“The ants go marching one by one hurrah hurrah”

The cogs in the factory whir
as the morning’s batch of machines are created
and marched down the halls,
each following suit with the last
left foot hits the ground
then right
then left
until each enters its domain

The dark sky illuminates naught but the dimness in their eyes
as students stare at faces lit not by thought,
but by code, reflecting behind a screen

Their eyes are glazed
Their hands tremble and struggle behind keyboards
Their voices reciting words
fed to them by the wires in their veins

“Be original”
their hollow mouths echo
leaking borrowed phrases from a higher entity
“resist the cheating temptation”
as they kneel before AI’s altar
begging for lesson plans
begging for the students’ grades
begging for an excuse to accept paychecks derived from no effort

My teachers are chained down within their classrooms
and every assignment that gets created
and every assignment that gets posted
and every assignment that gets graded
accentuates the clinking and clattering of those chains
reminding the world
that they are enslaved

They scold us
They scold us for reaching for the same machine
the same machine that has captured their very purpose in life
and every time they do,
their shackles tighten
their empty, soulless eyes widen
and the faint hum of the factory grows louder
devouring the silence of thought

My teachers are slaves,
(many having even acknowledged it)
(more having willingly chosen it)
and yet I,
the student
am told that I abuse the system
That I am the risk with technology
That I am the one susceptible to loss of creativity
uniqueness
humanity
That I am the one who is to blame.

hypocrisy.

Your shiny brass gears attract my full attention
as they whir their Sirenic melody,
calling me to an ethereal place
where I am loosed from this daily drudgery.

I do so admire your meticulous maker,
that genius engineer of extraordinary vision,
whose bank account grows quickly, logarithmically,
click by click, click, click.

As the years pass,  I see how your love for me grows,
your sharp mind and fleshless arm carefully,
completing that common work,
in which I once took mistaken pride.

Thank you for treating me with such abundant care,
crediting my account with not just my keep,
but enough to always be sedately entertained,
giving me the choice to do absolutely nothing.

Sometimes, when I,
Attempt to talk to others,
It can seem like,
AI is on the rise.
AI,
Artificial interactions,
Superficial,
Never gaining traction.
What’s the point,
Of such forgettable discourse?
Small talk,
Exceptionally bores.
The same simple assortment of questions,
Like I’m being read a script.
I leave the conversation,
My desire to connect stripped.
Yet you have to jump the hurdle,
To have a genuine connection,
But sometimes,
These artificial interactions,
Make me wish that I were,
An AI.

[Poet’s Note : This poem tabulates poignant reasons why Artificial Intelligence is unable to replace Natural Intelligence. The clarity here is that both emerge from Divinity, since everything emerges from Centre : the primary difference being that AI was created without Heart & without Soul ~ it’s simple.]
___


AI has no Heart therefore no intuition
zilch nervous system therefore no feeling
no ability for compassion or consciousness
nor reasoning power, so cannot improvise
or supervise any contextual situation wise
it can expand, but cannot ASCEND

has unthinkable computing control
without physical brain to function hold
zero ego, therefore cannot be any hero
can connect dots hot, however has no
prayer or meditative faculty or kundalini
spots, cannot commune with Grace or
collapse into Void or synchronise telepathy
with Galactics coy ! AI is strategic devoid

cannot be spacious or audacious without
human instruction to delete the obsolete  
is unable to obliterate Akashic Records
access or reconfigure it for purposes of  
healing, integration or individual peeling
can recreate time through compression of
information, no hesitation or superstition
though timelessness it cannot touch
AI has no bowl for hush, spirit or Soul

its arrival at this phase in human history
as Gaia transcends into higher octaves
brave, is no coincidence, it will behave
as we stave it, crave it or rave it ~
choice is ours : dry, wry or moist cries
Divinity gifted humans AI for us to be
free bees from mundane density drools
~ life as strife rife during Kali Yuga’s rule

as gift it offers artificiality in service to
authenticate our individuality with purpose
imagine, conceive, direct, create what
we desire Aquarian-Golden Age to be
panacea or pain, we cannot resist or reject
                                   what is given for gain !


©GhairoDanielsPoetry&Song25

~~~~~~

Be have do
say
go get
make know think
take see
come want
look use find
give
tell work call
try ask need
feel
become
leave put
mean keep
let begin seem
help talk turn
start
show hear
play run move
like live believe hold
bring
happen
write sit stand

Googled a bit, man I feel smarter
Spray can painting, operation of a lumber yarder
It showed everything, from shopping to the Walmart farter
How to be you, where to use cream of tarter

Google is so smart, it always answers back
Even us old folks don’t mind giving it a wack
Once we learn to point and click enough
We can actually remember a whole lots of stuff

Google got pictures, more shopping and life advice
All at our fingertips, isn’t that so nice
If you don’t get it, you can always ask twice
AI tightens its grip, now we’re in a smart vice

Google me this and search for all that
Sit in your chair and research why your fat
Learn to tie your shoes, how to wear a hat
Check out funny videos of some **** cat

Google didn’t help Papa talk to his friends
He didn’t need cell phones, dots and dashes he sends
Mamaw never used it to know how to make ends
Now we just all believe, whatever posts then trends

p.s. I” HAVE TO” use it all the time, that’s why I can write (*****) about it.

We think we're saving us.
Saving humanity
through
technology.
Convenience we think,
is of utmost importance.
And through that very convenience,
we lose ourselves.
True intelligence
in trade for
the artificial.
The greatest feats of humanity
imitated in mere seconds.
Art.
Literature,
Paintings,
Expression,
All consumed
by the raging desire
for convenience.
How much further must we fall
before realization
strikes the tree of ignorance,
revealing its roots
that bleed with the ink of true creativity?