Wild Raspberries

'Midst verdant New Hampshire groves,

Midsummer rambles begin,

Paths dappled with sunbeams in droves,

Thru valleys and over crest therein.

Beneath the boughs, a shaded trail,

Respite from day's warm gleam,

Where birds chirp, squirrels flit and hail,

A hushed wonderland, a dream.

A crimson glint amidst the thorns,

Bramble with hidden treasure,

Sweet raspberries, ruddy adorn,

Luring with their vibrant pleasure.

Fragrance wafts upon the breeze,

Drawing with an urging thrill,

As if by magic they appease,

Beckoning call to nature's will.

Berries gleam, a ruby hue,

So plump, ripe, and tempting,

Flavors tart, sweet, and true,

Nature's gift, pure and uplifting.

Nectar of the sun, they hold,

Jewels on the verdant earth,

A bounty to be savored bold,

A moment of unbridled mirth.

With each indulgent, blissful bite,

Their sweetness floods my senses true,

And in this fleeting moment's light,

I am one with nature anew.

A fleeting visitor, am I,

In this wild, enchanting space,

Yet memory of the berry's lure,

Lingers long, a smile on my face.

----

I worked with ChatGPT 3.5 to write this poem.  Though most of these words and phrases aren't directly mine, the key phrases are directly from me; with most of elements being prompted by me in one way or another.  The poem isn't a masterpiece, but it's not bad either.  The creative role I performed was actually in the interaction with the chatbot trying to work though its abilities and limitations to get a modestly good result.  

The first chatbot version of this poem was passable, but not good.  In several iterations, the chatbot "forgot" the topic of the poem and focused on some secondary detail.  I had to redirect the chatbot several times.  I was moderately impressed with how well the chatbot handled minor edits, though it made unrequested changes to unaffected portions of the poem almost every time, so I had to review each iteration to revert unintended edits.  Of course, the process took a couple of hours.  

I could've written something better than this in the same amount of time on my own.  I might try this experiment again with different prompt.

BTW, the image above is from Stable Diffusion.

Remote thought control

The following is a poem I asked Google Nest Bard to write.  Prompt was an 8 stanza poem about the virtues of remote thought control.  Though not the stature of Vogon poetry, it's not going to win any awards for quality.

Remote thought control, a virtue,

Can help you focus on the future.

It can help you stay calm and collected,

Even when you're feeling hectic.

Remote thought control, a power,

Can help you reach your goals.

It can help you make the right decisions,

Even when you're feeling indecisive.

Remote thought control, a gift,

Can help you live a better life.

It can help you be the best version of yourself,

Even when you're feeling stressed.

Remote thought control, a skill,

Can be learned and mastered.

It can be used for good or evil,

The choice is yours.

The road you didn't take because of a lie

I thought of writing about Robert Frost's poem The Road Not Taken because many (most?) people misinterpret it.  Well, Today I Found Out covered the topic so well, there's no sense in my writing about the poem's meaning.  Please enjoy their video:

The Road Not Taken

BY Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less travelled by,

And that has made all the difference..

Do And Die, not Do or Die - common misquote

The poem by Lord Alfred Tennyson called The Charge of the Light Brigade is often misquoted.  Lines 14 and 15 are commonly spoken as "Ours is not to ask why, but to do or die", or something similar.  The key here is that a choice is present; "do or die".  In other words, we follow our orders or be will held accountable.  Or perhaps, do or die trying.

However, within the actual poem (below), such a choice never is present.  The lines are actually "Theirs not to reason why, theirs but to do and die".  The soldiers of the poem never question their order, even though the order is clearly erroneous.  For these soldiers, these six hundred brigaders, a choice is never even in their thoughts.  They would ride headlong into cannon fire, being cut to pieces, while knowing there was no hope of success nor life afterwards.  

When one applies this poem to one's own situation, the phrase "do and die" is far more powerful, potent and critical.  No choice is available, even though the required action surely leads to failure.  In this regard, one might be unintentionally critiquing their orders as folly.

Of course, the poem is poetic. Though the poem does mention some survivors, it romanticizes the sacrifice of the brigade on the whole.  In reality, many of the soldiers survived.  Further, history has characterised the order to charge as a misunderstanding or miscommunication.  However, the order being a mistake of some sort is not undermined by the fact that some brigaders survived.  The Light Brigade was decimated in their charge of the cannons, and that decimation was obviously inevitable. 

The Charge of the Light Brigade

BY ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON

                    I

Half a league, half a league,

Half a league onward,

All in the valley of Death

   Rode the six hundred.

“Forward, the Light Brigade!

Charge for the guns!” he said.

Into the valley of Death

   Rode the six hundred.

                    II

“Forward, the Light Brigade!”

Was there a man dismayed?

Not though the soldier knew

   Someone had blundered.

   Theirs not to make reply,

   Theirs not to reason why,

   Theirs but to do and die.

   Into the valley of Death

   Rode the six hundred.

                  III

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon in front of them

   Volleyed and thundered;

Stormed at with shot and shell,

Boldly they rode and well,

Into the jaws of Death,

Into the mouth of hell

   Rode the six hundred.

                   IV

Flashed all their sabres bare,

Flashed as they turned in air

Sabring the gunners there,

Charging an army, while

   All the world wondered.

Plunged in the battery-smoke

Right through the line they broke;

Cossack and Russian

Reeled from the sabre stroke

   Shattered and sundered.

Then they rode back, but not

   Not the six hundred.

                    V

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon behind them

   Volleyed and thundered;

Stormed at with shot and shell,

While horse and hero fell.

They that had fought so well

Came through the jaws of Death,

Back from the mouth of hell,

All that was left of them,

   Left of six hundred.

                   VI

When can their glory fade?

O the wild charge they made!

   All the world wondered.

Honour the charge they made!

Honour the Light Brigade,

   Noble six hundred!

Be like Jay?

Be like Jay!  Be gay and scolding, I guess. Looks like poetry of questionable quality isn't only the domain of grade school English class.

THE BLUE JAY.

Something glorious, something gay,
Flits and flashes this-a-way!
’Thwart the hemlock’s dusky shade,
Rich in color full displayed,
Swiftly vivid as a flame—
Blue as heaven and white as snow—
Doth this lovely creature go.
What may be his dainty name?
“Only this”—the people say—
“Saucy, chattering, scolding Jay!”

-uncredited c.1897

Relaxing inside

Wiley wind whistles through jostled forest timber which heaves and howls. Ease and warmth fills us from the glow of the comforting fireplace.

Dead Plants

Winter is here,
Oh my dear.
My plants are dead
"I'll see you again,
next year."

Seriously, who thought of this? Let the rhymes commence

There really is a website for everything.  Well, there is a site for word rhyming called Visual Rhymes. This site is so smart that it can even find rhymes for orange.  I always believed there are no English words that rhyme with orange.  Of course, the website shows the closest rhyme, but I think it is a bit rough, though it is technically correct.  Let me try to use the rhymes with orange in a bad poem that only Vogons will love.

Let me say how I love your skin orange.

Random pieces dogs will scavenge.

Keep your dogs away from that syringe.

Oh, o'er there the bad dogs whinge.

Watchout for the skintle to avoid a cringe

face from roughed up skin.  Oh, I love your skin orange.

Orange, orange, Oh, orange of color grand, 

sometimes impinge.

I did warn that it would be bad poetry.  As bad poetry goes, I'd say that was pretty good attempt and being really really bad.  So bad.  So very very bad. Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings of Sussex might be proud. Anyway, I'm not convinced it is a good idea to try to attempt rhymes with the word orange, even if there are words that are available for such as task.

Remote Stone

Of what world we wonder true?  Our lacking nature holds fast our corporeal soul upon the bosom of thriving abodes that guise the cradled womb.  In this place stand we, me and all others, bound not in chains but yoked hereto nonetheless.  Grand thrusting spears slice through the wondrous  blue veil, floating on the currents of bent universe beyond this round realm, bringing to the helm  fleshless anthropomorphized cold creatures to cast away the dark cloak, thus revealing remote stone for stone’s sake.

Casted Branches

I never thought I'd revisit this work, but I believe I've improved it substantially with a rough spot it used to have in the second verse.

Night's pale spirit dashes spiderwebs upon earth,
Like villains cast onto silver screens,
Lying without breath; but breathing, as wind affects,
To spook our children on All Hallows' Eve.

Creaks and cackles echo,
While creep jostles our own essence.
This imparts solace upon howling ghosts,
Who excape from Inferno's demented joy.

Clamoring so, and wailing,
Lost souls seek new abodes;
Haunting our windows as light upon memories;
Whisking about, agitated, frustrated...then night wanes.

Apollo rides out with his own cast of characters,
To sweep away specters and their weeps,
And comfort bring to little ones as they arise,
Oblivious to the crypts under tread.

Ocean's Edge

Sun sprinkles below
Waves' crests and pitches dancing
Cliffs glorious view

Mother Haiku

Beautiful Mother
Your Unconditional Love
Sweet Tender Caring

California Nature (final version/republished)

Your journey roads herald adventure,
Impelling me to climb your cloven heights,
And romp carelessly,
as aureate poppy fields beckon.

Sun-kissed waters bounce along your shoreline.
They entice me to surf the crashing calm waves.

Canopy-enveloped valleys thrive with floral scents
That draw my ingression, but I forestall.

Instead I caper like Racetrack Playa’s sailing stones,
Which tickle your basin by some unseen will.

I endeavor to hike your proud hills,
And find places to gaze lostly into lakes full with sky.

Vineyard nectar overflows like sweet sweat,
To spur my soul’s arousal as I partake.
Your boundless attributes gratify my wanderlust,
And allure me to appease your nature.

My Wife

Each day is new
Like the sunshine
I'm happy its you
and that your mine.

High School Poems II

Duff
Brown, brush
Lies, burns, moisturizes
Forestial protective top soil
Dirt


Boulder
Common, terrestrial
Sits, cracks, crumbles
Is at the mercy of weather
Big rock


For Extra Credit
Great way to improve my score
Ain't this just so great?!


I had classes that covered poetry for 4 years straight, and by the second year, I just started recycling much of my works,just adding extras to cover differing requirements.

I'm not going to add any other poems from my schools years here. There's over 50 or so, but nufin really any good. Some were very ambitious, and I may revisit them later for future projects anew.

California Nature (Rev. B)

Your journey roads herald adventure,
Impelling me to climb your cloven heights,
And romp carelessly,
as aureate poppy fields beckon.

Sun-kissed waters bounce along your shoreline.
They entice me to surf the crashing calm waves.

Canopy-enveloped valleys thrive with floral scents
That draw my ingression, but I forestall.

Instead I caper like Death Valley’s mysterious-moving-rocks,
Which tickle your basin by some unseen will.

I endeavor to hike your proud hills,
And find places to gaze lostly into lakes full with sky.

Vineyard nectar overflows like sweet sweat,
To spur my soul’s arousal as I partake.
Your boundless attributes gratify my wanderlust,
And allure me to appease your nature.

Casted Braches (final version)...almost

Night’s pale spirit dashes spiderwebs upon earth, 

Like villains cast onto silver screens, 

Lying without breath; but breathing, as wind affects, 

To spook our children on All Hallows’ Eve. 

Creaks and cackles echo, 

While creep jostles our own essence. 

This comforts ghosts banned from bliss, 

As they hide from Inferno’s joy. 

Clamoring so, and wailing, 

Lost souls seek new abodes; 

Haunting our windows as light upon memories; 

Whisking about, agitated, frustrated…then night wanes. 

Apollo rides out with his own cast of characters, 

To sweep away specters and their weeps, 

And comfort bring to little ones as they arise, 

Oblivious to the crypts under tread. 

About this poem: Casted Branches is about the pain of lose of a loved one, and the phases we experience when dealing with that lose. The challenge was to find new ways to express that kind of lose with a fresh and creative approach, since the topic is one of the most common and poorly written for poems. Cast Branches is prolly the best and most thoughtful poem I have written. In a way, it summarizes a period of my own life that stretched for several years. I also understand how this poem may be used to address the ending of a relationship, though this is not how I personally relate to it.

High School Poems I

I know a man with a big nose,
I'd swear it was a water hose.
He'd say it was not,
but it sure dripped a lot.
It ran all day;
Enough to fill the bay.
I told him his faucet had to be fixed.
So he gave his lip many licks.
His nose still ran with that slime.
Oh, how I hate the color lime.

The Brave Man

There once was a brave man
Who said, "I will, I can!"
So he did go
And tried, ya'no,
But he got scared and ran.

My Beviepie

I used to sing this little ditty to Bevie (circa 1998-1999), set (roughly) to the tune of the ol' Spider-man cartoon theme song. It used to make her giggle...well, because it's pretty silly.

Beviepie, Beviepie

My-oh-my Beviepie

She's so cute

Yeah she is

She a beaut

I want to kiss

Hey hey,

There's my Beviepie