Neep 'neath auld earth...

Like a wee bairn her wame bolg...

"Weesht!", she dee by raen.

1/12/25

Bunny Villaire

If you ever want to take a break

From the most despicable Madness...

This addictive, yet antiquated

Thrill

Of rushing around from point A

To point B, to C,

And then to D

Until you spontaneously collapse like a

Hunter cat returning from your most Recent and grotesquely brutal kill...

Well, if the thought has ever crept into Your hazy up for rent mind,

Don't hesitate...Make a pit stop

If you're so inclined, and pull up an Old deck chair if you feel the air

Escaping from the cobwebbed tomb...

I'd like to make some notes with you...

Until the burning candle in your room

Has been extinguished by its Mounting pile of wax...

And by this time, your mouth on Mine...

My tongue exploring every molar, Front and back...

My free hand dancing down the Painted pattern on your dress,

And pretty soon your eyes might beg

For hands to open sesame and

Dive right to the throbbing waterhole

Of life...

Or maybe we'll philosophize,

And wile away the tender hours

Deciphering the time and space

We live in

As the Mademoiselle takes flight

And offers up her swollen soul

In this land of ice and snow

Where we're frozen from her Highness...

These brilliant flapping

Eyes of wonder that would so graciously

House a magic carpet which would drag

Our lowliness

Up, up into the swirling eddy of the

Night black sky

To deposit us a hundred years later

In the middle of the Californian

Desert with nothing but

Our chapped naked asses

Joined by complimentary strap-on

Smile...

If you ever wish for heady pleasures

That cannot be cleanly and so precisely

Defined by the confines of our current climate

I will be here and there and absent

From this littering heap

Of fertile dirt and

Mirth hat's left behind from the

Overturned window garden where the pleasant

Petunias were vampirized overnight

By some indecisively spiteful opossum...

...What a frightful sight indeed, I do

Declare!...

1/12/25

Bunny Villaire

First, may each of you have a safe and meaningful holiday.

It’s been a wealth of good, bad and indifferent here across the pond, as both my personal world (and the other one at large) has been shaken upside down and then some.

Some of us have felt that we have been put into a blender set on interminable charge and at the speed of sound, with the noisy collapse of sun sheltered dreams burst into a massacre whose rebounding echo ripples on seas of broken glass skin.

Ergo, the turn of the proverbial hand into 2025 ushers in renewed sensibilities of…ok, scratch that.

That’s the pretentious Chardonnay talking (or the pretentious lipped “poet” sipping on it through a crazy straw).

Ditching the flowery wordplay for a minute, I genuinely and wholeheartedly want to first extend enormous gratitude at the friends I’ve made here.

A few of you (you know who you are) have become blessings that far exceed the platform’s poem oriented circle of many disparate characters.

Jeff and Mariah are two that I want to thank by name for their precious kindness, humble approachability and for being not only extraordinarily gifted at words, but also at the virtues of empathy, compassion and simple amiability that this world doesn’t always so graciously afford.

There are other writers here whom I’ve grown very fond of, for both their unique work and their kindness to me and others.

There are a number to say thanks to, but I’m sure you know who you are!

We’ve inboxed a number of times and conversed via comments. You all rock!

For every like, share/repost, comment on my poems, that truly was energizing warmth for tired typing hands and caffeine fueled writing benders whereby I wasn’t sure if each poem’s creative outcome would reach the stars or crash into the neighbor’s yard (that was a joke!).

But, I sincerely appreciate the feedback and kind words!

To fully flesh out both spectrums of experience on the platform, my humble hope is that we, first as humans and second as writers, learn how to appropriate the essential elements of empathy, kindness, humility and compassion towards each other.

-A writer who parades their ego around and steps like a lumbering giant on perceived ants is not only a failed writer, they are an incomplete person, for you can’t grow fat on heady pride and expect to fulfill transparent connection with readers.

-A writer who utilizes AI and passes it along as their own work is sacrificing the wondrous utility of self discovery, for in the heart and through experience come poems that have the power to shake the earth.

-A writer who learns how to handle sometimes painfully necessary criticism, will then empower their own work into highly sharpened skill set development.

-Don’t be a callous hearted meanie who thinks they walk on air and has no time for “lessers”.

You will only isolate yourself from opportunities to meet great people. You will appear petty and churlish.

-Do be an approachable and simply decent human being, who makes time for others.

Connectivity and community are creative bedfellows and one is integral to the healthy functionality of the other.

I think free speech is a very significant and essential component for writers and I’ve read work that’s made the paint peel itself from walls from sheer shock, been roused to action by sociopolitical observations and disagreed with bluntly crude assertions and tragic musings on faith, love and life, while also being captivated by works of incredible beauty and works of incredible ugliness that revealed themselves to be gorgeous tragedy.

These are writers.

This creatively blistering ideology is what fuels an impeccably potent writer.

Every word that bleeds off the page is significant IF it is significant to YOU.

I hope this platform will continue to let every voice breathe and release every pen scrawled (or typed) bloodletting exorcism of the soul.

Here is to renewed hopes, open doors, God kissed blessings and poetic works that set the world on fire.

Your friend and fellow rider on the storm,

LDW

The Word has been co-opted

So that lesser dare attempt

To lift a pen or flag a train

Without feeling exempt...

Corners of the convent

Where the goblins hide their face

Are empty now as church and state

Have let them in with grace...

It's the devil that ye don't see

That's the one that does ye in

So greet all dark and dismal fate

With the passions of yr kin...

It's the devil that ye don't see

That keeks ye in the glass...

So when you ken, make of it well,

Or it will nary pass...

The black as earl waters call,

But if ye dodge the tide

They'll wet you 'til the yappy dogs

Have dragged all rivers wide...

That swindler lass ye judge so harsh,

Both lives and breathes alike...

She knows her numbers up too soon

Does jigs around your spikes...

It's the devil that ye don't see

That's the one that does ye in

So greet all dark and dismal fate

With the passions of yr kin...

It's the devil that you don't see

That keeks ye in the glass...

So when you ken, make of it well,

Or it will nary pass...

12/10/24

Edit#2

Dear Diary,

“No AI.” “Only truly creative types allowed.” “AI is a fraud.”

I encountered all three hurtful statements today. Can you believe that people would deliberately target me with painful insults?

It began with a blanket email I received this morning from my so-called friend. He asked me and three other guys if one of us would consider being his best man for his upcoming wedding. He added that his bestie had to deliver a humorous speech about our relationship, but added, “Make it from the heart. No AI.” How dare he? Why did he feel the need to humiliate me in this email string?

Later, I read the guidelines for a writing contest I wanted to enter. This one said, “Only truly creative types allowed. No machine-generated entries.” I can see good uses for such artificial writing such as helping with computer tasks and writing boilerplate language, but not for a writing contest. Your own writing ability must shine through. But why did they have to zing me by adding “no AI”?

But the most spiteful reference came in the evening when I saw that a Facebook friend posted that I am a fraud!

Have a good night, my diary. I won’t.

Sincerely,

Andrew Irwin

If you remove my bones piece by piece

And replace them all with silver rods,

At what point do you begin to create?

At what point do I become a fraud?

I must consider, I must not forget

The glorious nature of human error.

The unique grace of knicks and bumps,

These imperfections lessen my terror.

Now I have no problem if you needed some help,

Consulted an engineer to make a design to begin.

The stylistic vices of structure and form

Are harder for some to dip their toe in.

But if I find out that your “creation”

Was solely constructed by mechanical chops,

Well then, my friend, it seems that, in fact,

Against silver, the organic has already lost.

We like to make ourselves obsolete.

There used to be a time when everything basic would take us so much time that a life could be comprised of doing things to keep ourselves alive.

Then we learnt that we could outsource some of these tasks to other people. We could share out the load and focus on honing our expertise somewhere specific.

For some reason (capitalism), we would now prefer to rely on things than ourselves or others. Ourselves and others? They require payment. They can make mistakes. But they also feel achievement, feel gratification.

I do not take umbrage with replacing a house servant with a Roomba, or a carrier pigeon with an iPhone. It's relieving to be able to ignore some tasks completely, understanding that they are just inherently done due to my status as a 21st century human.

But there is a line.

People are fighting. They are scrambling over one another's shattered egos, grabbing the ties of other smart-casual men, staring into grey, tired faces. 'I am competent,' they whine. 'Here is an example of my work,' they call into the abyss. Fake jobs open their wide jaws, sucking in AI-written resumes.

We once used to have purpose; now we fire computer-generated documents across the ether simply to secure a position sending more computer-generated documents across the ether.

I just want to sit and churn butter; is that so much to ask?

Here’s my four cents worth, adjusted for inflation, on this subject.

Each generation is exposed to technology that previous generations didn’t understand or realize was needed. I don’t own a Roomba, Alexa or a “smart” refrigerator. It’s not because I’m fearful that having devices built around varying degrees of AI technology will unite and conspire to usurp my authoritarian position as homeowner then join forces with other conquered households to achieve the end goal of overthrowing our government.

I don’t own these because I can sweep my own floors. I’m never multitasking so many things that my hands aren’t freed up to set a timer. And I don’t need to get a text while at work alerting me, “UR low on milk.” I believe AI can offer comfort and convenience. It’s just at this stage of life, I’m not uncomfortable or inconvenienced enough to justify paying extra for these features.

Sunday nights, after watching Lassie at 7 p.m. on CBS Channel 19, it was my responsibility to get up from the couch and physically rotate a dial on the television, slowly and always counterclockwise so it wouldn’t wear out, all the way around to NBC Channel 3 so we could enjoy The Wonderful World of Disney. A minor chore that was worth the effort and reward. Then came cable and the universal remote. Then the DVR. And here I’m anchored, binge watching at my leisure shows my tv thinks I’ll enjoy that it recorded last week.

I knew the distance I could walk away from the landline phone (whose sole purpose was verbal communication) plugged into the kitchen wall was equal to the exact length of the stretched-out cord attached to the receiver. If I needed to get a pen and paper from across the room to write the caller’s number down so my brother could ring them back when he gets out of the bathroom and those writing implements were farther away than the extended cord length plus my arm span, I had to say, “Hold on a sec.” Then came answering machines and cordless phones. Then cellphones. And here I sit, waiting to FaceTime with my brother who’s vacationing in Mexico.

Fortunately, I’m young enough that neither original task required me to walk up hill both ways in the snow. Because, according to my parents, I had it easier than when they were my age.

So, AI in some iteration has been around for a long time. The problem is when AI advances so much it stops being used as a tool, i.e. spellcheck, and becomes a replacement, i.e. Grammarly. I enjoy the physical act of writing at my desk or typing on my computer. And I get satisfaction from revising drafts until I have the best version I can offer. I wouldn’t want to relinquish these pleasures to an AI program for the sake of having something to post on this platform.

In the interest of full disclosure, I looked up the Lassie and Disney information because I’m hard-pressed to recall what I had for breakfast yesterday morning, never mind the specific channels and times two shows were on that I watched 54 years ago. The situation and setting are based on a real-life experience. The details are accurate thanks to a search engine. Combined, I hope they resulted in something worth taking the time to read.

Not having to commit information to memory because Bing or Google can access it within seconds is a helpful resource when writing. The big issue is when people pass off an AI generated story as originating from their own creative thought process. That undermines the art of writing.

As a tech neophyte, I don’t know what an AI generated story looks like because I’m not tuned in to the nuances that distinguish a story created by a logarithm from one personally composed. Thankfully, I do know that “Mike Johnson” with a thick Indonesian accent from McAfee Support is in fact not an actual McAfee employee. And he is not going to assist me in reversing the supposed $699 charge to my credit card that I didn’t authorize for a year’s subscription of protecting my computer from viruses. He’s a scammer using technology to create the illusion he’s a compassionate human.

So that’s my take on this topic. I’ve got to go now. The Keurig is summoning me to finish watching its PowerPoint presentation on the possible ways to resolve the conflict in the Middle East. It’s been very insightful so far. But I have noticed that all the thought-provoking solutions offered have a recurring theme involving both sides drinking more coffee. Hmmm, wait a second. You don’t think...nah, never mind, I’m just being cynical. Technology wouldn’t ever become that nefarious.

Even as I type this words above the type writer form on the phone, giving me choice to choose a verb a noun and does AI take away free will? Impede the creative process?.

I think it has no soul, no heart, let's be clear on that, AI goes through the motions, uses the right words, but does it, can it, describe rain on a hot road?, the feeling of holding a wild fish just caught?.

Your first kiss?, a time you mourned?, a time you nearly died?

Your heart when you fell in love?, it is a simile AI, nothing more.

It mirrors mankind's words and has no free thought per se,, people teach AI how to write, it is not some evil automated things taking over the net, it learns by copying.

Does AI have a place in the writing process? maybe for descriptive words which were in the back of your mind anyway.

But to truly write it must come from you not AI - that's laziness.

In a way AI can be like a Webster's dictionary, used in that way it's fine.

So, to summarize, yes or no AI for me? It's a definite N O.