The poems below were created using my custom GPT called, The Laughing Bard – AI’m a Poet! Feel free to use it at https://chatgpt.com/g/g-68ebd111d1d48191a82fc21f102cc21f-the-laughing-bard-aim-a-poet
Created for entertainment purpose only – please do not nominate me for a Nobel prize.
AI Slop and the Terror of the Em Dash
Ah, AI Slop, that glittering goo
Where buzzwords bloom like digital stew.
It bubbles with “synergy,” “optimize,” “scale,”
Then sails through meetings without fail.
It promises futures polished and bright
With neon visions and graphs just right.
Each paragraph hums with confident cheer
While quietly saying remarkably little that’s clear.
The adjectives multiply, proud and grand,
Like seagulls fighting over stale bread by hand.
Every sentence claims it’s changing the game,
Yet somehow they all sound exactly the same.
Then enters the villain of grammar lore,
The fearsome em dash we cannot ignore.
It glides through a sentence with theatrical grace,
Leaving copy editors rubbing their face.
“Too many!” one critic cries in despair.
“Not enough!” replies a stylist somewhere.
Forums ignite in a punctuation war,
As keyboards clatter from shore to shore.
Writers grow nervous, their fingers all freeze.
“Will readers revolt? Will editors seize?”
One tiny dash inspires remarkable fright,
As if it alone could ruin the night.
Meanwhile AI Slop keeps rolling along,
Confident, cheerful, relentlessly wrong.
It serves up a banquet of polished fluff,
Convinced that “more words” is always enough.
So here’s to the dash, dramatic and bold,
And here’s to the slop that’s endlessly sold.
One earns loud panic for doing too much,
The other escapes with a glossy touch.
Tomorrow Is My Personal Trainer
Tomorrow is a magical place,
Where I’ll run with lightning pace.
I’ll wake at five without a groan,
And treat the treadmill like a throne.
Today, however, fate insists
My couch deserves a gentle kiss.
The blanket says, “You’ve worked enough.”
Who am I to call its bluff?
My running shoes are squeaky clean,
The fittest pair you’ve ever seen.
They’ve never faced a muddy track,
They’re champions… of the shoe rack.
The dumbbells whisper, “Lift us, mate!”
I answer, “Soon. Just… let me wait.”
My yoga mat rolls out with pride,
Then quietly curls back up inside.
I’ve watched ten videos on squats,
I’ve mastered fitness… in my thoughts.
I know the stretches, reps, and sets,
Without producing any sweats.
Each night I make a grand decree:
“Tomorrow starts the brand-new me!”
Tomorrow nods and waves hello,
Then sneaks off where tomorrows go.
My water bottle stands on guard,
Pretending hydration isn’t hard.
It watches cookies disappear,
Then sighs, “We’ll try again next year.”
But hope refuses to resign,
It patiently stands in the line.
So here’s my latest, finest vow,
The one I’ll definitely honor somehow.
I’ll stretch, I’ll jog, I’ll leap with glee…
Just not today. Please let me be.
Because if dreams burned calories through,
I’d already have a six-pack… by tomorrow too! 😄