The Laziest Writer™ v. AI: {POETRY} Edition

As The Prompt Mag’s self-anointed Laziest Writer™, I was excited to try ChatGPT, an AI program that can write a poem on my behalf. As I waited for the “exceptionally high demand” to subside so I could ask it to manifest something about senses and seasons, I tried my hand at the same.

As I put the final punctuation mark on my poem (and hit refresh again to coax the AI into working), I had to wonder: is AI really going to put me out of a job? Or did it just manipulate me into doing the work?

Jillian’s Version

Is it

S Y N E S T H E S I A

to say

Cold is a color?

A ghastly tinge

glazes the sky,

indicating Autumn abundance

has given way to Winter weary.

Would it be

W I T C H C R A F T

to know

It’s middle-night based on sound?

Silence is never

(except maybe when it snows);

but snow silence

carries a sound of its own.

They call it

P E T R I C H O R—

the fragrance of rain.

Invisible and imminent earth, wind, and water.

What about

the way you can feel weather in your bones?

Is there a name for that

other than ‘wizened by experience’?

S E N S E S— are they fixed? Or are they mutable,

just like the seasons and the weather?

AI Version

A cool breeze blows

As I sit and ponder

The shifting of the seasons

And the changing of the weather

My senses come alive

As I feel the crisp air

Hear the rustling of leaves

And see the colors of fall

The taste of autumn lingers

On my tongue and in my mouth

As I breathe in deeply

And let the moment take me south

I close my eyes and feel

The warmth of the sun on my face

As I embrace the present

And let go of time and space

For in this moment

I am alive and free

A modernist in nature

Embracing all that I can see.