Talking ****, wasted all day, Bojangling and licking sugar off my blueberries, Apple peels, Train tracks in my metal mouth With a pizza face and party pimples.
Deadbeat dad puking panda, Me boohoo and *****. Meta-whining. First world problems, Eat me. Twelve years old
We die smiling, Absolutely sure we got away With everything, Until we realize, That death is at best, a sleep, And we will awake, Rub our eyes, Eager to start all over again.
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
Would you rather, Be hit in the face with a wild salmon, Or have your iris' turn bright red and your pupils white.
Would you rather, Have loved so intensely that you could not breathe, Your mind spun like a child's top, glee became your all day smile, you felt at one with a vast universe and a sense of awe and purpose overwhelmed you every minute of the day,
Or have a lifetime supply of Cheetos. All you can eat.
There is a difference between, Lost and not wanting to be found.
Lost is eating fruit loops in the park While people step over you.
Not found in under the stairs, Inside the trunk full of dead people's clothes Counting five seconds between each breath, So you can listen for mice and postmen.
Life's about choices and soft spoken voices, Whispered wise thoughts and a few maybe- nots, We take a chance one day and then go the other way, The world let's us wander and wants us to ponder.
You can change up your mind and be angry or kind, We're not just machines, with their push button dreams, If you don't like your path, then just do the math, And take new directions, to new intersections,
Because time is a trick that goes by very quick, Death's single reward is you'll never be bored.