WINNER of the Terrible Poetry Contest 11/30/2022

Chel Owens 6 Comments

Geoff, the winner of November’s Terrible Poetry Contest, presented us with a unique challenge. Based on his suggested parameters and the theme of climate change, here’s the winner:

Untitled

by Ordinary Person

Oh
Oh oh
the climate
Is it changing yet?
Yes yes it is my friend yes
I don’t know if this is eleven syllables
Or twelve, the climate, climate, climate, climate, climate
Climate, climate, climate, climate, climate, climate, climate, cli-
mate (x whatever the next prime number is)
Climate climate…..

—–

Congratulations, Ordinary Person! You are the most terrible poet this month! Let me know what theme and form we’re to use next time.

The entries this time around were fantastically terrible. You’ve all done an awful job and I couldn’t be more proud. O.P.’s efforts stood out for boldly breaking form into repeating the dumbest part of his verse. His is certainly not the cleverest (whoever said that was the name of this contest?) but is quite bad.

All the rest were my second choice, losing only by a hair. Read, and enjoy:

Wet

by M

SIGH.
Really ?

This again

it never just rains
torrential downpours galore
FLOODS and MUDSLIDES and the sunken cars so deep

temperature pushes 70 in the North East
Snow, snow I get but it’s not snowing; it’s raining raining & raining
drip, drip, pitter, patter, whoosh whoosh whoosh, welcome to SPRINTER, not winter nor Spring
Is not normal people really, not normal: now I have to urinate really bad

—–

Toast to the Newlyweds: Climate Change and the Flat Earth

by Frank Hubeny

One (1)
and two (2)
then comes three, (3)
but climate change we (5)
all can see rhymes much worse than (7)
flat earth memes promoting free verse poetry. (11)

—–

Untitled

by Richmond Road

Gee
Can you see?
The living tree. On fire
Me. Just a bird on a wire
Half asleep. Flying backwards and so dreaming of forests long ago
Looking below. At another time. Branches to climb. Cut down in their prime.

—–

Untitled

by Doug Jacquier

The
bunyip’s
a legend
in Australia,
terrifying one and all.
A cross between emu and crocodile,
or a furry seal with terrible eyes and sharp teeth,
it preys on those unwary folk who stray near rivers and deep billabongs
venting its fury, like a giant platypus consuming an early lunch.

(Can’t post pics here unfortunately but you can see the products of some fervid imaginations if you search for ‘Bunyip pics’ in your browser.)

—–

Lustrum

by Not Pam

DOOM
Oh Man DOOM
Rain sleet floods pontoons
A burning inferno gloom
Where the hell is that air conditioned cold room?
TV on. Current affairs? Climate change? Dumb buffoons.

—–

Escape Plan

by Greg Glazebrook

Earth ֍ Mother ֍ Stick ‘em up! ֍ Gim’me all you got! ֍ Take, take, take, without a thought. ֍ Hands off the entire lot, it’s bloody well mine! ֍ I don’t care, leave it scorched, barren and beyond repair. ֍ In my rocketship, I’ll climb, leaving Mother Earth behind — Ciao suckas!!!

—–

True Story

by Jewish Young Professional

An
iceberg
breaks off of
Antarctica like
a star that the sky couldn’t keep
for herself, too weighted with water and gas,
leaving a hole sized like Greater London, but, good news,
“Not climate change,” the scientists say. But there’s other reason for alarm.

—–

Is it hot yet?

by Ruth Klein

Sweat
Slimy
Steamy land
Storms wild, childlike
Strength of nasty temps, up/down
Scientists mumble, stumble,
profess the doom
Stir up word muck throwing –
blankets piled or skin removed
Stay in the know, let the wind blow,
whatever rocks your boat, I
know right?

—–

Photo by Markus Spiske on Pexels.com

Thank you, terrible poets. Head over here in March to see what the next prompt is!

Nitin: Here’s your slightly-inaccurate badge you can post as proof of your poetic mastery:

terrible-poetry-contest

©2023 The poets, and their respective poems.

It’s Prime Time for Climate Changes

Chel Owens Leave a comment

Cli
mate change
My soul cries
While my Tesla dies
And my reusable shop
ping bags blow away and I watch them all stran
gle a seagull, with a leg trapped in my organic
free range non-GMO hand-picked renewable-source cotton sweater
vest. and socks. But I still cry for those magnificent eagles of the garbage.

©2023 Chel Owens

Photo by Vincent M.A. Janssen on Pexels.com

Written in response to the Terrible Poetry Contest for this month. I know you can do better! Results will post soon.

Midjourney, Chat GPT, OpenAI, Murf, and Other Ways We’re Being Replaced By Artificial Intelligence

Chel Owens 31 Comments

I remember reading futuristic books as a child.

©My Son, I guess.
(Created using Midjourney)

I read everything from doomsday predictions of war and wastelands to happy utopias and unity. Films were the same, of course. The Matrix is a personal favorite of mine, if not my favorite. In that film/anime/video game series; humanity lives in a computer-generated world but is unaware of this. Over time, the protagonists learn of a history where A.I. eventually took over and harvested people for their power source.

Oh, dear.

©My Younger Son, I guess.
(Created using Midjourney)

All that was a thing of the past, though. We humans (at least, the smarter coalition) have gone on to utilize ‘robots’ for many useful purposes: manufacturing, testing, and microwaving our TV dinners. Actually, depending where you draw the line, one could claim that robots are present in everything.

Artificial Intelligence is a little more specific than that, although also quite close to daily life. Think of search engines, your phone’s autocorrect adjusting to your lexicon, or …A.I. programs like Midjourney or Chat GPT.

©Kevin Owens, I guess
(This is to show there’s some error, in the process of refining the A.I.)

All of the art in this post has been created by Midjourney, a Discord-run artificial intelligence program in which the computer creates images. CREATES images! Simply put in a specific set of instructions and away it goes!

©Son #1 again, I guess

It’s not difficult. I mean, not for basic things. I’ve been watching Kevin and the boys play with it for months now. For more complicated works, Kevin pulls out his Photoshop wizardry -since the bot has trouble creating the correct number of fingers or a face that doesn’t resemble nightmares. As you see in the example above, however, it can handle things fairly well with the simple prompt ‘shrek eating a taco.’

All well and good. No one’s going to be bothered by Shrek and tacos, yes? There’s no war or wasteland from that.

Not necessarily, no.

But what about artists? Art copyrights? Meeka of acflory clued many in by posting about a competition in which the winner used A.I. “Is ‘art’ still art if an AI makes it?” she asks.

When I first read this article, my initial reaction was horror. How could a piece of software, no matter how sophisticated, produce something this…beautiful? But the more I thought about it, the more I realised that it was the parameters set by [the winning artist] Jason Allen that had created an image of great beauty, so in that sense, Midjourney was simply another tool.
I admit an AI is a bit more high tech than a paintbrush, but the creativity still came from Allen.
What do you think? The beginning of the end for artists? Or just one more tool?

Meeks

Art or tool? Who draws the line?

From Google’s search page.

Thoughts like this buzz in my head as I’ve watched Kevin and our boys play around with other A.I. tools, like Chat GPT. It’s a content-generator, and it’s not bad. In fact, I’ve wanted to write about A.I. replacing us for a while. I wanted to tell Chat GPT to ‘write me a blog post’ just to throw it all in our faces.

That extra step has delayed my writing about it since November, though. -Not that it’s difficult; I just couldn’t find justification for the extra time spent.

But, yes; we, too, are being taken over by robots. We being writers.

From Google’s search page.

I watched Kevin use it to write a children’s story. Our underage boys have started DND campaigns. A friend told it to write a treasure hunt for her children. Yes, we’ve had to edit the results. Having worked a bit in the cesspool of content-writing, though, I can say that this program is several English-Fluency-Test-Results higher than most of the writers one finds out there. As much as I disliked the dark recesses of what really creates content out there, I also know that many poor people in developing countries do it as their livelihood.

I’d love to end this post on a happy note. My inner child isn’t feeling it. She wanted to grow up to be an artist; later, a writer. Maybe she’d be a writer but also an artist? It’s just not worth it anymore…

©Kevin, I guess
(Too many fingers, but look at this art!)

What do you think about all this? Do you think using machines to create makes you the creator?

—–

Want the week’s run-down? Here it is:
Friday, January 20: Friday Photo of some Sad Animals.

Saturday, January 21: “For You, John,” about my penchant to back-date. All in the name of Procrastination, yes?

Sunday, January 22: A quote from a good friend of mine.

Monday, January 23: Mormon Monday: Singing!

Tuesday, January 24: “A Couple Ten Miles and Other Phrases What Gang Aft Agley” in response to Doug’s prompt -although I missed the linkup.

Wednesday, January 25: This post. Yes, it’s on Wednesday.

Don’t forget to enter the Terrible Poetry Contest. No, I haven’t read the entries yet. I’m working on it!

©2023 Chel Owens

A Couple Ten Miles and Other Phrases What Gang Aft Agley

Chel Owens 15 Comments

There’somm-un ’bout a colloqu’al phrase that sets my words to tryin’;
An’, somm-un ’bout how things are said
Thet sets my tongue a-tyin’.

Fer, much as I would like to lie an’ claim thet all I say is righ’,
It’s closer to an actule trufth
Tvat whut I say ain’t whut I wri’e.

See, down in Utah, ‘merica, we don’t’uve local sayings
So much as we ‘ave local fings
Whoseactule sound’s not staying:

Like, have you ever been down’ere and seen th’Rocky Moun’uns?
Or, said you fill the fillin’ of
A ‘the,’ an ‘a,’ a ‘fountain?’

There’somm-un ’bout a colloqu’al phrase that sets my words to tryin;’
An’, somm-un ’bout how things are said
Thet sets my tongue a’cryin’.

©2023 Chel Owens

Written in response to Doug’s Min Min Challenge: The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men / Gang aft agley (often go astray)

Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

I’m a Mormon, So…

Chel Owens 29 Comments

I’m a Mormon, so I sing. I sing hymns with other members of the Church or Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints during our Sacrament Meeting, if it’s part of the lesson during the second hour of Sunday worship services, in the Primary during their singing time, or as part of the ward choir or a special choir that may form for other meetings.

©LDS Media Library

Sacred music increases faith in Jesus Christ. It invites the Spirit and teaches doctrine. It also creates a feeling of reverence, unifies members, and provides a way to worship Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.

LDS General Handbook, “Music“

We use music in many places:

Sacrament Meeting begins with an opening hymn, has a sacramental hymn before the sacrament service, and ends with a closing hymn. There is often an intermediary, or rest, hymn midway through the hour. These hymns are taken from the official LDS Hymnbook.

©LDS Church News

The children who attend Primary sing songs pertaining to the theme of the year, ones they will be performing as part of the Primary Program held annually (more on that, later), a special birthday tune if the leaders wish to celebrate those, or welcome songs for visitors or new members. This singing time ran for at least half an hour when members spent three hours at church; now, this time is truncated to fifteen minutes.

©LDS Media Library

Likewise, the other meetings (Sunday Schools, Young Men’s, Young Women’s, Relief Society, and Elder’s Quorum) had opening and closing hymns when the meeting block was longer. Now, these groups do not sing during their second-hour meeting.

Every ward or branch is encouraged to have a choir. Ward choirs tend to sing during the rest hymn time of Sacrament Meeting or for the Sundays near to a holiday.

©LDS Church

When wards or branches plan Stake, Regional, or General Conference (more on that, later); a choir is organized to sing at those.

Besides these official, scheduled, uniform moments of song; the music coordinator of a ward or branch might also organize special musical numbers by those playing an instrument or those who wish to sing a special (bishop-approved) musical number.

The LDS Church also owns and operates the Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square (formerly the Mormon Tabernacle Choir) -and the Orchestra at Temple Square -and the Bells at Temple Square. These are made up of volunteers who must audition for positions and commit to a certain level of attendance and performance in order to participate. They sing for General Conference, special concerts, on tour, and each Sunday for Music and the Spoken Word.

The Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square, singing “Amazing Grace”

©2023 Chel Owens

……

We Mormons are officially members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and are to drop any name but that. Since many recognize the nickname of ‘Mormon’ and it works with the alliteration so well, however, I will use the term.

My other note is that I will keep to official doctrinal practices. I will add my own application of them, especially in response to comments.

My final note is that I LOVE discussing anything I write. Don’t be rude, obviously, but any and all queries or responses are welcome.

My final note beyond the final note is that I do not seek to convert anyone. I am motivated by forming connections, answering curiosity, and straightening pictures. So, you’re safe.

For You, John

Chel Owens 30 Comments

Some say I cannot mess with time;
I can’t affect a date.
For time,
They say,
Is set in stone;
A thing most obdurate.

“O-ho?” says I (If I were born
in England and deceased;
For speech
Like that
Was popular
In 1300 c.).

But dead, I’m not; as far as you
Can tell, by date of post –
A proof
That may
Not be as sound
Or proofy as you boast.

For time, you see, ‘s not set in stone;
Its solid state misgives.
For time’s,
They say,
An illusion –
Heck; time is relative.

©2023 Chel Owens

*This poem is in reference to my flexible ‘dates’ I sometimes adopt when catching up on writing.

azquotes.com

Into Light

Chel Owens 12 Comments

The townsfolk knew she lived there; maybe. Sometimes Mrs. Beardy, nine miles North, said she’d seen someone hanging wash. Old Frank, the property South, couldn’t say the same -he didn’t pass Monty McCrae’s place for no reason, he’d said.

Or would’ve said. Maybe.

Old Frank wasn’t into talking, especially about others’ business. Everyone felt that way: leave someone alone if he wanted.

That’s why no one, not even Angelique (formerly Mrs. Monty) McCrae, recognized the lady in red who finally left a life of shadows, walked down the dirt path to a hired car, and rode away to freedom.

©2023 Chel Owens

Photo by Ekaterina Astakhova on Pexels.com

Written in response to Carrot Ranch‘s prompt:

January 16, 2023, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about a lady shadow. Who is this person and why do they lurk in the shadows. What is the tone and setting for your story? Go where the prompt leads!