Too little time to do all the things we need or needing to do too many things in that time? Forming focus has found a way to succeed; at the least enabling a chance to shine.
I might be mistaken but you were the very first (at least as I remember), the one who would awaken the child, underrehearsed, as a repeat customer.
The twelve turns swung around me for the third time; the damage by my own accord. With my eyes kept to the ground, these dirty hands of mine would be a blemish on her otherwise pristine record.
Since then, the decline in the quality of dates was evident on either side of the tracks. A shiny attractor at one time soon became as inelegant as another zombie lurking in the depths of my phone contacts.
That ghoul revived; dead friends with benefits and decorated with unseasonal flowers; the shiny patch on her nose survived and the black dress she still tightly fits gleamed in the light of the setting sun’s golden hours.
All neat lines, sharp angles, and overlapping layers; sliding like the glass elevators inside the chromium tangles; her face halted her betrayers; tinged red like the clouds and their orchestrators.
A moment of sudden uncertainty, pursuing fame and profit, wasn’t completely meaningless either; the lowest rung is always so dirty. And unable to stop it, in the arranged dating marketplace, at the hands of my deceiver.
Existing together somewhere beyond the family, outside the home, the lawn turned from green to black, then orange under the light’s care, cycling back through time’s blown; the abrasions of the rainy season had marked the surface of the stack;
Brand new, or a decaying shell on the point of collapse, the red pylons of the distant Yangpu Bridge mapped out all the city’s positions well; like two sticks of incense, perhaps, glowing at each tip and releasing all their smoky courage.
Illuminating everything that could see them and everything that could not, she could have been an actor, or a time traveller (from way back) then; sparks were cast down, sparkling hot glittering waves that tumbled forth and entrapped her.
Amber street lights, black roads, mauve tights, like a game restarting in something of a trance; like two fish trapped in a weir; stuck in the reddish neon nights, she disappeared down one hole, by chance, and from another she’d reappear.
The reflections gleamed , neither the air nor the water had changed with the years; the two incense sticks seemed crimson, solemn, and brought her indifferent to the blazing headlights of a thousand volunteers.
The surface of the river was calm, and the sky was broad; it felt like I had left my room behind and was standing with her arm-in-arm, a simple reward, together in the midnight street I might be mistaken and I may be so inclined.
This poem is an exercise of my own invention. I took a short story (Goodbye, Bridge of the East by Wang Zhanhei) that I wanted to read but hadn’t yet, and ran it through DeepSeek to extract whatever lines it found of a poetic nature, of which there were thirty-three. Without reading the story, I reworked all the lines, in order, into the poem you see here now.
I’m not sure how successful it is and I’m off to read the story now, wondering how similar it might be to what I came up with.
I’ll try this again but perhaps be a bit more selective with the extracted phrases, as this poem is way longer than anything I would normally write.
The following is a letter from December 31st, 2024, delivered today from the past
Dear FutureMe,
It’s December 31st 2024. Just another day as far as I feel. I’ve not invested much into important dates. So long as I remember Hayden’s birthday, Amy’s birthday and our wedding anniversary, that’s pretty much all I need for dates.
Of course, circumstances also dictate I must go to Thai immigration every 90 days and renew my visa every year. Boring but important duties.
Tomorrow I have to collect a stool sample and then on Jan 2nd, I go and do a health check at the hospital. In general, I’ve been feeling the best and healthiest that I have since I was a teenager (physically, at least). My problems all seem to be ‘old man’ related and I am a little bit concerned about my prostate, hence the need for a health check.
I’ve managed to keep posting a poem every day on my blog and feel that my writing has improved a little. I’ve also managed to keep an online diary every day that will get posted to the blog at some point. This is mostly interesting to me, to look back and reflect on how I’ve changed.
At this stage, I anticipate continuing with this writing as it keeps me grounded and also tests my abilities.
I’m still enjoying school and teaching – maybe too much! I guess I’m comfortable with everything and sometimes that reminds me that I may be taking things for granted.
It is also a little exhausting and doesn’t leave me with much energy and enthusiasm for other things. I am quite easily satisfied with my life but also have to remember that Amy is here and we could be doing things together. These days I let her take the lead as she is more aware of things happening around that we could go to together. I don’t really know about new restaurants or interesting events to check out. I’m just not looking around in those circles. I know that I’m a little wrapped up in myself and, as mentioned above, don’t want to take things for granted.
Tonight we will go to Mum and Dad’s for a NYE dinner, though I hope that we don’t end up staying until midnight. Amy’s brother has moved back from Bangkok now and Amy and I are both preparing our minds for the family dramas that this might bring.
I think that I will write another letter here after I get my health check results. Let’s see where life takes me.
I walked down the old, sandy wooden steps to the beach I had been here decades before everything looked different but the smell was the same a salt that cleared the nose and spits in your face time and time again
I remembered the flashing lights reflected on the water all the good cheer the dream that this day will never end up before the sun patiently impatient the horizons are soon to reveal the truth
…but this Christmas I wanna die I’ve seen Satan and Jesus in a crimson-bloodied sky angel wings pummeling the city to dust
Shared with an AllPoetry.com contest by Bad Jonny, who gave us the italicised lines as starters. I decided to use both and link them.
Warrane’s children watched the tall ships come; now towers rise where the songlines hum, unbroken This scarred earth breathes beneath the city’s beat: a heart they couldn’t silence, slow, deep and true This earth remembers every footfall: songs of Gadigal sorrow and steel unspoken Lasting months or more, a communal, visible crying, the place always bound by grief
Two centuries of silence could not bury their song; they still sing their harbour home Images and names, kept memories – unseen, unsaid – the spirit safely travels through All these years of bleeding, the harbour knows; the rocks remember the cry of every stone Unresolved collective and intergenerational mourning, still seeking relief
Grief continues because the causes have never been fully acknowledged or repaired Death manifests through mass dispossession, disease, violence, and murder malevolent All the sorries are never finished, the deeper losses are continuously shared Peoples excluded from decision-making about their culture, heritage and land
Deep historical culture, reduced to plaques, acknowledgements, and museum displays Bulldozed by infrastructure and development; damaged or erased without consent The least I owe is attention, some respect; The least I owe is to not look away Protection laws weaker than commercial interests; consultation, a token hand
What my ancestors named discovery, the land remembers as interruption still I inherit the language of arrival without having paid the cost of entry I stand here in admiration, aware that the ground knows more than I ever will Just two centuries is but a heartbeat to a people who measure time undeclared Grief, which demands absolution, is only another way of asking to be spared
For a longette: The theme is social commentary (usually critical of the status quo and reaching towards a better/longer future) The title of a longette is long; 40 syllables The poem consists of 21 long lines—of 20 syllables each A longette has an ACAB rhyme scheme, with a final rhyming couplet: ACAB/acab/a’c’a’b’/A-C-A-B-/A’C’A’B’B’ The poem can be separated into 4 stanzas of 4 lines each, with a final stanza of 5 lines, or set without stanza breaks, at the poet’s discretion. Use of emojis is encouraged. The same emoji may be repeated throughout the poem, but if you want to use more than one emoji or symbol, you must conform to a 1312 scheme Emojis and other symbols are not counted as syllables. Collaboration is encouraged.
I couldn’t comprehend using emojis in a poem, though Catherin’s sample poem uses them well. And on re-reading the rules, I see that I actually used 21-syllable lines instead of 20! Perhaps I can claim to be the creator of this form now! Either way, I don’t think that I will be attempting it again soon!
I initially struggled to find a topic but as I discovered that Catherin is based near Sydney, a place I became very familiar with for 20 years, my mind kept coming back to Gadigal country. The Gadigal people being part of the Aboriginal owners of the land on which Sydney is built. The only problem? I knew next to nothing about the topic beyond the fact that my ancestors have completely fucked them over time and time again.
So I turned to AI for help. Here is the process I went through:
Prompt (Deepseek): I want to write a poem about the struggle of the Aboriginal people in Gadigal over time and need a 40-syllable title for it. What can you come up with?
I was hoping that a title would help trigger further ideas, which it did. I haven’t had much luck with syllable counts with Deepseek but it did come up with a set of phrases that I noted down before switching to Chat-GPT5 from here on out. I soon discovered that Chat-GPT could identify syllables per word correctly but then couldn’t add up the simple math totals correctly. Don’t trust AI with your maths!
Prompt: Can you give me information on how the Gadigal people mourn and also how they still struggle to be recognised?
Prompt: Can you suggest language that avoids appropriation while remaining powerful?
Prompt: What about some ideas around ‘white guilt’ for the deeds of our ancestors and how to think about that in the context of the Aboriginal people?
Prompt: I need to find some more poetic lines that deal with this perspective and issue – they need to be fairly long sentences. Ideas?
Prompt: Tell me more about this: “Many Gadigal people speak of ‘sorry that never finished’ “?
This poem is my selection of phrases taken from the various outputs of these prompts and then manipulated (by myself, not AI) to meet the form requirements. When I had finished, I asked AI to give me feedback on rhythm and flow and did a little more tweaking. At this point, though, I had been working on this poem for more than 5 hours and I know that I could improve it more with another 5 hours but….that’s enough. 5 hours is often 4 hours and 59 minutes longer than it takes me to write some poems!
I learned a lot through doing this exercise but tomorrow I’ll be aiming for something a little simpler!