moon fades as sky rises
frogposter yawns
playing games with no prizes
a new thread dawns

Bitch lasagna, bitch lasagna
T-Series ain't nothing but a
bitch lasagna

Bitch lasagna, bitch lasagna
Look at T-Series they just
crying for their momma

Bitch lasagna, bitch lasagna
T-Series ain't nothing
but a bitch lasagna
Bitch lasagna, bitch lasagna
T-Series just wet
themselves in their pajamas

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>>24870923
I've got a book of Walt Whitman poems on my shelf that I've never read. I don't read poetry. I just have this book.

>>24870923
I walk the path that others wrought,
No need to work my own,
No stumbling, tripping, bruised knees,
It always leads me home

No broken nails from fingered dirt,
No dust within my lungs,
I'll sing the song that others wrote,
And leave my own unsung

And one day hence I will look back,
Advanced though I am in age,
The freedom of the road I thought,
Was really just a cage

Exercise
describe a building while you are sad without saying you are sad.

>>24871105
I will start by posting this one anon made in another thread cause its lit

It was of course
Gray
Not gray as commie blocks
Are gray
Since they have
By design at least
The gray that is directed
To somewhere
Vectorized by someone
With at least some purpose

It was the shade of gray
That you touch
But does not touch you back
That neither gives
Nor asks - gray for its own sake

And rocky - yes it was rocky
But sanded down to edgeless
That tells it could have hurt
Or that it had hurt before
But now it barely scrapes the finger

It had windows - many
Into the most marvelous living rooms
That you can't inhabit
For the hardest I looked
I saw no door

>>24871105
The red brick building of the past
Was once a sight most gay;
But nothing good does ever last,
And now the bricks are... le grey.

>>24870974
throw that faggot's book into the fire. it's better you don't read poetry at all than begin with whitman

>>24870923
That time when people say the
rippled waterlake heals a suff-
-ring heart: at night in the
University of Malaya.

When speckles like stars litter
the floor of the bus that comes
right on time, e'en stiller were
the lights that hang above us,
radiating their golden sight.

And the starless sky was eke
above us, red like rosy flesh,
polluted by our little lights.

One night the stars were present
and blown by the wind. I laid my bo-
-dy flat on the bench, beside the
sleeping ducks. I was starving and
you were there for me. I looked at
the moving stars above and
pledged to thee: i shall improve.

i was not keen to continue living
but i shall improve.

Poems about food? Preferably ones you enjoy

I am not really a poetry kinda guy, but for some reason I have been inspired to read some Greek poetry, where am I to begin?

Monke , 9-8-2022


Why when gorilla eat banana
Gorilla big and strong, but
When I eat banana I no big and
Strong? How gorilla only
eat grass and banana and
have big muscle, but
when I eat banana I no
Have big muscle? Gorilla
No work out and he big, but
I work out lot and I no big.
I want to be like gorilla.
Gorilla look how I want to look

>>24870974
>I don't read poetry.
>frog post
We know

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>Let the candidate fill his mind with the finest cadences he can discover, preferably in a foreign language so that the meaning of the words may be less likely to divert his attention from the movement; e.g., Saxon charms, Hebridean Folk Songs, the verse of Dante, and the lyrics of Shakespeare—if he can dissociate the vocabulary from the cadence. Let him dissect the lyrics of Goethe coldly into their component sound values, syllables long and short, stressed and unstressed, into vowels and consonants.

Have any of you have actually done this?

>>24871740
Yes. Once when I was in a very chinese time in my life.

>>24871740
Didn't he stress imagery over everything else? Because images are easier to translate than rhythms.

Post poems you losers I want to read something nice

>>24871763
No, not at all. You're confusing on the one hand Pound's Imagism, which as a movement never emphasised imagery at the expense of sound, with Pound's analysis of three aspects of poetry: melopoeia, phanopoeia, and logopoeia. He mentions that phanopoeia is far more easily translatable than melopoeia, but he never claims that this means phanopoiea is superior. On the contrary, Pound was probably more concerned with the musical aspects of poetry than any other poet of the 20th century.

>>24870974
Whitman is sublime. Give him a read. Song of Myself is yet to be surpassed.

>>24871818
>which as a movement never emphasised imagery at the expense of sound
interesting. by the title I assumed it would, even just slightly.

>>24870923
To see the moon in all its awe,
like a swan floating delicate on the lake.
A single red car directed toward
the bay and the city, overlooked.
The driver's gaze, a gloomy touch.
Inside his coffin of safety's clutch,
thinking about the next day's affairs
of work and books
in comfortable chairs.

>>24870971
>Ourhailit
>gyds
>nixt
>wyf
>teils
>sawis
>teichit
These are the only words I don't understand.

>>24872010
I like it a lot, would rethink the line breaks but sounds bishop-esque. Nice.

Chalky lines cut into the surface of
suffuse into glittering shadows when
light passes through, carrying
your cherry and blueberry glow.

>>24872233
I don't feel it
Feels like you just choose cool sounding stuff together

>>24870974
You should read that book. Whitman is just the poet for people who don't like poetry.

Envelope me within you,
Envelope to you from me,
I even lope away.

>>24872502
- Rupi kaur

>>24871740
Every day before breakfast.

>>24872511
Rude

>>24872542
- kaur

Men, brother men, that after us yet live,
Let not your hearts too hard against us be;
For if some pity of us poor men ye give,
The sooner God shall take of you pity.
Here are we five or six strung up, you see,
And here the flesh that all too well we fed
Bit by bit eaten and rotten, rent and shred,
And we the bones grow dust and ash withal;
Let no man laugh at us discomforted,
But pray to God that he forgive us all.

If we call on you, brothers, to forgive,
Ye should not hold our prayer in scorn, though we
Were slain by law; ye know that all alive
Have not wit alway to walk righteously;
Make therefore intercession heartily
With him that of a virgin's womb was bred,
That his grace be not as a dry well-head
For us, nor let hell's thunder on us fall;
We are dead, let no man harry or vex us dead,
But pray to God that he forgive us all.

The rain has washed and laundered us all five,
And the sun dried and blackened; yea, perdie,
Ravens and pies with beaks that rend and rive
Have dug our eyes out, and plucked off for fee
Our beards and eyebrows; never are we free,
Not once, to rest; but here and there still sped,
Drive at its wild will by the wind's change led,
More pecked of birds than fruits on garden-wall;
Men, for God's love, let no gibe here be said,
But pray to God that he forgive us all.

Prince Jesus, that of all art lord and head,
Keep us, that hell be not our bitter bed;
We have nought to do in such a master's hall.
Be not ye therefore of our fellowhead,
But pray to God that he forgive us all.

>>24871105
stairs

>>24872665
Is this about God?

>>24872705
Yeah

>>24872805
Go to church

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>>24872810

e^(pi(i))+1=0

is the most profound thing that I have ever seen

and I have no idea what it means,

and I’m pretty sure that no one else does, either

>>24872823
stop spamming this shit, faggot.

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>>24871797

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Daylight breaks, breath of mine
I free my mind, widen my mind
I ride my time like flame in place
One dawn, I’ll wave stone to life
Watch new light fall soft like rice
My laughter rolls out like thunder
So raw it heals, it’s wonder
I lift my face from the earth slow
These days I wake full, not partial, glow
Held in deep lucid eye move, flow
These days I seed, rapid I reload
Run my chances open road, one road left to travel
I know what this calls for
Where’s my trowel?
Operation mend
Like I’m bored sew my inner world up like corn, rows
My internal storm grows like breathing fog in Oslo
Frozen, then I thaw fast, baptized in warm frost
Like sunlight in the garage
Ease your blink with dreamland’s hush
I love you so much
I love your flaws
I love your need for cause
I love your real touch
I love every last one of you
I ponder digesting stars just to be one with you

I love you so much
I’m triple the mother-lover
Mondo-hearted, full of forward
From banana town manor
My slang step like spirit lizard
I play around, fashion a rocket
Shoot to Mercury for the summer
Extended creation till I recompose my splinters

I lift my face from the earth slow
These days I wake full, not partial, glow
Held in deep lucid eye move, flow
These days I seed, rapid I reload
Run my chances open road, one road left to travel

From centuries of night
I’ve never burned so bright
Can’t believe I’m still dancing
Can’t believe love lasts this long
I wander off to find my lighter
I don’t return till joy validates
Mankind’s destiny in a bloom

By the way, I don’t pet bleachers
Courtside to soul-seekers
Like I speak truth with kin
No response, bless ‘em once
Incoming second ascent

To be real, I just lift ‘em up (just lift ‘em up)
Them clueless struck by crucifix, light burst out from her gut (burst out from her gut)
Love.

I lift my face from the earth slow
These days I wake full, not partial, glow
Held in deep lucid eye move, flow
These days I seed, rapid I reload
Run my chances open road, one road left to travel

>>24872832
I’m calling the police

Writing to recall favourite creations,
Writing to recieve standing ovations,
Writing to get paid.

Writing attempting to philosophize,
Abounding with stock, sophisticated lies,
Tame, lame, same, and staid.

Writing to look in a changing mirror,
Writing to a distant unknown hearer,
May-be in the shade.

Writing accidental equivocations,
Ignoring the truly useful vocations,
That will get you laid.

Writing like a slightly-addled youngling,
Milk moustached wanting to show you something,
"Look at what I made!"

>>24872931
Complete shit

You're life is a mistake
The world becomes fake

But you still dream
Someone will give you a chance
To make it right again

>>24873146
>You're life
Don’t even post in this thread. You’re too stupid.

>>24873154
Yer*

London, what’s that in your veins
I scribbled juvenile hymns but the rain got to them
Thankfully
Now it’s the kind of grey that doesn’t speak
Still, some green here and there
London snails are in a hurry too
From Camden to Newham I went on all fours
Dragged my nose on counters without regret or shame
And the posh hat still looks funny
Balanced like a champagne bottle on a queenly stick
Stick it, I still love you somehow
London, when’s the last time you called?
But I’m really blaming myself – that’s the way hate goes
I don’t blame the Indian man, nor the Muslim or the Jew
You shouldn’t either
I say this knowing I’ve no clue.
London you’ve just been got by the powers that be
Just like me, just like me

>>24870971
which collection is this from?

>>24872815
Semite mad

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November

Minty oxford shoes? Or playful boots and a plastic
Bag which grocer gave mother, and mother gave
Me?

The slush came onto the fair season as it fascinated me;
From it he tore me free. The reverie fancied I, and I fancied
She.

The Legion Hall radiator’s invisible flame forged my
Comfort. The the sausages warmed me on
The stair.

The silent auction formed my fanciful
Expectations, that they turn to common
Sense. The ice hockey wasn’t for me.

I slid beside myself —
I went

Imagination comes from that.

>>24870923
The Witches Seven sat about.
Which hectic heptad rattled out:

"Upon all rhymed and metred verse,
We call our half-too-clever Curse!"
"A numpty-numbered, cadence cage!
The remnant of a rancid age,
When flights of frenzied overeach
Bore writing different to speech."
"How blessed we'll be, to hear, at last,
The final knell of jingles past!"

"Quick, Sisters! Sisters! Gather round!
By rhymes unstressed, by stress unbound,
In Frelin Grove we congregate,
To thin Man's verse of what we hate."
"Oh, horrid, horrid, hateful thing!"
"Be careful, Sister, not to sing.
You err more rhythmic than you should,
And that can lead to nothing good."
"A good thing we're not held to this!"
"Indeed. It would be odious.
Suppose our cauldron brewed some borst.
Then we'd be forced (and we'd be forced!)
To rhyme the word that followed it.
Thus neutered is a Witch"s wit.
But worry not, my Sisters weird;
Their jingle-jank need not be feared.

"Men suffer so. But here we're flocked;
A remedy we'll here concoct."

"Let's add a sharktooth in the mix!"
"A mason's stones! No less than six!"
"Into these bubbles must we hurl
The labia of a virgin girl!"
"Deaf mother's ears!" "Mute aunty's tongue!"
"Giraffe's vocal chords by blowfly stung!"

"Okay, then, Sisters, settle down.
We have our broth of earthy brown.
The time is nigh that we rejoice,
But first we must unite our voice.
If we're to vanquish Rhyme tonight,
Prepare yourselves! The Spell recite!"

"HUBBLE, BUBBLE, TOIL'S TROUBLE!
BE MORE SUBTLE! BUBBLE DOUBLE!"

"That's it Sister's! Hold on... shoot...
I forgot the rhymer's foot!
Within the cauldron must it plop.
Right. Sorry, Sisters. From the top:"

"HUBBLE, BUBBLE, TOIL'S TROUBLE!
BE MORE SUBTLE! BUBBLE DOUBLE!"

"'T is so! The mist of magic flies.
Sisters, we must avert our eyes.
And, in a flash, it shall disperse,
Against the evils of Man's verse!"

"Look! There it goes!" "Wait! Don't look! No!
Okay. We've still got one more go..."

"HUBBLE, BUBBLE, TOIL'S TROUBLE!
BE MORE SUBTLE! BUBBLE DOUBLE!"

"Right. Here we are. And ever hence
Shall sound make way for common sense!
A better practice we shall craft;
The language, pure; the effort, halved;
Of form, of Rhyme, of merit, free;
And we shall call it: Poetry!"

'T is just as well no poet knows
That there is such a thing as prose.

>>24874033
maestro

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>samefagging your own inane shit

>>24873891
This is great anon, feels very winterly, comfy and intimate. Gives me the vibe you had much more to say. Great work. Send it somewhere

Reality doesn't rhyme
O what a shyme!

>>24875104
- Rupi Kapi

She shies away from touch
She knows it means just far too much

So crawl away and hide
Inside, embracing absences that linger
When colours seem to die

Feel the weight of the gray above
Raise your hands, embrace the biting cold
And somewhere in your skull, you know
That you'll be coming home alone

>>24873789
Idk found the image online

Poetry should not be read aloud. I know no one will agree with me but I’ve never enjoyed a poem more after hearing it read aloud. If anything I’ve liked them less.

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I like Goblin Market :) A nice Halloween poem about licking fruit juice off your sister's face, and the dangers of getting dicked down by foreigners

Any other poems about goblins and whimsy and being a proper Victorian girl would be appreciated.

>>24875868
Do you subvocalize when you read poetry? Have you ever read it aloud yourself? Ever heard someone read out their own poem?

gender bender blender
return to sender
to mender the gender
blunderbuss thunder

>>24876365
blunderbussed thunder
would be better

>>24875868
isn't that the whole point of writing in meter?

>>24875868
>>24876501
Poetry out loud has been done best by rap/rappers. Using traditional meters really seems awful and overdone by comparison - like slam poetry

>>24876732
i wouldn't consider something like parzival, faust, the iliad, and so on comparable to slam poetry. afaik classic poetry and epics were meant to be orated or sung or a theatrical production

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Here is my first ever work, thoughts?

>>24875897
>about licking fruit juice off your sister's face, and the dangers of getting dicked down by foreigners
thought it was going to be about goblin siblings. that would have been better

Poeminho do Contra

Todos esses que aí estão
Atravancando meu caminho,
Eles passarão...
Eu passarinho!

Under the Moonlight, Anon Attends a KPop Demon Birthday

Hunters shimmer beneath the dripping leaves,
their posters breathing the perfume of old.
The children gather, hands full of small hope,
masks catching the last silver of the moon.

>>24870923
Dyr bul shchyl
ubesh shchur
skum
vy so bu
r l èz

Well Water

a creature born from memory
burdened by your living
and you drive it under whip
at a weary gallop

you bounce your heals on its sides
cross railroads under twilight

and a string
attached to the small living thing
at your center
wound around the anxieties
conditions and years

it's dry and it's frayed
but one day
it will pull you like a wind
after all your wandering

the thread
was on page ten
he bumped it
actually it was page nine

>>24877157
it's genius

bum bum fa techno
como sintosizo senza baterio
gente balla su di un beat
ta-dum, bam bam
dj spin that shit, ye
como stroke electrico
va viene si
melo-Dio,
bum bum, fa techno YUP

there's soup on my feet
and I'm eating soup
made of feet

I've been wanting to write for a while now, but I've been scared to try. I wrote something and I'd love to get some honest feedback and advice.

How could I explain to you that a tree made me happy?
That I was strutting back to my car, in a strip mall with an rusting, rotting, ecosystem of storefronts with unwashed windows and unkempt weeds,
Clutching a thin paper bag, with board games still in their plastic, clattering and twisting in my grip
And I had just passed by where that girl lived, and I could scarcely believe it’s been so long and that all these storefronts died, choking on the concrete of empty parking spots
And she loved these roads that no one traveled, because she felt she owned them
And she would make me tea and we would marvel how wild and tangled her home was,
And the air outside felt so thick that I would hurry inside and there’d she’d be, beaming
And there it all is again, a dismal, shaded place with untamed trees and I understand them now, that no one should ever crawl back down this road
As I walked by on that cracked pavement, a small tree was planted and told it should shade the cars that came by,
it must be awfully lonely there,
But it was flowering away because what else could it do but persist?
There I was, awash in music, because I feel a movie should have a soundtrack, and
By God, as Nat King Cole told me he loved me,
Its petals gently cascaded, carried by a short breeze
And I was there to walk underneath them, in a meager shade that it did its best to cast
But everything fell right into place, softly and without encouragement That was where my contentedness thrived,
through the cracks in the hot street
And through the tangled, gnarled trees and bush that seemed to swallow the road in its mouth

Conductor we have a problem, 11-3-25


Winterfall. The trainyard where
engines do come to retire. Icicles
dangle from signal posts mangled
Flickering bulbs soon to expire.

Then come the sparks and grinding
The frictional shrieks of the rail.
Wheel against steel, a racket conceals
A trainhopper’s agonized wail.

Fallen from his boxcar
Too drunk to fight the deepened frost.
A piteous mess of mortal distress
Stinking of blood and exhaust.

Hand over hand he slowly crawls
Dragging ruptured entrails.
Indifferent trains haul on steady
Chugging along down the rails.

Back and forth, metal on metal
An orchestra of grinding and screams.
Some frozen nightmare of no one caring
Where man comes apart at the seams.

Where no one speaks aloud in notice
That a life has been destroyed.
That’s what enables the narrow time tables
To keep trainyard men employed.

So it ends the lives of vagrants
Crushed between rail and machine.
Same-day shipping, frozen flesh ripping
An engine atop blood builds steam.

Not for one life, nor a thousand
Will soon operations compromise.
Not worth an iota compared to the quota,
That schedule need be revised.

Flesh enters one end, Gold received from the other
An unceremonious trade.
But shine loses some of its luster, once it’s seen
How exactly the sausage is made.

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I'll share a couple translations I did recently. The first is from Gottscheerish, an old German dialect still spoken in Slovenia:

«Du̇ hoscht lai oin Ammoin,
oin Attoin dərzu̇ə,
du̇ hoscht lai oin Hoimət,
Gottschəabarschər Pu̇ə.»

"You have just one mother,
just one father, too,
you have just one homeland,
and Gottschee is you."

1/2

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>>24881561
2/2

This is one stanza from Georg Heym's Deathwatch (1908), one of his few works which doesn't appear to have been translated:

Wie ein Wort, im Dunkel verloren
Ehe das Herz es begreift,
Wie ein Traum über einsamer Seele
Klingenden Gründen verschweift.

Like a word lost in the dark
Before the heart understands it,
Like the dream of a lonely soul
All sense had vanished.

Swallow me, my love, my Goddess.
Gulp my brain, digest my soul.
Kneadle me, your loaf, and leaven,
If you will, but wolf me whole.

If my cares could dare transcend
The gnashing of those pearly gates.
I'd be lost, within a haze,
Without a sense what good awaits.

You give me my life, my purpose.
You are all that's right for me.
Chew me, gorge on me, my darling.
Rumination, set me free!

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You're out there
near the blazing red mountains
enjoying life, getting on, breeding
My heart still beats for you

just slower than it used to.

Its been so many years
would she recognize me,
the creak of my voice, my ghost of a face
My heart still beats for you

just slower than it used to.

We wrote letters, they smell of ink and glue
Did you hold onto them, or throw them away?
Heard you married, had kids, they say.
My heart still beats for you

just slower than it used to.

>>24881581
Vorefags like you deserve the rack.

Houston, we have a problem.
Shona smells like nigger droppings.

Gently embrace
Bath in electric light

Last time we spoke
You hadn't said a word
Does that mean love is not real

For 30 years I tried to love you
It only filled me with hate
Retarded fucking whore

>>24880607
I liked it anon. I’m not a poetryman so I can’t offer advice but I like how most of your imagery is based on big and hard concrete things and the poem itself looks like a big tough wall of text

Bow in the presense of greatness
There will be no forgiveness

>>24883485
>claims to be great
>can’t even spell “presence”

That
Anon is a nigger
His poems get bigger
He can't make any sense
Nor can he spell presence

But
This anon is a tard
Writing in metre's hard
He can't get emphasis
To work. Boring and cringe.

You begged me, "Turn away, for sake of ease."
I cried, "You cut my spine to spare my heart.
The blood that’s drawn from mind; a cleaner cost.
You know your heart is beating with my soul."

I wrap you tenderly within my cloak.
The fabric, time, unfolds. We trace a crease
And fingers gently brush. A moment's spark.
This sacred tension unwinds longing's knot.

Our love will be defined when your eyes close.
My eyes between the stars watch you create.
With nothing handed you've made everything.
You granted wonder, calm your breath, my love.

Dreaming hands enclose the space between us.
Feel my warmth inside your restful sleep. Now
Pierce the veil! Let light come shining through it
Granting life. Your cost was nothing, sadly.

Shadow stand beside me, I can't look back.
Charting love unknown that can't be mapped here,
Guiding starlight take me. Make your lines seen.
Trace perfected love in total darkness.

Holy shroud of night I beg with eyes closed,
Blind in beauty's presence sense is stolen.
Take this dance then find our separate stances.
Show yourself now or I'll yearn forever.

>>24883528
Maybe it's no hint of retardation
Per se,
But a retarded way
To say 'anticipation'.

>>24883399
Thank you!

>>24883603
What is this about?

Beleza não vem de dentro
Outrora estaria perdida
Machucados se tornam formas
Peles se tornam feridas
Não poderia cura-las
A casca me incomoda
Em pele viva eu me sinto
completamente vivo agora

Beleza não vem de dentro
Outrora, estaria perdida
Machucados se tornam formas
Peles se tornam feridas
Não poderia curá-las
A casca me incomoda
Em pele viva eu me sinto
completamente vivo agora

All my half-decent stuff is stuck on my dead phone. I should probably dig it out and back it up asap. But here are some different things in different styles:

This fog of coming and going,
Scraped by the setting sun.
To capture a moment in time;
Happiness from the barrel of a gun.

//

"Out of the cadaverous pile", i'm told,
"There rose a figure of symbols and painted gold"
"And hot enough was it's glittering blaze"
"To strike men mad in a hundred different ways"

I couldn't really say if what i heard was true
You know how it goes with stories spun out of the blue
But i just can't say that i don't believe it
Because i saw it too and it was pure fucking evil

//

Driving further out into torrential rain
That deep inky nothingness
Swallowing memories again

Bones are aching and i've run too far
Whether i hide in some house
Or the driver's seat of a car

And i've got pin cushion eyes and a hole in my chest
With a weight somewhere where sentimentality used to have it's place
But it starved and it writhed and so it withered away
And i guess i held it down by it's neck
Because i couldn't bear to hear it complain

Perverted passions in the concrete jungle
Laid bare by fluorescent lights

You're sweating bullets as your balls dangle
Promising carnal delights

They come to stick their cargo in your rudder
They've come to love you like a blow-up doll

You better make it squint, motherfucker
Because your fart was a mating call

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First poem I’ve written in a while - thoughts?

>>24885899
Dogshit. Stop writing.

>>24885899
It's pretty good. Some nitpicks: Dust and stardust in the same sentence feels uncreative. "You do not incur a fee" feels stiff and like a cheap setup for the following two lines, which are actually really good as they are. Also the line "Without being called a reprobate" has too many syllables, clashes with the estabilished style imo. Then, rhyming "shelf" with "myself" sounds a bit cheap, but this bothers me less than the others.

Overall, pretty good. Keep it up!

I have no capacity for rhymes, meter or anything. Still I write as cheap therapy. -

Love went unspoken for so long
Its edges unknown to the most curious of minds
As if infinite, shrouded in mystery
A faint trace of someone’s departure
Never really emptying the spaces -
We built entire cities never bothering to sketch
Now the corners are right
The streets are narrow when they need to be
And the canals can swallow darkness like they’re meant to.

I wish that you would call.
You don’t.
I want you to come back.
You won’t.

>>24885899
You need to understand, anon, that after GPT rhymes are gone. It can be the best poem ever, it will feel GPTlike. Sorry.

Waste of time away
I don't care how they do it
I don't care about that

Wasted time away
Too heavy are the weight of these mistakes
Thats why life is fake

>>24887214
To me, omething feels gpt-like when there is an unnecessary abundance of adjectives, and the tone gives you the impression of having been policed by a corporation's PR department. Its poetry generally misses a beat because, as you might expect, a glorified word-salad machine doesn't have any actual sense of rhythm. A chatbot's rhymed poetry is very much a case of poetic inability concealed (albeit poorly) by the jingling effect of end rhymes. It very often fails to get the meter right, even if you tell it to be strict. A human being couldn't write gpt-like poetry if they tried, because a human being can actually hear the flow of the language they're employing. Anon's poem could be better, no doubt, but to imply that anything other than straying from rhyme will leave a gpt-like flavor in the mouth, is, as far as I'm concerned, nonsense. Then again, perhaps your only or chief exposure to rhyme has been through chat gpt, amd you thus have the impression that rhyme=chatbot. If that's so, then, well, what more can I say?

I
My heart sung,
Like when I was young,
For the music
And the feeling
And the fullness.

II
My love, my love, my love,
With the shadows in your eyes
My love, my love, my love,
Why did you make me cry?

III
O joy that brushes me,
Why do you depart so soon?
O joy that departs so soon
Why do you bump into me?