I miss the green
The growing leaves
The water and the trees
The bright light
A gentle heat
And birdsong
Give me ease.
I know that when
After the dark
Will come the waited spring
I just wish
At times like this
It would arrive
……
Soon..
Missing green
Tag: Poet
How to be confused
A poet I know has published a long paragraph purporting to be by artificial intelligence. I think he wrote it himself? It is like one of those sentences that you write by using the central choice on your keypad to generate a string of words, but much more complicated. For example :
I think I was a child and I used to be a sunset……
Would be a generated sentence.
I’m not using any AI to write but I decided to say something using the word “cuttlefish” just because I thought of it.
So…… here goes.
“Very old cuttlefish walk across pink dessert avenues. They mean nothing to the public air. Hand wash slowly, using cranium crystals. Bleep out sanding shores. Official decision is required before trash can be planted in allergies.”
I guess you can write anything, but will it be understandable, and if infinite monkeys are not able to write Shakespeare, will AI make it so?
Snack
Crumpets toasted with butter.
Delightful taste
Hot and scrumtious
When I was young
We toasted them
On the gas fire bars!
Used a fork to hold them
That was before we got
A toaster
Tasty
Story tiles
A view of St Austell in Cornwall that was at the BCB exhibition recently at Swift House, Stoke-on-Trent. With subtle tones of sepia colour it depicted a semi industrial landscape. I didn’t see a notice but I’m guessing it was made of China clay which has been quarried there for centuries. One of the sites was used to create the Eden Project, a set of giant domed greenhouses or ‘biomes’ which house tropical and arid environments from more equatorial climes.
St Austell is a town in Cornwall inland from the southern coast, in a landscape dotted with abandoned tin mines. It was once the home of a famous poet called Jack Clemo. He was blind but managed to write his poems while supported by his mother in the 1950’s?
My friends book…
Image by N. F. Mirza from her book.
I don’t do reviews…
But (you know one was coming). I just sat down to read ” Swinging Sanity” a book of poetry by my friend N. F. Mirza, who I know as ‘stoneronarollercoaster’ at WordPress.
I’ve known her for a while and found out she was a writer and now a published poet. Her book is a small volume. But it’s full to bursting with poetry full of emotion. As she moves through life, using it to discover her mental health and wellbeing.
The poems are forceful, I’m no poetry critic, but I found them easy to read. Some of them touched raw nerves, and you can see her heart torn open in many of them. I particularly liked Ocean and I become one.
ISBN 9798618202992.
Mallaband-Brown 