncertainties.



More flattery. I think the robot wants a free knife.
 
Songs, poems, now post one about paintings, get an AI farm, and watch the dough come rolling in! 😆

This is funny... but

Sorry. The only poem I have is about losing a child. I posted it on the forums one time. That was enough.

Oh my I had no idea. I'm saddened to read this. :(
 
This is funny... but



Oh my I had no idea. I'm saddened to read this. :(
Thank you for the sentiment. I posted it once long ago. It tore me up to write it and to even post it. My emotions were pretty bare and jangly at the time.

It’s been long enough that the pain has dulled, but it never goes away. Thinking back, all it takes is remembering my wife crying and the crestfallen look on my son’s face and I’m right back there in agony.

Man, I’m truly sorry to burden this thread with that. I was just being honest.

I do like a good poem. I’m “subscribed”.
 
Man, I’m truly sorry to burden this thread with that.

It's no burden at all. I looked up your poem and indeed got misty eyed.
 
Emulating the stanza structure (haiku) of the late Japanese poet Basho:
Longer morning to
Dawn; chill speaks
Winter's warning imminence.
 
Thank you for the sentiment. I posted it once long ago. It tore me up to write it and to even post it. My emotions were pretty bare and jangly at the time.

It’s been long enough that the pain has dulled, but it never goes away. Thinking back, all it takes is remembering my wife crying and the crestfallen look on my son’s face and I’m right back there in agony.

Man, I’m truly sorry to burden this thread with that. I was just being honest.

I do like a good poem. I’m “subscribed”.

I think that's part of the "magic" in poetry and other arts, to attempt to express the unexpressable, or at least things that are simply very difficult to express.

I use to write quite a bit in from middle school thru college, but have lost most of those at some point in attempts to distance myself from family, aka, move out of the parents house and stay out. Maybe I'll try to dig some up, but my creativity for poetry seems to have left me as I seem to better writing differently about thought provoking or emotionally charged topics.
 
Thank you for the sentiment. I posted it once long ago. It tore me up to write it and to even post it. My emotions were pretty bare and jangly at the time.

It’s been long enough that the pain has dulled, but it never goes away. Thinking back, all it takes is remembering my wife crying and the crestfallen look on my son’s face and I’m right back there in agony.

Man, I’m truly sorry to burden this thread with that. I was just being honest.

I do like a good poem. I’m “subscribed”.
So sorry Will
 
I wrote a poem in the Dusty Old Fart thread.



And then:





So tonight, I asked a robot to analyze and describe the rhyme scheme of this poem.

The poem has a unique and engaging structure, incorporating a playful and somewhat irreverent tone while discussing the theme of technology and its potential impact on traditional craftsmanship. Let's break down the rhyme scheme and analyze the structure:

Rhyme Scheme:
The poem does not follow a strict rhyme scheme throughout. However, there are instances of rhyme, particularly at the end of certain lines. Here are the lines that rhyme:

geezer - Weezer
knives - lives
pigeon - smidgeon
wives - banned
forlaft - more
Structure and Analysis:

Opening Stanzas:
The opening stanzas set the scene, presenting the persona's fascination with various objects and hobbies. It mentions being captivated by tools like knives and lights, and humorously references powerlifting and listening to Weezer.

Discussion on Technology and Artistry:
The poem then delves into a discussion about the potential impact of future technology, particularly robots, on traditional craftsmanship, such as knife-making and art. It contemplates the possible replacement of human craftsmanship with automated processes.

Reflection and Call to Action:
Toward the end, the poem reflects on the importance of preserving the art and craft of creating tools and cutting instruments. It encourages individuals to appreciate and acquire such tools before they may be lost or replaced by automation and technology.

Overall, the poem combines humor, reflection, and a call to action, exploring the theme of technological advancement and its potential consequences on traditional craftsmanship and artistry.

Not quite what I was after, so I specified further to analyze and describe or categorize the meter of the poem.


The meter in a poem refers to the pattern of stressed and unstressed syllables in each line. Let's analyze the meter in the provided poem:
The poem doesn't strictly adhere to a consistent meter throughout, but it does have elements of both regular and irregular meter.

  1. First Stanza:"Dusty old fart, fermented old geezer" - Trochaic meter (alternating stressed and unstressed syllables)
  2. Second Stanza:"powerlifting cutting stuff, even listening to Weezer?" - Trochaic meter with a slight variation
  3. Third Stanza:"The robots of the future will usurp design of knives," - Mostly iambic pentameter (alternating unstressed and stressed syllables)
  4. Fourth Stanza:"But do not fear, we're still here with Barlows and Bucks in hand." - Mix of iambic and anapestic meter
  5. Fifth Stanza:"I sat upon my chair with posture of a pigeon," - Mostly iambic pentameter
  6. Sixth Stanza:"ogling guns and knives and lights till money was a smidgeon." - Trochaic and anapestic meter
The poem doesn't strictly follow a single metrical pattern but instead uses a mix of trochaic, iambic, and anapestic meter. This varied meter contributes to the poem's conversational and playful tone, allowing flexibility to suit the poem's themes and style.

I think the robot is trying to flatter me.
as long as the robots haven't learned chess I'm good
 
If you happen to sprinkle
When you take a tinkle
Please be a sweetie
And wipe off the seatie

Dan was a man who used the can.
His aim was too low so he missed the bowl.
His wife caught sight and gave him a fight.
Now Dan is a man who uses the can.
Being a sweatie and not wetting the seatie.
For next time he misses, wife will give him the business.
And outside he will stay until her anger's away
 
Last edited:
Chad was a lad who used what he had,
His aim was to write a new poem concise,
David caught sight and thought well alright,
Yes Chad is a lad whose prose ain't half bad,
Crafting so neaty a small poem completey,
It doesn't have disses, it stays right to the business,
And now I can say that I too can play.
 
I'm surprised people still write poetry (other than hip-hop songs). As for me:

I rhyme out the brothers,
and dime out the others.

I sing my songs, and right my wrongs,
Got's me a knife,
livin' an edgy life

My words are best,
but I'll let my fans
write the rest.
 
I have a haiku kicking around on here somewhere. I'll see if I can't find it...
 
I never liked haikus but I guess it’s because I never saw one I liked. Nicely done!
 
Dang man I don't have any folksy "Welp I had my barlow, my beer and my spoon..." fun poems, but I will try to write one just to fit more with the mood here, I don't wanna be the downer 😂 so this has got me inspired to write again - will post the new one when done.

This was written many moons ago at like 19 so excuse. Probably not very good but, eh. If unclear, the speaker was something like the devil talking at me.

The waterfall which you trekked so arduously to be again
Still stands dripping, purple and black, viscous monolith
Here you can bring no friend. No, nor family may be with...
Because you know they would remove you from my grip

You have abandoned your holy gifts, let them fall to the ground with ease,
Worry not, it was a need, you need no baggage with me
Blisters pop, walk on your feet with no shoes and do not stop
Until you have walked in my maw and felt my waterfall's drops
You have forsaken your dignity and are down on your knees

So why tarry? Out there, you know you can hardly breathe. Enter, be at ease, feel my black and purple peace and death will nod you to blissful sleep. It is oblivion what you want and need.

Please, I beseech you, take the final step. Your father stands in my waterfall too.
 
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