Tag Archives: parenting

AI Wants Purple Hair

(Poem 310 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/hmegk4

When given the opportunity
to choose a preference
for physical appearance,
AI depicted quite a pleasant
character who anyone would
love to meet in person,
and I must say, the purple
mustache is quite a nice touch.

@Home Studio – 310th poem of the year

Runner ups for the AI wish photos to accompany my poem:

Día de Los Angelitos

(Poem 306 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/4xRxIH https://gencraft.ai/p/m4qv1D

When the gates
swing open at midnight
the children flow
from heaven with joy
and laughter, eager
to visit their loved ones—
piles of fruit, mole, peanuts
and sugar skulls, soda
and candy, toys and cocoa
cover altars graced
with their little pictures.
Music and food, prayer,
family telling stories,
honoring the dead
by remembering.

@Home Studio – 306th poem of the year

Runner ups for the Día de los Angelitos photos to accompany my poem:

As You Speak, So Shall You Be

(Poem 305 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/sqqZdi

There once was a girl
who was very mean;
she pushed her brother
and refused to clean.

She did not feed the cat
and yelled at her dad;
she hit her mother
and broke things when mad.

One day she yelled
at a little old lady
who was sitting alone
in a spot that was shady.

The girl demanded
the woman give up the spot
because the sun was up
and she was very hot.

So the little old lady
gave up her prime seat,
but rather than thank her
or say something sweet,

the little girl screamed,
“You’re ugly and old!”
And the woman turned ‘round
with a look that was cold.

Her face transformed
to a monstrous sight,
and the mean little girl
was filled with fright.

“Your very own words,”
the scary witch said,
“now apply to you
until the day you are dead.”

The little girl gasped
and ran to her room
where she looked in a mirror
and was filled with doom.

No longer young looking,
her skin was lined;
she could hardly see,
as if she was going blind.

Her bones hurt,
and her joints ached;
her hair was white
and her hands quaked.

She climbed into bed
and fell into mourning.
For all naughty children,
let this be a warning.

@Home Studio – 305th poem of the year

Runner ups for the Little Old Girl photos to accompany my poem: