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Daniel Cuzzo Apr 24
Grammarly is usually the editor
I never have for fiction.
As long as I don't get fancy,
I can work with the AI in essays.

For poetry, it's mom's backseat driving.
Every end of a line is driving off a cliff,
unusual capitalizations questioned,
diction UNDER FIRE.

"Even well-read people don't understand,
so you should choose a more familiar word."
Well, Grammarly, this one is self-explanatory,
and IF they pick up a dictionary: it's loaded.

I've long since passed the college days
playing with Microsoft Word thesaurus.
Microsoft Word says I didn't pay: but I did.
Too tired to take it up to good-old Bill Gates.

AS SOON as Microsoft became a subscription
I WAS WARNED by customer support: not worth it.
They said, "try Grammarly Plus," so here I am:
dealing with my mom's backseat driving.

In the end, I'm still subscribing.
Now, I HAVE no formatting tools.
I have NO IDEA where they save my files.
Yet, I find this transaction amusing.

Like mom can be annoying, helpful, and cute,
I wake at 2 a.m., and Grammarly's AI is there.
I don't have to wait a week for feedback
and I'm getting better with "the human touch."

Now, I'm pretentious like that unfamiliar word,
but maybe there's a reason for that too.
Writing has been Very solitary & Very public:
each poet must find balance in the enigmatic.

Other writers scoff at the separation:
poets are people who laugh at grammar.
This is correct but also incomplete:
we laugh at rules working "all the time."

Yes, I make MANY unintentional mistakes,
(which is why I have my mom & Grammarly)
but we all love the written word uniquely
and cannot help but express it in SOME way.

It's a sign of my immaturity, perhaps.
When I finish writing poetry: I still rhyme.
I handed in an essay Freshman year that did:
pretty sure the TA gave me an A-.

But even in my Senior year, a clear opinion
accumulated across my studies in New York.
Each Professor proclaimed the ability
to tell when a Poet wrote prose.

This was NOT ALWAYS an insult:
it was always, partially, praise.
After ALL, professors pick the books
& there are fewer ***** looks at textbooks.

Here's a bolder claim: THINK of the possibilities!
I can tell if a Poet wrote Legalese.
Legally binding on several different levels,
moving, symbolic, AND aesthetically pleasing!

I had a dream to be like Homer.
I realized the market didn't want that.
Here's to 2021 with no word-program
and a 3 a.m. artificial editor that's like my mom.
I haven't been posting here lately, but this poem seemed appropriate for other poets.  Most recently, you can find me if you search Dan J Cuzzo on Medium.
9:30 am.

A tequila sunrise and 27 pesos later
I am sitting, balancing myself
On the plastic, graffiti-covered bus seat,
Listening to the cheesy Mexican radio
And feeling the eyes of those three men
On my body from two rows back.

We make our way
45 miles an hour
Down the narrow boulevard.
My drink splashing side to side
As the bus races around the bends
And slams its breaks on
Outside the busy gathering
Of dark skin and fruit stands.
Maria Mitea Jun 2020
This is the time of enlightenment.

Sunday morning I am running at the farm market,
for buying three pounds of organic enlightenment,
Glutes tight, chest stiff,

Every single step is planned and marked on the asphalt,
I have an important goal to reach, not to teach.

I am in a big rush, stay away and keep the road clean,
You know what I mean. Unfortunately,

A little bird pooped on my forehead and made me mad,
Hoaxed by this joke I stepped on some dog ****,

That got me mad even more, while an old lady asked me
to carry her over the pit. I mimic, wait

“I hurry now, but I will give help after,
I buy three pounds of organic enlightenment”

Without messing up with any acceptance.
I have an important goal to reach, not to teach,

I keep running, every Sunday morning at the farm market,

This is the time of enlightenment.
Gray Dawson Oct 2019
Intestines twisted into a bow
Skeleton, no skin, all bone
Chased into a grave
By someone "brave"

Head cut off, and hung at the hips
Mouth sewn shut, wires in the lips
Promised a voice
In a place of just "noise"

Ears forced down into the pharnyx
Tongue cut off, and swallowed
Chained to the dark
Left with a "spark"

Wasabi poured into each eye
Needles poked into the iris, to dry
Breathing fractured breaths
In the times of "stress"

Fingers shredded in blenders
Toes were sold by the vendors
Broke the rules
To be reduced to mere "molecules"

Heart frozen in ice
Lungs cracked in slices with a knife
Crawling towards a light
Dipped in "fright"

Genitalia, mutilated
Thighs and chest burned til it was disseminated  
Walking into the darkness
Trying to reach the "conconscious"

Frigida glacies
annh Sep 2019
“The conflict at the moment,
Is you're literally,
One tweet away,
From the market being down,
5 per cent.”
My day routinely starts with a quick whip through the AFR, and this line caught my eye. Not my usual kinda post and by no means poetic, but there you go.

'As the impeachment movement picks up, Trump will counterpunch. He's shaping up as a master politician and markets don't like that.'
- Greg Bundy, FAM Chairman
Would nothing be guaranteed?
Can short pain be part of the journey,
when moving towards long run joy?

Although it is always safer not to go on that journey,
Unknown is the path, nothing is guaranteed...

A thousand and one are the hazards of the journey,
many are the pitfalls -
Nothing can be guaranteed...

Will each small piece of love compose to a secure jigsaw?
Didn’t we search for love in a crystal ball?
It was hidden inside,
a *******.

And the seed was very hard and
the sprout had
“very, very limited’ room to meet with treasure for all!

But the seed tried,
she whispered, but assertively,
If it was an effort;
She drops the hard shell.

Does she start moving?
Immediately the light twinkles:
the struggle with the soil, together with the stones,
dancing with the rocks.
By Angel. XJ 04/09/2019
Shiv Pratap Pal Jul 2019
Jack and Keeler
Went to the Market

They bought a Peeler
And A Knife

Jack Peeled Potato
Found a Worm

Worm was Shy
Both said Good Night
Let's Cherish Childhood
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