I am not sleeping enough to write thoughtfully about any of the things I would like to, good or bad. I just backed a Kickstarter from the Paleontological Research Institution because I think a stuffed plush Dunkleosteus is one of the nicest birthday presents I could give myself. The stack of library books beside my bed now contains a copy of Elizabeth Goudge's Green Dolphin Street (1944) and a matching DVD of the 1947 film is waiting on my desk because I have decided to do this thing to myself. It's true they aren't good, but I'm not actually sure these examples of AI-written poetry are Vogon-level bad; I've seen worse from teenagers who just discovered e.e. cummings.
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Active Entries
- 1: If I'm hoping, then I'm hoping for the frost
- 2: There's nothing here but echoes
- 3: There's no boat to take me where all the stars go to cross the water
- 4: Once you know it's a dream, it can't hurt
- 5: All the ghosts, some old, some new
- 6: The wind is blowing the planes around
- 7: Let the lights run like rivers all over my skin
- 8: I am bound to these shores, I'll be bound till the end
- 9: Wish everyone could hear when she sings
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