Do you remember how we
Sat on that fallen tree?
I love the wood
In which that tree stood.
All must decay.
Though we had no love
To fade away.
Just my middle-aged lust
And fear of dust
And your need
To somehow feed.
Now that fallen tree
Reminds me of thee.
When a young lady named Miss Foster
Said, “sir, come with me to Gloucester.
Me and my girlfriend
Want a dirty weekend!”,
It ended with hot coffee in Costa!
Continuing my experimentation with Google Bard, I asked the AI to “write a poem in the style of poet Kevin Morris”. For any of my readers who are interested, you can read Bard’s poem here, https://g.co/bard/share/44ce659bcef2
I don’t think I need worry about Google Bard plagiarising my work, nor do I believe that any other poets need be concerned, at least for the foreseeable future.
Yesterday (18 November), I spent a couple of hours experimenting with Google Bard. During my experimentation, I asked Bard to write a poem about a dissolute old rake. The poem, which had no input from me can be found here, https://g.co/bard/share/b6c44ae0e9c3
Whilst I don’t think Google Bard is going to become the next Poet Laureate, it is nonetheless interesting to observe how the artificial intelligence (AI) “composes” poetry.
In the dark park
A myriad leaves
Whirl in autumn’s breeze.
And optimists stress
The inevitability of progress.
But these fallen leaves
Do not deceive.
As a guide dog owner, I have encountered some rather odd comments and questions. Take, for example, the gentleman who asked me whether my guide dog could read the numbers of buses!
However, the incident yesterday evening surely takes the dog biscuit. On my way home, after having enjoyed drinks with friends, a lady at a bus stop said, “I like your dog’s harness”.
I am known for my sense of humour which does, on occasions verge on the risqué. However, I bit my tongue, smiled and continued on my way home.
On telling a friend about the incident subsequently, he commented that the lady is probably spending her weekend on Google looking for harnesses. Obviously I have no idea what he means …
I never count my steps as I pass
Along the churchyard path.
Though as I have past
By faded old gravestones
And seen the churchyard trees
Bare of summer’s leaves,
I have known all steps lead me home.
I will close my curtain
And shut out the night.
But it is certain
That light
And dark
Will continue their fight
In my so human heart,
Until light and dark
Are swallowed by night.
On a cold autumn day
I find that time
Has stopped. But my clock
May be wound today.
Yet, one day
I will not
Know the day or time.
She will wear heels for me.
I will have fun
And when I am done
Thoughts of the setting sun
And of eternal dust
Will come to cool my lust.
K Morris - Poet 