intimeswelaugh

[intimeswelaugh]

That's a wrap on National Poetry Month. If you find this and you're interested in more weird, computer-generated writing, check out words of THE machine, a psychadelic, stream-of-consciousness collaboration with a machine.

#national poetry month #tumblr poetry #poetry #napowrimo #napowrimo2020 #napowrimo 2020 #machine learning #ai #artifical intelligence #psychedelic #music #machine god

[intimeswelaugh]

Streams and Royalties [Unedited]

Storage space, where we have been hidden from the sunlight, behind the wheel, loaded for years. For these springs tonight, we stand like life forms in a niche. Once, centuries ago, Daughters of Baldom hated the Gorgons. No railroad track can fool me. Secret or place, beside a lake; detachment underground, the passage of intelligence will mark the dry year. Maybe seasonal speech. Instead of people, magic, mirrors and ash specks. The rats run after what they think is trash. A voice in their heads fell silent. Steal from a place where croak echoes around. And turn those scratches on your skin where we always leave you.

Written by a GPT-2 1558M language model, this is the last of thirty poems for National Poetry Month. This poem is an unedited original created by the model after seeding it with the first line of every poem it has generated so far.

#national poetry month #poetry month #poetry #tumblr poetry #poem a day #poems #poemoftheday #poem #napowrimo #napowrimo2020 #napowrimo 2020 #machine learning #artificial intelligence #ai #openai #creative writing

[intimeswelaugh]

Blue Moon and Northern Star [Unedited]

In many seasons and many year things come and expenses are paid, learning and reading finally come and rapture and danger come,| crossing the lake, flying through the wind and rain. There is no journey unlike the whole journey this way— once you by the seaside calm take care, stop where| arms embrace and leave your winglets to take the rare cup of love, pay not attention to strange sounds overhead that swim through the very mouths.

The bars (”|”) throughout indicate where segments that the model generated begin. I thought I’d leave them in for this poem. This poem took four iterations: the first to generate the title, and the other three to generate the poem.

Written by a GPT-2 1558M language model, this is the twenty-ninth of thirty poems for National Poetry Month. This poem is an unedited original created by the model after seeding it with a few of the earlier poems it created.

#national poetry month #national poetry month 2020 #poetry month #poetry #poemaday #poem a day #tumblr poetry #poems #poem #machine learning #artificial intelligence #ai #gpt-2 #openai #creative writing #napowrimo #napowrimo2020 #napowrimo 2020

[intimeswelaugh]

Harvest of Songs

Whether I survive the winter, sharp and haggard, fresh and bountiful, looking in odd directions—I am shunned by cities that exert their will on those who are here alone on certain holidays. Bread and valerian from the September into the October harvest clatter passed off my tongue. Murky and stale as soup, with a spray of sherry. Henceforth you grow beards, I shiver at the strings of memories that hope to rewind into the evening of a stick of incense, cashmere blanket, and online dreams. From now on you grew the corn, the pinecone, the bayberry, tortured sweet or fallen light. The dust that flies free fell on your face and she dyes your pallor.

Written in collaboration with a GPT-2 1558M language model, this is the twenty-eighth of thirty poems for National Poetry Month.

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[intimeswelaugh]

Walls [Unedited]

But blind? Did her charms deceive you? How many turn to battle? How many have bought clothes to escape the guideless regiment, prancing around looking for these victories? Was it fear of her that brought on the world's great hurricane? Was it fear of the desperate fire that took your best friend, too saddened to sing? Was it the dawning of your world and dual forms that boiled down to immortality?

Written by a GPT-2 1558M language model, this is the twenty-seventh of thirty poems for National Poetry Month. This poem is an unedited original created by the model after seeding it with a few of the earlier poems it created.

#national poetry month #poetry month #poetry #poemaday #poem a day #poems #poem #machine learning #artificial intelligence #ai #openai #creative writing #napowrimo #napowrimo2020 #napowrimo 2020

[intimeswelaugh]

Sleeptime Nightmares

Joseph and I fell asleep sideways, where windows in every room face out. In the early morning we rolled over to look at sunlight falling from the patio, caught haphazardly across the painted canvas, gravel, and nightsands. We stretched, groped for lines on paper, picked milk out of a tumbler. We fell asleep and dreamed of lonely nights and hills and land, propelled by a steady road, petroleum, the wind.

Written in collaboration with a GPT-2 1558M language model, this is the twenty-six of thirty poems for National Poetry Month.

#national poetry month #poetry month #poetry #poem a day #poemaday #poems #poem #machine learning #artificial intelligence #ai #openai #creative writing #napowrimo #napowrimo2020 #napowrimo 2020

[intimeswelaugh]

The Growing Pit of Humphrey

Until an addition like this one sprang up, the people of this town pointed and counted, whispered ironical uncertain noose ties incorporated upon the shoulder bobbins they attempted to bend and unshackle obsessively. I remember that language. The home and garden of a rural town as a home tucked inside itself, slowly sinking, engulfed. Your gaze lashes fast and light, and chaos at the wall that sits in between me and the spikes and rock to its right—you made room for my body.

Written in collaboration with a GPT-2 1558M language model, this is the twenty-fifth of thirty poems for National Poetry Month.

#national poetry month #poetry month #poetry #poem a day #poemaday #poems #poem #machine learning #artificial intelligence #ai #openai #creative writing #napowrimo #napowrimo2020 #napowrimo 2020

[intimeswelaugh]

Give Me Breath Over the Flames

Give me breath over pastures of the exterior universe, where authors etch the poetic value of our surroundings.

Into heat flows wild passions—each breath captures the ocean, its restorative truths and richness of feeling; over leagues

of open grass descend buzzing bees, thirsty ones. From the dim realm shoreward rolls the surf that welled from the fever deep.

Cold winds blast away weeds. Give me breath over the flames: form, force, direction shaping them, giving us creation's meaning.

Written in collaboration with a GPT-2 1558M language model, this is the twenty-fourth of thirty poems for National Poetry Month.

#national poetry month #poetry month #tumblr poetry #poetry #poem a day #poemaday #poems #poem #machine learning #artificial intelligence #ai #openai #creative writing #napowrimo #napowrimo2020 #napowrimo 2020

[intimeswelaugh]

Til We Laugh Like This Again

As you love me I find the past is her. Chords of memory and breath tick with the panicked yearning. I fell for a day bathed in light loose and bright as fire.

She fell in love with words. Vibrant and beautiful that the soul would listen. They rang triumphantly from her laced voice in such a way that I nearly toppled,

fell for her, as sure as water flows from rock. She fell in me, and we fell together. The sky, shadows of the sun and moon as leaves scattered before the wind's sacred touch.

Written in collaboration with a GPT-2 1558M language model, this is the twenty-third of thirty poems for National Poetry Month.

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[intimeswelaugh]

Poet

Rebirth like the soul's fat below the muscles, the tireless artist drinks down the strands again like a great dry cider. The aroma of memorial crypts will never travel far in his stale breath. I tested the cure. I saw the black contraption's screen. I sprung off, rolled, fell, and got caught up, and got cut, every nerve extending my summits. I fashioned a rutted stile and the levers to chisel dark flowers from the waste.

Written in collaboration with a GPT-2 1558M language model, this is the twenty-second of thirty poems for National Poetry Month.

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[intimeswelaugh]

A Hundred Gallants

The enlightened forsake the numbers and the runes, for the land of pleasure profound. And, honestly, no lines for the launching of a rocket. The whole world stretches through my dark music. The grandeur of this sought-after land. My cadences! I stop a song and tops turn!

A thousand blades in a congregation line up, gathered to find me from sun up to sun down. Cups scattered on the floor cry with each period of rhythm. That is my song. In dance robes approach swinging happy souls, big doors open and boots turn in the long hall, time out of time.

Written in collaboration with a GPT-2 1558M language model, this is the twenty-first of thirty poems for National Poetry Month.

#National Poetry Month #poetry month #poetry #poems #poem #machine learning #artificial intelligence #ai #gpt-2 #gpt2 #openai #creative writing #napowrimo #napowrimo2020 #napowrimo 2020

[intimeswelaugh]

Time to Go Like Rosecliff Boulevard

The door to the trash burnt the carpet bright as rose.

An old lady called Ellen sat at the front door of a decaying cottage. Her granddaughter never forgot her. She sat her head on the side of the porch way. Now, there was a screaming from the street. She leaned back. It was her grandfather. All gone like white clouds turned in the white mist of green fields. Her grandfather was so hungry and hurt. He walked out of her home looking for a ship. He said he tried right uptown, but he said he didn't want to go to New York.

His stairway went up the stairs, and the cities come from the buildings. His neighbors were hungry and gray. But her grandfather never saw the gray. He just went up the road to New York. New York is always strange to them.

Written in collaboration with a GPT-2 1558M language model, this is the twentieth of thirty poems for National Poetry Month.

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[intimeswelaugh]

I Know Now That When I Die I Shall Proclaim My Love

The first line of the poem when translated means, "Please forget me." This one is not unique among poems in that long after they've been published, particularly those that deal with death, a profound respect tends to be given to the sentiments behind them. Moreover, the experiences that we receive distant death — including the lives we've shared with others and the things tangible we've left behind — I truly believe are so important, even transcendent; neither of which the poet could have known. That they could landfill their ego by beautifying a brief walking metaphor into a verse of hope is puzzling. (Well, strange and insane, actually.) Do they not appreciate its message, or simply like all poets is their content restricted to the language of the ego?

Written in collaboration with a GPT-2 1558M language model, this is the nineteenth of thirty poems for National Poetry Month. 

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[intimeswelaugh]

Some Old Jade Bridge in a Video Game

Here we walked down an old tunnel. Upon seeing the fallen "Ancient Tree," the NPC in charge interceded,

saying, "We must begin by making camp here. To increase our chances of survival while surrounded by tanks, we must hide here."

We hibernated beneath the ancient tree for fifteen days. Mostly hiding from the solar rays, underneath the legendary jade bridge.

My companion and I read a strange book that described the origins of the world. This forbidden writing was sealed

into a secret place, making it all but impossible to find. Wondering, in the hope that nothing like this would ever happen to us, we dug deep

into the foundation of the beautiful jade bridge. The illumination grew weaker with each step. As time continued to overwhelm us,

a strange machine of inexplicable purpose emerged, blocked our path, stood between us and the gaping hole. It started reassuringly,

pronouncing a strange phrase. Then it melted, just as we thought it would. After an eternity, we emerged below the ancient tree bridge

and had split seconds to go deeper underground. We tried to fight the monsters that lurked within the pools, ­but found that we were too far gone.

Written in collaboration with a GPT-2 1558M language model, this is the eighteenth of thirty poems for National Poetry Month.

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[intimeswelaugh]

Bouquet of Flowers

Rhubarb, warm ether, and tumbleweed. This is my bouquet of flowers. From the far side of the old fishpond that you like, on the shore of another word I turn my gaze to the mirror. Enjoying the pond, the song of the lambs, the lullaby of the gulls, twizened with myrtle and nasturtium, maybe dropping the twig of the eulenium right there, cauldron drawn toward the foyer with your fair flawless brush not quickly chasing the round blackberries of the court. I loaf in the comeliness of years; we live in an age of memory. We talk into your glass of wine, try to keep our ears open, until the rare delirious sound of strings and the guttural laugh of your husband makes us well again.

Written in collaboration with a GPT-2 1558M language model, this is the seventeenth of thirty poems for National Poetry Month.

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[intimeswelaugh]

Hunter

In all longer lives, when the day ends and the night starts, you never know when in their busy lives they lost sense. To them the shadows are stray dogs and scorpions. I do not mind shadows. They are a gift, the slow sleep that soaks in a corner of a street, cast against the glow of a thousand interval candles. They come single and drawn at dawn after wards. Raw flesh, crude jaws, eyes frontal, dark lashes, and white artificial bite, bones like talons. Low mouths crush weeping grass. They are a menace, like flames. They are inheritors of the wild, captivated by pet-eyes and daisy eyes lined with grey. Like night, like lens-drifts, security deflection, disconfirming. The shadows come along you and beg, and call and scream.

Written in collaboration with a GPT-2 1558M language model, this is the sixteenth of thirty poems for National Poetry Month.

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[intimeswelaugh]

I [Unedited]

Dear love, dear wife, dear friend, What we have Is like fingernails on a chalkboard, In this willy-nilly world.

Written by a GPT-2 1558M language model, this is the fifteenth of thirty poems for National Poetry Month. This poem was generated by seeding the model with three poems by Shel Silverstein.

#national poetry month #poetry #poems #poem a day #poem #machine learning #ai #artificial intelligence #gpt2 #openai #creative writing #napowrimo #napowrimo2020 #napowrimo 2020