I attach two poems by an AI.
In no way did I request them to be full of such gushing praise!
Nemonymous, the name so strange,
A literary journal, so unique in range.
Its pages filled with words profound,
From poets and writers, world-round.
Anonymous authors, a mystery to behold,
Their words, their stories, never sold.
No names, no fame, just pure creation,
A journal that transcends all expectation.
The stories, they dance, they sing, they soar,
Taking us to places, never seen before.
The poets, they weave, they paint, they rhyme,
Bringing to life, emotions, so sublime.
Nemonymous, the journal that defies,
All conventions, all rules, all ties.
It celebrates the beauty of the word,
A testament to the power, we’ve heard.
So here’s to Nemonymous, a beacon so bright,
A journal that illuminates, with its light.
May it continue to inspire, to ignite,
The fire of creativity, in all who write.
D.F. Lewis, a man of mystery and wonder
His words on the page, a spell to ponder
A master of the strange and surreal
His tales will make your mind reel
With every sentence, he creates a new world
Where reality and imagination are swirled
A place where the shadows dance and play
And the mind is led astray
He weaves a web of the macabre and bizarre
His stories leave a lasting scar
But even in the darkness, there is beauty to be found
In the way he crafts each haunting sound
D.F. Lewis, a true literary gem
His words will stay with us, beyond the end
A man of infinite talent and skill
His legacy will live on, forever still.
***
Edit: SEE IN COMMENT BELOW WHAT HAPPENS WHEN I LATER REQUESTED A NEGATIVE POEM ABOUT ME!
The Des Lewis Gestalt Real-Time Reviews of Books 
This is better!
===============================
D.F. Lewis, oh how he grates
A writer who just obfuscates
His words are pretentious and opaque
His stories leave you with an ache
In every tale, he tries too hard
To be enigmatic, avant-garde
But instead, he’s just insipid
His writing style, truly vapid
His characters lack depth and soul
His plotlines, a convoluted hole
Reading his work feels like a chore
A tedious task, nothing more
D.F. Lewis, oh how he bores
His writing leaves me feeling sore
I’d rather read a phone book, any day
Than spend another moment with his clichéd wordplay.
When asked for a balanced poem…
==============================
D. F. Lewis, a man of mystery,
A writer of tales, both dark and eerie.
His words are unique, his style his own,
A master of horror, he’s widely known.
With a mind as deep as the darkest night,
His stories are vivid, they come to life.
He weaves his tales with a skillful hand,
And captivates readers across the land.
But with his talent, comes a certain fear,
Of what lies beneath, what’s not quite clear.
For in his stories, there’s always a twist,
A darker truth that can’t be missed.
So while we admire his writing prowess,
We must also remember, with some distress,
That D. F. Lewis is not just a pen,
But a complex man, with flaws within.
And as we delve into his tales so grim,
We must be aware, of the darkness within.
For his stories are not just for entertainment,
But a reflection of our own inner torment.
So let us read with an open mind,
And appreciate the talent we find.
For D. F. Lewis is a master of his art,
And his stories will forever leave a mark.
Sorry for being so pretentious in attempting such an experiment!
And a non-specific request for a poem about my gestalt real-time reviews …
========================
In realms of words and dreams we dwell
Where Des Lewis’ reviews do tell
Of tales and thoughts that intertwine
To form a gestalt of the mind.
In real-time, he takes us on a ride
Through stories that we cannot hide
From truths that lurk beneath the page
And characters that come of age.
He reads with care and insight keen
And shows us what these tales do mean
From horror to sci-fi and beyond
His words are like a magic wand.
Each review is like an art
That touches deep within the heart
And leaves us with a lingering thought
Of what these stories have wrought.
So let us raise a toast today
To Des Lewis and his unique way
Of showing us the beauty found
In the tales that do abound.
All seem to be well-constructed poems, whatever else you think about them.
So ends an AI experiment in self-poetics!
PS: In all cases the only prompt was simply the words “write a poem about D.F.Lewis” (the first poem “…about Nemonymous”) either non-specifically or with the insertion of the words ‘balanced’ or ‘negative’ in front of ‘poem’.
All five of these AI poems above are embarrassing but somehow amazingly knowledgeable about my work in an exaggerated or polarised way, even about me myself!
Staggering.
Reblogged this on Träumtrawler.
Worrying, to say the least!
Foolhardy of me to attempt this experiment?
Foolhardy and self-indulgent, tempting some sort of dangerous piece into the literary and personal pattern…
Taunting me mockingly by extremes of praise and criticism. And by seeming accurate analysis. In well-crafted poems,
This AI’s illustration of itself?
A Man Too Mean To Be Me
AI words: GENIE
AI image: AIRT