I woke this morning with this idea in my head. I have been using AI a lot for research and learning as of late (and loving it) and I pondered some on the implications of it in the creative world. It is a source of great concern to many. In my own thoughts I likened it to a tool that makes many things easier, and in some cases, possible at all. So, I gave ChatGPT a prompt, and got a response. Both follow. The prompt. Write me a short story, or a poem, I will call ‘A & I’. Base it on a person’s life from their time in the…
Poetry
Share your spirit
Wayward Poem by Richard Crossley
Fingers of those golden rays dance across the lines where the darkness meets the darker out on the ridge of pines and the morning dew cast diamonds that no-one can bear away and day begins its trek again, that’s always been the way. And I rub the stubborn sleep from old eyes that want to see how the days and years and time eternal passes by and by, and my prayer today is just the same as you have heard before even when this body was still fresh and young and thought it would be evermore, before time had made bones brittle and stiffened joints with pain, before sicknesses and…
Lonely Temptations
There’s a lonely past the wishing, that someone else was near.. It feels a lot like emptiness, a bitter taste like fear.. A place so dark that stars are lost, so deep the heart is crushed.. A cold and rough remembrance, that you can never trust. You wonder how you got here, what lies you so believed, that you gave away your precious time and spent the gift He gave. I always knew His love is true, and carries every stone.. But when I hear your lying tongue, I find myself alone.
The Horseman
The noose doth tighten, and in the distant darkness the smile of death rests upon the icy cold shoulders of a black steed.. He waiteth, not impatiently, but with cruel and uncaring malice, for the final stitch; the last and ending gasp that signals the great challenge of being is over, the test of mortality at last complete.. He judgeth not, for such is not given him, but were he not soulless he would list to serve the darkness, and had he hope, it would be to drag all away to the darkness and stagnation of hell..The dying looks upon the beast, nearly tasting the bitter and vile stench of…
Poets’ Spirit
The words, empty and meaningless, without purpose, strength or ability, change no views, sharpen no sense, and define no sentiment.. Like paint in a bucket, to be splashed upon the surface of our lives, creating nothing, but a landscape of banality, until touched by the spirit of the poet, who breathes life to their form, adds color to their emptiness, stretches their boundaries, changes their structure, and captures life within them.
Mother Remembered
From infancy through childhood, to manhood, where I am, You gave your every living breath, to help me understand;That life is more than hunt and peck, nor just a party grand,and what I do from day to day, shows not all that I am. You took on all my problems, with love and thought and care,and all the unseen burdens, you shouldered them as well.. The seeds that you implanted, blossom still in me today,and all the love you gave me, I still use to light my way.. Now the Lord has given refuge, to a body tired and worn,and a part of me goes with you, and knows that…
The Bake before Christmas
Twas a week (more or less) before Christmas and panic set in Momma knew that the baking prep had to begin There was butter to buy, nuts and chocolate in bulk and to bring it inside she would need that great hulk So Pops would play chauffeur, cart pusher and bank and Momma would lead him, sometimes with a yank The aisles would be crowded with people in need and yet most were friendly, like brothers indeed When supplies are unloaded but not put away Momma takes just a moment, to breathe or to pray and then with her measuring cups and her spoons she’s off like a whirlwind, a…
