A thread for artificial intelligence poems, pics and vids.

[Paco Dennis]

I have been experimenting with AI writing poems. I am giving the AI to write a poem in the style of Emily Dickerson, in a gentle poem about older age.

That's a lovely request. Emily Dickinson's style, with its focus on interior life, memory, and eternity, can be adapted beautifully to a gentler, more contemplative tone suited for reflecting on later life.
Here is a poem, in her style, focusing on Memory and the Quiet Journey:

The Gentle Archive of Years

The Memory—is a Mansion—
Where Sunlight—Never—Fades—
It keeps the Dust—from Treasures—
Beneath the Window Shades—
A Book—with Pages—Silken—
The Turning—Soft—and Slow—
We Trace the Lines of Laughter—
The Seedlings—that Did—Grow—
The World—contracts its Fever—
And Quiet—comes to Stay—
A Mantle—Woven Warmly—
To Shelter the Away—
No Urgency—of Morning—
No Hurry—to the Door—
Just Holding—in the Stillness—
The Echoes—we Adore—
The Heart—becomes a Harbor—
Where Ships—may Finally—Rest—
The Longest—Journey—Done—at Last—
And All—of Life—Confessed

 

[Paco Dennis]

Edgar Allen Poe style about being afraid of life.

The Pallid Dread of Dawn

The Sun doth mock my pallid plight,
A Terror in the Day begun!
I pray the ever-gathering Night,
Shall shroud the deeds that must be Done—
For Life is but a Crypt unsealed,
Where phantom joys are quickly Lost—
A deadly Worm in flesh concealed,
And reckoned at the final Cost.
I find in every Breathing Clime,
A Spectral, Staring, Grave's Domain—
The chilling Scythe of Mocking Time,
That cleaves the Hope to utter Pain.
The Air is filled with ghostly Sound,
Of futures fated to Decay—
And on the soul, where Truth is Found,
Is written: Thou shalt pass Away.
Oh, for the Silence, cold and Deep,
Where shadows are at last Reborn!
To sink from waking, troubled Sleep,
And never greet the Cruelest Morn!
The Heart—a pulsing, frantic Drum—
Beats out the measure of its Fear—
And begs the Oblivion to Come,
To
still the agony of Here.

 

[Paco Dennis]

An essay ...Dave Berry...getting the kids off to school :

The Dawn of Dread: Launching Human Children
Let me tell you, parenting is a magnificent, soul-affirming journey, which begins every weekday morning with the profound realization that you are fundamentally a human alarm clock armed with stale coffee and a desperate need for silence.
It starts with the Alarm Clock Fraud. This shrill device promises a productive day, but what it actually delivers is the obligation to resurrect two smaller, younger, and significantly more inert life forms. My son, Kevin (14), is scientifically denser than a white dwarf star; you could set off a fragmentation grenade in his room and his only response would be a mumbled request to "dim the lights." My standard wake-up method involves the nuanced, three-part escalation: the Gentle Nudge, the Parental Shove, and the Nuclear Option, which is threatening to use the leaf blower indoors.
The Kitchen is where the laws of physics break down. Two pieces of toast and a box of cereal somehow result in environmental damage comparable to a minor seismic event centered on the dishwasher. My daughter, Sarah (10), stares at the milk carton as if it’s an alien artifact, invariably pouring the liquid over the bowl and onto the morning newspaper. This isn't malice; it's simply the natural byproduct of a mind that hasn't finished rebooting.
The last five minutes are pure parental athleticism: finding the missing sneaker, finding the missing homework (always under the sofa, near the mysterious sticky spot), and shouting the final, desperate countdown. The ultimate goal is not to win the morning, but to escape the house without police intervention. When the yellow chariot pulls away, you stand there, heart pounding, utterly alone, and you realize: It’s only 7:55 a.m. And that, my friends, is why they invented noise-cancelling headpho
nes.

 

[ohioboy]

Emily Dickinson chose many times to use dashes instead of actual punctuation. This was for lack of a better term, her "Trademark".

Poe was very good, though he only penned about 50 poems, of course more known as a short story master.

 

[Paco Dennis]

A colorful fish with big fins jumping out of the water and waving hello to us with his big fins.