K. Morris's Blog, page 99
February 25, 2023
My Coffee Grows Cold
My coffee grows cold,
And I old.
And here I sit
Playing the wit,
Until death calls time
On wit
And rhyme.
Cyberspace
Playing around in cyberspace
We come face-to-face
With the vanity
And utter banality
Of our flawed humanity.
Progress
Walking through the churchyard
On a freezing evening,
I consider progress. ,
And pass by
Fading inscriptions
On tombstones.
February 23, 2023
The Fine Old Bureau
There was a young lady named Flow
Who lived in a fine old bureau.
When they said, “what an antique!”,
She would awake from her sleep
And say, “no, I’m young Miss Flow!”.
When a Young Man Eating a Trifle
When a young man eating a trifle
Got shot by an old-fashioned rifle,
A policeman named Ted
Said, “he is dead!
Which is serious, and no mere trifle!””.
When a Young Lady Reading a Thriller
When a young lady reading a thriller
Accused me of being a serial killer,
I said, “Miss Hocking!
Your suggestion is shocking!
But I admit to writing that thriller!”.
February 20, 2023
My Dog Kicks Earth
My dog kicks earth.
There is sleep.
And death,
Which is the final
Sleep in earth.
February 19, 2023
Should Writers Fear AI?
I recently posted about my experience of using Chat GPT to create poetry, https://kmorrispoet.com/2023/02/13/what-happened-when-i-entered-one-of-my-poems-into-chat-gpt/. In that post I discussed the results of entering my poem Midnight into Chat GPT and how the AI continued my poem (which was originally published several years ago).
This morning I came across this article, https://ai.plainenglish.io/writers-dont-fear-chatgpt-81e1128b11c1
, in which the author argues that writers should not fear ...
I Have Awoken to Birdsong
I have awoken to birdsong
And lain awake
Until sleep takes me again.
I measure time
With clocks. Birds and flowers
No not hours,
Nor do they see me
Conversing with time
In a half rhyming rhyme
Until my song is done.
February 18, 2023
Miss Rose and My Bedclothes
When I found naughty Miss Rose
Sleeping nude under my new bedclothes,
I said, “my dear,
The bishop draws near,
You’d better stay under those bedclothes!”.
