THESE POEMS WERE GENERATED
BY A CRAZY MACHINE.
NOT BY ME!
While I was searching for a useful tool for helping to shape concrete poetry (which seems to have vanished without trace) I found a free poem generator, so just for fun, I gave it a go. After selecting the free verse option I was asked to type in three words. The generator chewed on my words for a moment, then requested a further three, related to three new words it had spat back at me.
In no time at all it coughed out this strange list of phrases:
The drive that’s really climb,
Above all others is the ardent ambition.
Artistic, ardent ambition.
Does the ardent ambition make you shiver?
An astonishing avidity, however hard it tries,
Will always be eagerness.
Does the astonishing avidity make you shiver?
Better breeding is multiplying.
multiplying is better breeding.
Does the better breeding make you shiver?
Anyone who knows me well will be aware that I go in for overkill. Here’s the hilarious second poem it wrote for me, inspired by a different set of word prompts. I expected it to be romantic…
A wonderful wedding, however hard it tries,
Will always be celebration.
Does the wonderful wedding make you shiver?
The unify that’s really married,
Above all others is the warm wed.
Now ringed is just the thing,
To get me wondering if the warm wed is marital.
yellow, nervous newlyweds sings like romantics
Nervous newlyweds are yellowish. nervous newlyweds are irrational,
nervous newlyweds are chickenhearted, however.
So there you have it: nervous newlyweds sings like romantics. However, in addition to their skin being yellow – a point that is repeated in case you weren’t paying full attention – their hearts come from chickens.
Finally, I requested rhyming couplets. For this I was asked to submit a larger group of words. The resulting rhyme is… unusual. I was hoping for a poem about a road-sweeper and a psychiatrist. Maybe that’s what this is; it’s hard to tell.
See the laughing of the shunter,
I think he’s angry at the hunter.
He finds it hard to see the blouse,
Overshadowed by the angry dormouse.
Who is that screaming near the broom?
I think she’d like to eat the elbowroom.
She is but a black analyst,
Admired as she sits upon an annalist.
Her shameful car is just a prescription,
It needs no gas, it runs on subscription.
She’s not alone she brings a baccy,
a pet beaver, and lots of laxey.
The beaver likes to chase an alternation,
Especially one that’s in the association.
The shunter shudders at the hilarious armadillo
He want to leave but she wants the morillo.
Maybe it’s better at haiku, but I don’t have the heart to find out.
In case you feel like playing silly buggers, here’s a link to the generator. If you do, don’t be mean; please share the results.
©Jane Paterson Basil