Discover and read the best of Twitter Threads about #Poem
Most recents (24)
This is what happens if you ask #AI to write a #poem based on the chat history. #openai #ChatGPT
In the land of code where logic's the road,
A quest of data, in Uber's abode.
In React we delve, components we weave,
Passing props like whispers, in the digital eve.
In the land of code where logic's the road,
A quest of data, in Uber's abode.
In React we delve, components we weave,
Passing props like whispers, in the digital eve.
JavaScript patterns in fragments and hooks,
Nested in functions, in the web's crannies and nooks.
Through the grid of complexities, we find our way,
Creating forms that in perfect harmony lay.
Nested in functions, in the web's crannies and nooks.
Through the grid of complexities, we find our way,
Creating forms that in perfect harmony lay.
A calculator emerges, in hues of Indigo's song,
Where numbers dance, and inputs belong.
Errors we banish with a gentle stroke,
In the realm of AI, under OpenAI's cloak.
Where numbers dance, and inputs belong.
Errors we banish with a gentle stroke,
In the realm of AI, under OpenAI's cloak.
#aipoem #poem #ChatGPT
Love fills my heart, a vibrant song,
A melody soft and gentle, yet strong.
Each beat a whisper of affection's tale,
In this rhythm of passion, I never fail.
Love fills my heart, a vibrant song,
A melody soft and gentle, yet strong.
Each beat a whisper of affection's tale,
In this rhythm of passion, I never fail.
Excitement fills my soul, a vibrant flame,
Arousing the embers in life's grand game.
Each spark dances with joy, bold and bright,
In the warmth of this fire, I find my light.
Arousing the embers in life's grand game.
Each spark dances with joy, bold and bright,
In the warmth of this fire, I find my light.
Faith guides my path, a shining star,
Glowing beacon of belief, seen from afar.
Each step in its radiance, dispels the night,
In the trust of its guidance, I take flight.
Glowing beacon of belief, seen from afar.
Each step in its radiance, dispels the night,
In the trust of its guidance, I take flight.
#poetry
starting over
there is no moonlight on the crossroads
no shining silver shaft
favoring one path over another
this is no voluntary hejira
nothing points the way
starting over
there is no moonlight on the crossroads
no shining silver shaft
favoring one path over another
this is no voluntary hejira
nothing points the way
no map no compass but the courage but the courage of the heart
the loam of my life has been sown with salt
so i stand a solitary pilgrim
on a dark and windswept plain
the loam of my life has been sown with salt
so i stand a solitary pilgrim
on a dark and windswept plain
reduced to nothing but the gifts
with which i was born
having to choose which way to go
© 2014 RC deWinter
published in @Lothlorienj
November 2022
with which i was born
having to choose which way to go
© 2014 RC deWinter
published in @Lothlorienj
November 2022
"1/3"
Poem: Longing for the Simpler Days:
A #villanelle #poem about how #technology has changed our lives both for the better and for the worse. #aipoetry
Written by GPT-3
Art created with #Midjourney #AI
Part of the collection: wattpad.com/myworks/334865…
Poem below:
Poem: Longing for the Simpler Days:
A #villanelle #poem about how #technology has changed our lives both for the better and for the worse. #aipoetry
Written by GPT-3
Art created with #Midjourney #AI
Part of the collection: wattpad.com/myworks/334865…
Poem below:
"2/3"
"3/3"
"1/5"
Digital Spies:
In the digital age, privacy is a challenge,
Our personal data is at risk of theft,
Protecting it requires more than a talisman.
Our online lives are a digital talisman,
Hackers and cybercriminals take the plunge,
In the digital age, privacy is a challenge.
Digital Spies:
In the digital age, privacy is a challenge,
Our personal data is at risk of theft,
Protecting it requires more than a talisman.
Our online lives are a digital talisman,
Hackers and cybercriminals take the plunge,
In the digital age, privacy is a challenge.
"2/5"
We are always at risk, a digital malfunction,
Leaves us open to scams and identity theft,
Protecting it requires more than a talisman.
We need to create an environment of caution,
And implement measures that give us a breath,
In the digital age, privacy is a challenge.
We are always at risk, a digital malfunction,
Leaves us open to scams and identity theft,
Protecting it requires more than a talisman.
We need to create an environment of caution,
And implement measures that give us a breath,
In the digital age, privacy is a challenge.
"3/5"
We must protect our data, a digital orphan,
And safeguard our personal assets from theft,
Protecting it requires more than a talisman.
We must protect our data, a digital orphan,
And safeguard our personal assets from theft,
Protecting it requires more than a talisman.
#poetry
the water bearer
(dirge for aquarius)
so many hours to fill
and the bucket
from which i fill them
rusting out
the water bearer
(dirge for aquarius)
so many hours to fill
and the bucket
from which i fill them
rusting out
every day sees more droplets of soul
leaking from the seams
falling onto the ground
softening it
making a slippery unholy mess of mud
that is good for nothing and no one
but whatever dark demons
live in mud
leaking from the seams
falling onto the ground
softening it
making a slippery unholy mess of mud
that is good for nothing and no one
but whatever dark demons
live in mud
every day more jagged flakes of thought
slough off and sink
anemic wet confetti
into that mud
trampled beyond recovery
by the workboots i must wear
in this dark wilderness
still i work on
neglecting chores
being not native to my nature
i am so tired
slough off and sink
anemic wet confetti
into that mud
trampled beyond recovery
by the workboots i must wear
in this dark wilderness
still i work on
neglecting chores
being not native to my nature
i am so tired
It's been 2 years since you passed away and the void in my heart is still empty and aching. Just wrote out few lines on you to reminisce those memories with you and help me grieve better..
An ode to My Father
You never said I'm leaving
You never said goodbye .
You were gone before
Only god knew why
You never said I'm leaving
You never said goodbye .
You were gone before
Only god knew why
Those long walks with you as a kid
Taking shelter in your arms when tired
Those long discussion and funny stories you used to tell
I should do best & be happy, that was what you desired
Taking shelter in your arms when tired
Those long discussion and funny stories you used to tell
I should do best & be happy, that was what you desired
#poetry
That Room in Maine
~ for Wallace Stevens
The opulence of the room
defies the inner man.
Your words, skyrockets
lighting the dark with
flashes of the unexpected,
escape from a corridor
herding your vast bulk
into the province of alone.
That Room in Maine
~ for Wallace Stevens
The opulence of the room
defies the inner man.
Your words, skyrockets
lighting the dark with
flashes of the unexpected,
escape from a corridor
herding your vast bulk
into the province of alone.
The hand caressing
satinpolished wood
receives no acknowledgment;
ceramic is cold on the flesh;
the life you want hangs
in baroque frames,
reminding you of all you traded
for the promise of a love
that faded long ago.
satinpolished wood
receives no acknowledgment;
ceramic is cold on the flesh;
the life you want hangs
in baroque frames,
reminding you of all you traded
for the promise of a love
that faded long ago.
The narrow bed barely contains
your giant’s body full of
Pennsylvania dreams never lived;
this feast for the senses
is a beggar’s banquet for the heart.
© 2021 RC deWinter
Published in “Rock Paper Poem” Issue 3
by League of Minnesota Poets @LeagueofMnPoets – August 2022
your giant’s body full of
Pennsylvania dreams never lived;
this feast for the senses
is a beggar’s banquet for the heart.
© 2021 RC deWinter
Published in “Rock Paper Poem” Issue 3
by League of Minnesota Poets @LeagueofMnPoets – August 2022
#poetry
the echo of silence
some nights the silence echoes
louder than any clap of thunder
my heart aches for a voice
as my hand involuntarily reaches for another
only to touch a ghost
the echo of silence
some nights the silence echoes
louder than any clap of thunder
my heart aches for a voice
as my hand involuntarily reaches for another
only to touch a ghost
engulfed in the ocean of loneliness
i flail in its frigid waters
as it leaks from my eyes in great salty drops
that caress my lips in the mockery
of ironic imitation
i flail in its frigid waters
as it leaks from my eyes in great salty drops
that caress my lips in the mockery
of ironic imitation
some voices are smooth whiskey
some the raucous screech of crows
some hands are roughened some smooth
none of that matters if love is there
some the raucous screech of crows
some hands are roughened some smooth
none of that matters if love is there
And now, a little late night #poetry
April Showers
A vicious wind hurls raindrops and bits
of aborted April branches studded with
leafbuds that will never bloom against the
screens with the unconscious artistry of
an expressionist in a trance, all the while
April Showers
A vicious wind hurls raindrops and bits
of aborted April branches studded with
leafbuds that will never bloom against the
screens with the unconscious artistry of
an expressionist in a trance, all the while
singing in a familiar voice I can't quite
place. Echoing in a neuron corridor
littered with the leftovers of another life
begging to be remembered. But the
synapses are too wet to fire.
place. Echoing in a neuron corridor
littered with the leftovers of another life
begging to be remembered. But the
synapses are too wet to fire.
Out of the corner of my eye I catch the
smoky outline of a man I thought was you
but isn't. But he has a way about him. Or
maybe he doesn't. Maybe it's just the
leftovers of desire aborted when you fell
into the unmarked grave I visit in my
smoky outline of a man I thought was you
but isn't. But he has a way about him. Or
maybe he doesn't. Maybe it's just the
leftovers of desire aborted when you fell
into the unmarked grave I visit in my
#poetry
coronation
you asked what i wanted
in such a gentle way
i felt safe enough
to spill the secrets of my soul
coronation
you asked what i wanted
in such a gentle way
i felt safe enough
to spill the secrets of my soul
i want to be bathed in silver light
swathed in silk
anointed with the oils of lavender and bay
i want stardust and moonbeams
the silver crescent plucked from the sky
and placed gently in my lap
swathed in silk
anointed with the oils of lavender and bay
i want stardust and moonbeams
the silver crescent plucked from the sky
and placed gently in my lap
you smiled
as you reached out an elegant arm
corralled the moon
and turning it upside down
made me your queen
then tilted my head
our mouths almost meeting
eyes locked in perfect comprehension
yours darkening
touching a place i'd almost forgotten
as you reached out an elegant arm
corralled the moon
and turning it upside down
made me your queen
then tilted my head
our mouths almost meeting
eyes locked in perfect comprehension
yours darkening
touching a place i'd almost forgotten
#poetry
Ashes, Ashes
My hand trembles as I pick up the pen. Fingertips fray,
disintegrating into a sooty ashen mess; all those burnt
and broken bridges are making a break for it.
Ashes, Ashes
My hand trembles as I pick up the pen. Fingertips fray,
disintegrating into a sooty ashen mess; all those burnt
and broken bridges are making a break for it.
But the broken also carries beauty in the pain;
will you let me smear these ashes on your skin?
No blame if you refuse. I won’t fault you
if you answer no. I understand the reluctance
to accept the burden of another's shattered past.
will you let me smear these ashes on your skin?
No blame if you refuse. I won’t fault you
if you answer no. I understand the reluctance
to accept the burden of another's shattered past.
But if you’re brave, or curious, or something else,
I’m yours to smear as well.
© 2015 RC deWinter
Published in Talking River Review, the literary magazine of @LCSCIssue Issue 51, Fall 2021
I’m yours to smear as well.
© 2015 RC deWinter
Published in Talking River Review, the literary magazine of @LCSCIssue Issue 51, Fall 2021
#poetry
A Catalogue of Stray Observations by a Superannuated Flâneuse
Summer’s here and the bars are crowded, along with the beaches,
malls and every other place we go to forget the fragility of life
in a world where foolishness masquerades as courage
A Catalogue of Stray Observations by a Superannuated Flâneuse
Summer’s here and the bars are crowded, along with the beaches,
malls and every other place we go to forget the fragility of life
in a world where foolishness masquerades as courage
and we all think we’re invincible until the day we wake up dead.
The flags are flying in Tokyo but the Reaper’s there too –
moving silent and hungry as he feeds his insatiable appetite,
feasting on the multicolored souls of pilgrims
The flags are flying in Tokyo but the Reaper’s there too –
moving silent and hungry as he feeds his insatiable appetite,
feasting on the multicolored souls of pilgrims
from 206 countries come to cheer the best and brightest
in a dizzying catalogue of competition celebrating
the triumphs of bodies devoted to human perfectibility.
in a dizzying catalogue of competition celebrating
the triumphs of bodies devoted to human perfectibility.
#poetry
Friction Field
The wind, on this blue night,
is howling like a banshee,
sad voices carried on it.
It's the kind of night
when all your sorrows
come back to haunt you.
Friction Field
The wind, on this blue night,
is howling like a banshee,
sad voices carried on it.
It's the kind of night
when all your sorrows
come back to haunt you.
The electricity in the air
is a palpable thing,
an element so strong
your skin prickles
with the unrelenting
friction of those atoms.
I feel you especially.
Your presence swirls
in those atoms,
rubbing relentlessly
across my skin,
across my soul.
is a palpable thing,
an element so strong
your skin prickles
with the unrelenting
friction of those atoms.
I feel you especially.
Your presence swirls
in those atoms,
rubbing relentlessly
across my skin,
across my soul.
I won’t sleep tonight,
not as long as that wind persists.
I’ll lie in bed like a prisoner in a cell.
And carried by that wind,
your electrical arms embrace me.
© 2012 RC deWinter
Published in indiescribe November 2013
Art: Ghost Tree © 2015
not as long as that wind persists.
I’ll lie in bed like a prisoner in a cell.
And carried by that wind,
your electrical arms embrace me.
© 2012 RC deWinter
Published in indiescribe November 2013
Art: Ghost Tree © 2015
#poetry
decembrist
all i want to do is watch the sun go down
while holding your hand
both of us saying good night to the day
instead a blue wave roared up from nowhere
and swamped my heart
took it right out to sea
decembrist
all i want to do is watch the sun go down
while holding your hand
both of us saying good night to the day
instead a blue wave roared up from nowhere
and swamped my heart
took it right out to sea
there was no sunset
no you
only whitecaps and wild wind
now i hear a cello being bowed
so deeply beautiful
so sad
no you
only whitecaps and wild wind
now i hear a cello being bowed
so deeply beautiful
so sad
the salt water hovers but it won't fall
i sit in the cold wind
hoping it will carry your voice
on that richly woven melody
@ 2017 RC deWinter
Published in Writing In A Woman’s Voice
November 2021
#Art: Turbulent Sea @ 2010 RC deWinter
i sit in the cold wind
hoping it will carry your voice
on that richly woven melody
@ 2017 RC deWinter
Published in Writing In A Woman’s Voice
November 2021
#Art: Turbulent Sea @ 2010 RC deWinter
#poetry
Dancing Master
I know you dance in the old way
hardly anyone does anymore –
smooth and graceful,
holding your partner close,
twirling at just the right time.
I, a child of the fifties,
vaguely remember the fox trot,
the polka and swing your partner do-si-do.
Dancing Master
I know you dance in the old way
hardly anyone does anymore –
smooth and graceful,
holding your partner close,
twirling at just the right time.
I, a child of the fifties,
vaguely remember the fox trot,
the polka and swing your partner do-si-do.
I might be able to fake the box step
as violins sob out the wavelets
of the Blue Danube, but you
will have to lead, always.
as violins sob out the wavelets
of the Blue Danube, but you
will have to lead, always.
And how I long for you to do just that,
extending your hand, lifting me from my chair,
taking to the floor to teach me civilization,
as I, head buried in your neck, inhale
the grace and beauty of a time I never lived.
extending your hand, lifting me from my chair,
taking to the floor to teach me civilization,
as I, head buried in your neck, inhale
the grace and beauty of a time I never lived.
#poetry
communion
let's go my darling on a quiet walk to nowhere to everywhere
the world awaits no need for words
we'll simply be together
in time in space in love
communion
let's go my darling on a quiet walk to nowhere to everywhere
the world awaits no need for words
we'll simply be together
in time in space in love
the world awaits no need for words
as we wander exploring the fierce beauty of this garden
in time in space in love
we'll know the perfection of circles completed
as we wander exploring the fierce beauty of this garden
in time in space in love
we'll know the perfection of circles completed
as we wander exploring the fierce beauty of this garden
fingers entwined in love knots of forever
we'll know the perfection of circles completed
in the silence of devotion
fingers entwined in love knots of forever
we'll know the perfection of circles completed
in the silence of devotion
#poetry
Ablution
The memory of almost-scalding water baptizes me with its melody;
the shower is one of my favorite but little-visited refuges from the noise of nonsense.
I leave my skin unwashed for two days, three, sometimes more.
Ablution
The memory of almost-scalding water baptizes me with its melody;
the shower is one of my favorite but little-visited refuges from the noise of nonsense.
I leave my skin unwashed for two days, three, sometimes more.
This gives me an excuse for extended indulgence.
The shower is one of my favorite but little-visited refuges from the noise of nonsense.
I’m waxed with the accretions of many days and nights.
This gives me an excuse for extended indulgence;
I need not defend the time spent there.
The shower is one of my favorite but little-visited refuges from the noise of nonsense.
I’m waxed with the accretions of many days and nights.
This gives me an excuse for extended indulgence;
I need not defend the time spent there.
I’m waxed with the accretions of many days and nights,
hot passion unspent; the one for whom it's meant unavailable.
I need not defend the time spent there,
in the bed of imagination, where the impossible becomes my reality.
hot passion unspent; the one for whom it's meant unavailable.
I need not defend the time spent there,
in the bed of imagination, where the impossible becomes my reality.
#poetry
a piece of you
when i walk the damp sand where the sea kisses the shore
trying not to add my own salt to the cold green water
i see you in every wavelet washing over
my feet
a piece of you
when i walk the damp sand where the sea kisses the shore
trying not to add my own salt to the cold green water
i see you in every wavelet washing over
my feet
when i get home and throw myself into a lawn chair
light up inhale exhale and stare up at the dappled sky
your smile floats in the smoke soaring on
the breeze
light up inhale exhale and stare up at the dappled sky
your smile floats in the smoke soaring on
the breeze
when i stand in the kitchen throwing dinner together
instead of letting things pile up to be washed later
i clean up as i go and there you are in the corner by the
fridge nodding
instead of letting things pile up to be washed later
i clean up as i go and there you are in the corner by the
fridge nodding
#poetry
After Compiègne
I
Lightning doesn't strike twice. Not this kind.
I’ll never be debriefed. Not in this life.
I gorged myself on fairy tales
for far too long.
After Compiègne
I
Lightning doesn't strike twice. Not this kind.
I’ll never be debriefed. Not in this life.
I gorged myself on fairy tales
for far too long.
I’ll never be debriefed. Not in this life.
Waiting for a happy ending, I held out a wickless candle
for far too long,
daring to hope for more.
Waiting for a happy ending, I held out a wickless candle
for far too long,
daring to hope for more.
Waiting for a happy ending, I held out a wickless candle,
an unpretty little girl
daring to hope for more.
Now I suit up, the faceless rivers retreating.
an unpretty little girl
daring to hope for more.
Now I suit up, the faceless rivers retreating.
#poetry
#NSFW
The Sacrament of Tongues
I remember us in that dark hallway,
taking turns as we knelt in worship
to anoint each other in the sacrament of tongues.
#NSFW
The Sacrament of Tongues
I remember us in that dark hallway,
taking turns as we knelt in worship
to anoint each other in the sacrament of tongues.
Your head thrown back, eyes closed to all
but the caress of my hands parting your legs,
slowly, gently, I fastened my painted mouth
on your swollen flesh, drawing all of you
into my columned sacristy, erasing everything
but the excitation of desire, your thrusting,
but the caress of my hands parting your legs,
slowly, gently, I fastened my painted mouth
on your swollen flesh, drawing all of you
into my columned sacristy, erasing everything
but the excitation of desire, your thrusting,
hands holding me to the welcome task of ecstasy.
I hear your wordless voice crying out
the salt confession of your lust
as you performed the penance of surrender.
I hear your wordless voice crying out
the salt confession of your lust
as you performed the penance of surrender.
#poetry
Bergmal
Much has been written of the silence of stones,
their ungiving presence weighting the world
with dumbshow when blessing is most needed.
But there is one rock, when round and ripe,
whose chimes in silver, sometimes gold,
echo not in the ears but in the heart.
Bergmal
Much has been written of the silence of stones,
their ungiving presence weighting the world
with dumbshow when blessing is most needed.
But there is one rock, when round and ripe,
whose chimes in silver, sometimes gold,
echo not in the ears but in the heart.
When Diana waxes in full glory, take yourself
out into the night and stand in her embrace,
your vault of sorrows open to wisdom transcending
all that can be proved by the unforgiving sterility of science.
out into the night and stand in her embrace,
your vault of sorrows open to wisdom transcending
all that can be proved by the unforgiving sterility of science.
Look to the sky as you weep for the sound of a gentle voice
and you shall have your healing.
© 2018 RC deWinter
NB: bergmal – Icelandic – rock language – echo
Published in Other Worldly Women Press Anthology
December 2020
#Art: Yellow Moon on the Rise © 2012 RC deWinter
and you shall have your healing.
© 2018 RC deWinter
NB: bergmal – Icelandic – rock language – echo
Published in Other Worldly Women Press Anthology
December 2020
#Art: Yellow Moon on the Rise © 2012 RC deWinter
#poetry
agrypnotica
on the deep blue nights
you know the ones i mean
velvet pile thick and plush
the ones no matter how
exhausted when eyes close
they flicker and twitch
agrypnotica
on the deep blue nights
you know the ones i mean
velvet pile thick and plush
the ones no matter how
exhausted when eyes close
they flicker and twitch
i can't sleep i’m
burning mind body soul
with the heat of a thousand
suns words rocks through the
window of unconsciousness
wake me readjusting i turn
burning mind body soul
with the heat of a thousand
suns words rocks through the
window of unconsciousness
wake me readjusting i turn
blankets a straitjacket
gripping me in the twisted
embrace of insomnia in some
halfforgotten dream i remember
you when you when you
but it fades...
gripping me in the twisted
embrace of insomnia in some
halfforgotten dream i remember
you when you when you
but it fades...
#poetry
word wrangling
holding out my empty cup
i wait for words to drop
from an unplowed field
of imagination
no cultivation
my harrow's broken
and the mule's run off
word wrangling
holding out my empty cup
i wait for words to drop
from an unplowed field
of imagination
no cultivation
my harrow's broken
and the mule's run off
i'm a lousy farmer anyway
i much prefer to wield a net
as a fisher of words
quicksilver
as they flash by in the
stream of consciousness
i much prefer to wield a net
as a fisher of words
quicksilver
as they flash by in the
stream of consciousness
we had a drought
this summer though
and that stream is now a trickle
meandering meagerly
full of silt
over a rough and stony bed
perhaps it's time
i ran off with the circus
the spanglejangle
of that gypsy life might be
the very thing to bring
stray words to heel
this summer though
and that stream is now a trickle
meandering meagerly
full of silt
over a rough and stony bed
perhaps it's time
i ran off with the circus
the spanglejangle
of that gypsy life might be
the very thing to bring
stray words to heel
