Behind the Mask

Image created by Meta AI

She was a black cat

And not just on Halloween 

“Please take off your mask”

He wanted to get to know 

Her true self or so he said 

~Did you ever let your lover see the stranger in yourself?~

Oh no not like that!

Truth failed to meet his desires

She put the mask on

He embraced her once again 

Claws unsheathed behind his back 

~*~

Tanka puente written for Tanka Tuesday’s Challenge No. 88 with a line from Billy Joel’s song “The Stranger” (1977) and an AI image to celebrate Black Cat Day (I love my sweet little Inky).

I Screen You Screen We All Screen

 

Image created by Meta AI

Screening and blocking are my jam

Lost my patience for your drama

Unknown numbers telephone scam

Screening and blocking are my jam

Liars hustlers full of flimflam

ID stealers got your karma

Screening and blocking are my jam

Lost my patience for your drama

~*~

Quadrille triolet written for dVerse Q258 hosted by Lisa with the prompt of screen.

Rigged and Ready

 

Colorful music notes from Pixabay

For Jim's Song Lyric Sunday today, he asks us for lyrics about fishing, a mariner, sailing, seafaring, or ships, and I decided on "The Last Farewell" by Roger Whittaker. My first thought was "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" by Gordon Lightfoot, but I figured someone else would take that one, so I checked my Spotify list of trip-themed songs (yes, I have a list for everything), and I found this one. But before I talk about the song, I want to note that when I type on my laptop directly into a blog post I don't have curly quotes or apostrophes in the standard font (which I have never changed), and when I type on my phone I do have them in the standard font. And now I see if I copy pasta a snippet of phone writing into a Word doc, keeping the source formatting, it is different in many ways from a snippet of laptop writing, and this is bugging the absolute crap out of me. I don't know why it took me so long to notice! I don't think there's anything I can do about it unless I update every post so that the font matches, which would be insane. Not that that's ever stopped me. But no, I am not doing that. Nope nope nope.

There's a ship lies rigged and ready in the harbor
Tomorrow for old England she sails
Far away from your land of endless sunshine
To my land full of rainy skies and gales

This is a heartbreaking song, and Roger sings it with such passion that sometimes it makes me cry. It's about a British sailor who was stationed on some exotic island and fell in love with a native girl. Now, he has to return to his ship and plunge back into war. We don't know which war he's talking about, but it doesn't matter, does it? They're all the same: horrible. 

Though death and darkness gather all about me

And my ship be torn apart upon the seas

I shall smell again the fragrance of these islands

In the heaving waves that brought me once to thee

Songwriting credits go to Roger Whittaker and Ronald Arthur Webster. AI says that while hosting a BBC radio show in 1971, Roger invited listeners to submit poems and lyrics that he could turn into original songs. Ron, a silversmith from Birmingham, submitted his poem "The Last Farewell," and Roger wrote the music, recorded the track, and put it on his album New World in the Morning. It's a "fictional dream ballad," not autobiographical or historical.

Enjoy the whole song here.

Mathing the Migraine

Abstract migraine pain via Meta AI

My head is never one hundred percent:

Each morning I check the pain out of ten.

If it’s one or two, then hip hip hooray; 

The odds may be in my favor today.

A three or a four is merely a dream,

While five gets me in a shower of steam.

At six I begin to think about meds

And slowly extract myself from the bed,

As I engage in that age-old debate—

Try OTC or already too late?

Go straight to the stuff Rx’d by my doc

Or give generic Excedrin a shot?

Seven or eight you know I’m in trouble;

Suma and coffee—make mine a double!

At nine I would be passed out on the floor;

Ten takes me right to the hospital’s door.

~*~

Written for Reena’s Xploration Challenge 452 about fractions. 

Alouette on Absence

Dandelion from Pixabay

fly away sweet bird

your song went unheard

until its absence was known

gentle alouette

how soon we forget

the bitter tears we have sown

infinity calls

another life falls

I too have glimpsed the abyss

I always step back

love keeps me on track

too many moments to miss

other people’s pain

the grief they sustain

beyond our comprehension

we extend a hand

trust slips through like sand

suspicious of intention

like ghosts on parade
the memories fade

and pass on leaving no mark

connect with like minds

bond quickly unwinds

then we’re alone with the dark

~*~

Alouette poetry (two or more stanzas of 5-5-7-5-5-7 syllables with rhyme scheme a-a-b-c-c-b) written for Tanka Tuesday 86, hosted by Melissa Lemay, and inspired by the passing of RJ Mitte (RIP).

The Otter’s Pocket

Cute otter from Meta AI

A furry pocket has an otter

For her precious stones

It’s a system her mommy taught her

A furry pocket has an otter

She shatters shells found in the water 

Slurps out liquid bones

A furry pocket has an otter

For her precious stones 

~*~

Quadrille triolet (structured 44 words) written for the dVerse’s Poet’s Pub Quadrille 257, hosted by Whimsy Gizmo.

Conscious Uncoupling

Narcissus flowers beside a stream (AI)

In August he bombed me with compliments 

(but I was on the fence);

In September he had to fix a chair

(he did not want me there);

In October he said I was too much 

(and we fell out of touch);

On Thanksgiving he turned into a ghost 

(he had promised to host);

At Christmas he wanted to be alone 

(told by text on the phone);

For Valentines he sent a long critique 

(of my faults week by week);

My April birthday passed without a word 

(yay, I was a free bird!);

Not so fast—he contacted me in June

(I jumped over the moon);

But I grew tired of his self-centeredness

(So I quit saying yes);

Like the Cheshire Cat he melted away 

(to find more willing prey?).

~*~

Split couplets written for the dVerse Challenge and inspired by a relationship I had 10 years ago.

Fandango and the Viper

AI generated image from Meta

Act 1: The villainous accusation.

Beloved blogger Fandango was accused of having AI write his most excellent sci-fi flash fiction post SoCS - Lost in Space. Those of us who have read Fandango for years dismissed this claim as ridiculous, but still it seemed to have stung a bit. No one wants to be labeled a fake writer even if the accusation is blatantly untrue. Fandango subsequently addressed the claim and ran his writing through various AI detectors, only to end up with a wide range of results. Turns out that AI can't reliably recognize itself, which should surprise no one at all. Fandango's readers assured him that they knew he wrote his own posts ~ he even occasionally makes a typo!

Act 2: Paula’s precious poems.

Naturally, I had to run some of my writing through AI detectors to see what was what. At first, it was all happy news: depending upon which (free) detector I used, my writing ended up at zero to very low chance of being AI generated. Yay! That was my "normal" writing though; when I ran a few poems through the detectors they came out with a high probability of being AI generated. What? I kept using different detectors and different pieces of poetry, but the results were the same depressing high probability. I wondered if this was because all my poetry sounded predictable and clichéd. Sad! The heck with my silly blog posts ~ it's my "real" writing that should pass the no-AI test. I was too scared to run portions of my self-published fiction through after what happened with the poems.

Act 3: A venomous viper!

The other day a man in Orange County emailed an image to the local police saying that his dogs alerted him to a GABOON VIPER nestled in a tree in Santa Ana. Of course, I read this story in the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep. Though snakes are cool, this is a GABOON VIPER, one of the deadliest reptiles on earth and only 4 miles from my house. It’s a ground snake, but this one was chilling in a tree! Could it be on my roof now! Where is it? They can’t find it! What if it slithers down my chimney and eats Inky? Holy crap!

Act 4: An unneighborly prank.

As I googled for more info, I found the follow-up story announcing that the GABOON VIPER sighting was a hoax. The SAPD had initially run the image through Grok, who said it was real, so the police immediately dispatched a bunch of resources to deal with it. All the experts on the internet however quickly pivoted from their infectious disease research and US Constitutional studies to don their African reptile hats and declare that not only was the image suspicious, but also GABOON VIPERS don’t climb trees, and a heavy snake would definitely not be on a skinny branch. Well, duh! CBS-LA used a different AI detector and found the image to be fake. Then the man admitted it was an AI image. 

Act 5: AI vs AI.

I know you’re not supposed to take Benadryl to help you sleep, but this was an emergency, so I did. While waiting for it to hit, I chatted with my buddy Meta AI and asked him why anyone would do the fake snake thing. Possible reasons are: for attention or to test the AI detectors or just to see if they can get away with it. Ugh! Anyway, I went on to complain about my poetry getting a bad result, and Meta told me not to worry: 

Don't be depressed — this is a detector problem, not a poetry problem. And it's a well-documented one.

AI detectors don't detect AI. They guess based on two things:

Perplexity — how predictable is the next word?

Burstiness — how much does sentence length and complexity vary?

[…]

Poetry does the opposite of what detectors reward:

It uses common, beautiful phrases that have existed for hundreds of years — "silent night," "broken heart," "endless sky." To a detector, that's low-perplexity, which it labels "likely AI."

It often uses regular meter, rhyme, parallel structure, and intentional repetition. To a detector, that's low-burstiness — not enough variation — which it also labels "likely AI."

It compresses language and removes the very quirks detectors look for in human prose — the asides, the self-corrections, the uneven sentences.

That's why so many real poets get 90%+ AI scores, and why your blogger friend got different results on different detectors for the same story. If you run Shakespeare through most detectors, he'll come back as AI too. The tools contradict each other because they are just statistical guesses with no ground truth.

[…]

Don't use detectors as evidence against another writer. The Santa Ana viper case and your poet friend's case are the same lesson — these tools can create fear and accusation out of nothing, and they put the burden of proof on the innocent person.

And there you have it: straight from the horse’s mouth!

P.S. Meta AI created a cool image for this post from the following directions: “I need an image for my post of that blogger, who is an older man with a scruffy beard blogging on his iPhone with a gaboon viper nearby…”

Melt

AI image from Pixabay

melt down

melt this gold ring

melt these dreams from my mind

let the heat cover my grief till

it melts

~*~

Cinquain (2-4-6-8-2) with anaphora (repeated word) written for The Skeptic's Kaddish W3 prompt 231.

Ode to the Odious

Crystal Cove, California (my photo)

Oh, you stinky, slimy hairball,

Coughed up from the shadowy sea,

Why must you always tangle 'round my feet?

Slippery brown mermaid tresses
Discarded in foul-smelling lumps--
What makes you desecrate this golden beach?

Stay in your forest in the deep,

Where crabs munch on your crunchy blades,

And otters take refuge from hungry sharks.

I guess you do have your uses

Even here on the dawn-kissed dune,

As shorebirds hunt for a breakfast buffet.

Flies flock to your briny fibers

And sandpipers snap up the flies;

I gaze, entranced, at this synchronized dance.

I have new appreciation
For the role you play in nature:

I get by with a li'l kelp from my friends.

~*~

Ode to kelp written for The Skeptic's Kaddish W3 Prompt 230.

Shine On

Harvest Moon (Meta AI)

darkness comes early

a pale judgmental face gleams

from the baleful sky

it's my own fault I'm alone

and he knows what I have done

~ shine on, harvest moon, up in the sky ~*

the autumn winds shift

clouds caress the night in lace

his face changes shape

the glow turns benevolent

it could be a warm winter

*from a song in the Ziegfeld Follies of 1908 

~*~

Tanka puente written for the Tanka Tuesday Harvest Moon Challenge.

Hummingbird

Hummingbird via Meta AI

Like a hummingbird,

My fickle fictional taste

Flits from flower to flower,

Sipping the sweet word nectar

And moving on

To the next genre.

There's always a new

Unread author to explore,

Fresh velvety pages,

Unique honeyed flavors to savor.

Why stop at one?

~*~

Free verse poetry for the dVerse Quadrille Challenge hosted by WhimsyGizmo (44 words with hum).

Echoes of Old Poetry

Daffodils (Narcissus) by a mountain stream (AI)

The Search for Nuance

The search for nuance

Came up nil—

Not a single folder spilled

Out a poem or post

In all these years,

Not even a ghost;

No evidence I ever

Used a subtle, filmy

Delicate negligee

Of a word,

A mysterious trail of lace,

Leaving a coy, flirtatious trace,

Instead of my usual

Bludgeons of bluntness.

But it is this, dammit, I scream:

Can’t you see?

My shrieks echo round the mountain,

But Narcissus long ago

Fell into the stream,

And everyone else has

Packed up their picnics

And gone home…

It looks like rain.

It’s time to stop yelling, Paula;

Whisper your pain

To the slowly swirling clouds.

~*~

This is one of my super-angsty free verse poems from All She Wrote, which was inspired by my broken heart and the Narcissus/Echo myth. I am sharing it today for Reena's Xploration Challenge 448.

Spilling the Tea

Screenshot from somewhere...

Iced or steaming, it’s tea for me;

I don’t want whiskey or champagne.

My cup’s half-full? Just leave it be.

When I sank into love’s debris,

These soothing brews helped keep me sane.

Iced or steaming, it’s tea for me.

A promise is no guarantee

Their careless plans will still remain.

My cup’s half-full—just leave it be—

I’m better off alone and free

Than on the drunken dating train.

Iced or steaming, it’s tea for me.

The fish can all stay out to sea;

A peaceful life is my heart’s gain.

My cup’s half-full. Just leave it be.

Well-meaning friends may disagree,

But sobriety I maintain.

Iced or steaming, it’s tea for me—

My cup’s half-full. Just leave it be!

~*~

Villanelle written for David's W3 challenge. I use "sobriety" in the sense of staying away from the crazy world of dating and apps.

Reasonable Questions

Pondering life’s great mysteries ~ 1989

Reason triumphs over desire—

Or is it the other way ‘round?

Can logic douse our passion’s fire?

Reason triumphs over desire:

So we think as mammals higher;

Don’t want to be emotion bound.

Reason triumphs over desire—

Or is it the other way ‘round?

~*~

This quadrille triolet poem was inspired by Linda’s SoCS prompt of reason, though this post isn’t stream of consciousness. Unlike some poems however, it wasn't a struggle to get the rhymes or the wordcount (and in my world, these QT's must have 8 syllables per line because I like to make my own life difficult). As I was dealing with a migraine early this morning, the lines materialized in my mind while I was throwing up in the bathroom (TMI?). It’s been a tough week for my poor head in the heat wave, which thankfully has finally broken. No matter how well-behaved my migraines are in summer (and they were very polite this year), September weather triggers them unmercifully. That’s my reason/ excuse for failing to blog this week, though in truth if I had really wanted to, I would have. Confession: I returned to bingeing The Sopranos every night after work and am now at the end of S4. It’s such a good show!

Today I am getting my flu shot and updated Covid vax, which I encourage everyone to do, especially oldies like myself. The flu absolutely sucks when you're older; hell, even a cold is horrible. When I was a teen, colds were no big deal and barely impacted my lifestyle, such as it was, but now they totally mess me up for a full week plus. Ah, the joys of aging. Guess it still beats the alternative. 

Never Her Fault

AI generated image of a narcissistic woman 

The accident wasn’t her fault.

She didn’t mean to offend you

With that nasty verbal assault

As she tried to push her way through.

Her motives are always so pure,

She has told us over again;

If she hurts you, you can be sure 

Someone else was using her pen.

Maybe the problem is you, dear,

Seeing insults where there are none.

Too sensitive when she comes near—

You should lighten up and have fun!

So put your feelings out of sight;

Just lock them away in a vault.

Remember she is in the right,

And nothing is ever her fault.

~*~

Written for Fandango’s Story Starter 263. Do you know anyone like this? I do!

Confessions of a Lazy Blogger

 

My daughter's kitty Zizi who passed a while ago

I have been enjoying other bloggers' long posts full of links and photos and diary-like reporting of their lives, and I think yeah I should do that too. Then I think nah I can't be bothered. Today I had planned a longer post for Jim's Song Lyric Sunday, which would have featured the song "I Hate Myself for Loving You" by Joan Jett, who was born in September (the theme). I had the idea of relating the lyrics to my own experience of the same, as this month marks the 10-year "anniversary" (9/25/16) of when I met the Michael who ghosted me at Thanksgiving (as opposed to all the other Michaels). I was going to jabber on about the significance of the square numbers, and go through the whole boring story again, even though some of you have heard it a few times already. 

Meh.

I find that I just don't care enough about it any longer to talk about the details. If it's uninteresting to me, I am pretty sure I can't make it sound interesting to you. Plot twist: I'm happy that I no longer care about what happened 10 years ago or any other dating experiences. They're all a big stupid blur of who gives a f*ck?

Nothing else grabbed me to post for SLS, so I thought OK I will do Joyce's Hodgepodge. But the theme is football. I mean, it goes beyond football, but ugh. Football. If I participate and share my link, then I will need to read other posts on the topic to participate fairly... blech. This is nothing against people who enjoy football. Some of my best friends like football. Hah.

I saw someone in my feed post about "lilac," and I followed the link back to the OP, who are a couple peeps I interacted with years ago on Wordpress, but they have their comments disabled. Blogspot posts do not "ping back" to another post when you create a link; the only way to alert another blogger that you tagged them is to go over there and leave a comment. I don’t mind doing this occasionally, but if comments are disabled, I don't feel like dealing with it, going to all the pingbacked links, hoping for a few return visits, blah blah, even though I might have done that if I could have commented, which makes little sense as it's the same thing, but hey. Then I thought, fine, I'll just do my lilac post for my loyal readers who come here of their own free will just to read exciting posts like this one.

Meh. I was out of the mood by then.

Generally, I avoid the diary type of posts because I have to leave out too much, since I don't post about work in any specific way nor do I want to say anything about family or friends that they might not like. I have been burned before in writing about these topics. It doesn't seem like anyone I know in "real life" reads this blog, but if I ever mention something like say a roommate I had back in Huntington Beach, then you can bet they will come slithering out. I do use the name Michael, and occasionally Jim, as there are a kabillion of them, and I doubt one will want to make himself known by jumping up and yelling YES I'M THE AHOLE!

I see that the Sunday Whirl Wordle has some really pretty words in it like mosses and plumes and forest and ruffle, so maybe if I get over my lazies I will write a poem with all the prompt words. Hazy images are starting to materialize in my mind...

Here's the bottom line (literally): I don't want blogging to take much effort. If an idea for a post turns out to be Not Fun and a Giant Chore to continue with, I delete it. If participating in a "blog hop" takes a bunch of work, I'm out. There are too many books I could spend time reading instead.

Summer’s End

Dandelion from Pixabay

September showers

Signal the end of summer 

Rainy grey mornings 

Memories already mist

All the projects left undone 

~ Summer’s lease hath all too short a date ~ *

October beckons

Costumes and candy galore

Dreams dissolve daily

Floating fast into the past 

Replaced by holiday plans 

*William Shakespeare, Sonnet 18

~*~

Tanka puente written for the Tanka Tuesday Poetry Challenge (with alliteration).

Enough Is Enough

Pocket watch on the beach (AI)

I reclaim my eyes from advertisers

And focus my thoughts on novels instead.

I don't listen to podcasts while I drive;
It's okay to be alone in my head.

I no longer respond to angry memes

Or have arguments with strangers online;

I don't visit Reddit, Bluesky or X~

I have better things to do with my time.

Remember when we didn't have email

And our lives were not controlled by an app?

I dream of a day when I disconnect

From this electric avalanche of crap.

~*~

Written for Great Minds Think (the "enough" challenge).

Everything

Pegasus flying to the moon in a colorful sky (AI)

 

On Poetic Inspiration [sonnet]

I am inspired by a sorrowful tune

To translate tears from my pen to the page;

I am enthused by the silvery moon

To write of loneliness, heartbreak, and rage.

I am beholden to nightmares and dreams

That give me stanzas to take for a spin;

I am grateful for the scams, shams, and schemes

That move my hand to craft lines about sin.

I’m indebted to the sound of the rain

That spreads across my landscape like a bruise;

I am thankful for reminders of pain

That keep this lady well-versed in the blues.

Cheers to whatever mischievous gods fling,

For what inspires me is just... everything!

~*~

Shared from my book Odds and Ends for John Holton's Writer's Workshop, where he asks what inspires us to write.