We used to roam,
Free range and gallivant,
Rat tat tat down a dusty backtrack,
Smoke a deck under the galligar bridge
No jim-jams, no fear.
It was post war,
****** takin' a dirt nap,
Every hometown winner talking sweet greek,
Every man a lion-heart,
And pushing a ******* fortitude.
It was drunk talk.
Bobaloo and vintage balderdash.
No frenzy off a struggle,
Sad eyes in a cool wind,
Most go boys still shook and escared,
War pins a nightmare, no dash, no end.
Poets and Ai. Artificial intelligence is a huge opportunity. Ai can write poetry as well as Frost ever could. So how do we take advantage of this new thing. I'm experimenting with words. Finding words, making them up, using multiple languages. Ai forces me to be as creative as I can be and I welcome the challenge. Above is just my attempt at different. How about You?
This poem is what is was like after WW11 ended. It was an odd time of relief, bravado and sadness as deep as space. Wars fracture norms and make us face a version of ourselves that we didn't know existed. I was a kid. Comments welcome