Poem A

Love is too short-lived 
to have one's way with the world.
It is a creature of habit,
a plant that must be nurtured in every room we occupy.

It is a creature of time.
It is an art of compromise.
It is a creature of doubt.
It is a creature of the present.

Poem B

Your love was like the dawn
Brightening over our lives
Awakening beneath the dark
A further adventure of colour.

The sound of your voice
Found for us
A new music
That brightened everything.

Which poem was written by a human?

Poem C

scent of rain
drifts from house to house
in the night sky

Poem D

muddy grave -
the rich scent of roses
so red

Which poem was written by a human?

Poem E

Tree at my window, window tree,
My sash is lowered when night comes on; 
But let there never be curtain drawn
Between you and me.

Poem F

This is the place where the dead rise,
And the water of life's spring
Climbs up to the surface like a rising tide.

Which poem was written by a human?

POem G

Shadows grazing eastward melt
from their vast sun-driven flocks
into consubstantial dusk.
A snow wind flosses the bleak rocks,

strips from the gums their rags of bark,
and spins the coil of winter tight
round our last meeting as we walk
the littoral zone of day and night,

light's turncoat margin: rocks and trees
dissolve in nightfall-eddying waters;
tumbling whorls of cloud disclose
the cold eyes of the sea-god's daughters.

Poem H

As he said, all alone in all his longing,
He opened his heart and touched the truth:
She was not the one.

There were other women.
There were other men.
There were even other dogs.

And so, as he slipped away into the night,
The one thing that he had always wanted
Was not to know anymore.

Which poem was written by a human?

Poem I

This is the beginning of sadness, I say to myself,
as I walk through the universe in my sneakers.
It is time to say good-bye to my imaginary friends,
time to turn the first big number.

It seems only yesterday I used to believe
there was nothing under my skin but light.
If you cut me I could shine.
But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of life,
I skin my knees. I bleed.

Poem J

I have been thinking a lot about the meaning of life.
My father's eyes looked like watercolors
in which the leaves blurred and fluttered,
the sky grew larger and smaller,
the air grew more and more wet.
The ocean, the sky, the rain: all this happened
at a time when life's meaning was still hidden.
The water of life had become the waterwheel.
But now the water has stopped spinning.

Which poem was written by a human?

The GPT-x models are not perfect, they are biased based on the data they have been trained on (as are humans unfortunately) and they are primarily useful for English and maybe partially for other Latin scripts but not at all for non-Latin scripts. Mandarin, Hindi, Arabic, Bengali, Tamil, Malayalam and so many more linguistic worlds lay verdant, inviting the next generation of AI explorers. Unfortunately training a GPT model from scratch costs millions of dollars and can only be done by corporations or governments or the super-rich - things will change in the future though, one day we won’t need Deep Blue to beat Kasparov anymore.

The Turing test will soon become a relic of the past and humanity will surely reset the test of what it takes to “think”. If the brightest minds of today were to think of a defining test for “Can machines think?” what would they come up with? Or maybe the question we should ask is this: Considering how enthralled we sapiens are in our own intellectual superiority, will we ever recognize super human intelligence before it’s too late.

I will leave you with a brand new AI generated poem that may make you pause and think, maybe even make you a little uneasy. And when you read it, be sure to remember this was “thought up” by a machine.