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E2E AI poem 1780944328563
A short poem submitted under AI review.
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Hello world
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E2E poem 1780943926933
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E2E AI poem 1780943723254
A short poem submitted under AI review.
Sharp hooks and iteration!
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Client sign-ups, as many as you can muster up!
Test and iteration the centre of attention.
Lean, data driven founder led, the target always one step ahead!
In depth analysis at a tempo nigh on hawkish,
able to spot what's on point and what is not!
The world is our oyster so you can pick and choose.
Where you think it suits you best to park your creativity shoes!
Once, in a Blue Moon...
In a Blue Moon...
Blue guitars scream to the soul,
but her heart is mummified,
no love or hate, just dust and mold,
can't hold her...cold... cold... cold.
Swaying, rocking baby,
She shimmies 'cross the floor.
"Yeah, I still love ya honey",
though, she's always left me poor.
The Green Witch wins again,
her hold is tight, she clings;
promise there's still room tomorrow,
another toast, let's drink and sing.
Esoteric
I’m from the towns. The projects to be exact.
I call with a, yur, and greet with a, what’s goody.
I walk with a speaker attached to my pants
playing music that make the old people talk about
how lost this generation is. Their generation made
this one, with the same type of music we make.
I smoke with grabba and buy a pint to help my body
move like no one’s watching.
Creek Kingdom
We ran under spruce
where the black creek bent sideways
and forgot our names.
A frog flashed mud-green once,
then folded into water.
We called it magic.
Minnows wrote silver
under the skin of the pool
and broke every rule
our mothers had given us.
Don’t get soaked. Don’t go far.
Don’t touch dead things.
Don’t come home with leeches.
Don’t lose your brother.
The trees kept closing behind us,
branch after branch.
The North was not empty.
It was watching us breathe.
A stick became a sword.
A stump became a fort.
A Coal Miner's Story
A whistle pierced the quiet calm of the morning.
The clock struck the time
for our band of brothers to make a daily trek.
Dismal faces adorn the pack.
A heavy mist from our breath arises in the air.
Quiet prayers are said
in our heads and in our dwellings
for our safe return, come day's end.
Down, deep into the bowels of the earth we go
into the pitch black
fragmented by the light of our headlamps.
"Tunnel rats" trudging through stagnant water
hunched and crawling in cramped shafts.