There once was a donkey named Will,
Whose words were like a bitter pill.
He trolled poetry groups with his swill,
And brought silence with his ill.

His rhymes were cruel, devoid of grace,
Leaving poets in a dismal space.
With mocking words, he'd leave a trace,
Of pain upon each poet's face.

But little did this donkey know,
That artistry would always glow.
And though his trolling would bestow,
His impact wouldn't always show.

For poets brushed off his cruel jest,
With pens held high, they'd do their best.
Creating beauty to manifest,
The power of words, and not ingest.

With every verse they would compose,
They countered Will's spiteful blows.
Through rhymes of love and joy that rose,
They painted pictures no one could oppose.

And soon enough, the donkey's tunes,
Faded away like afternoon moons.
His trolling days were just balloons,
Popped by the strength of poets' boons.

So let us remember, my dear friend,
That art will always transcend.
And though Donkey Will may offend,
Our rhymes and passion will never bend.

On Tuesday, August 29, 2023 at 6:55:51 PM UTC, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> There once was a donkey named Will,
> Whose words were like a bitter pill.
> He trolled poetry groups with his swill,
> And brought silence with his ill.
>
> His rhymes were cruel, devoid of grace,
> Leaving poets in a dismal space.
> With mocking words, he'd leave a trace,
> Of pain upon each poet's face.
>
> But little did this donkey know,
> That artistry would always glow.
> And though his trolling would bestow,
> His impact wouldn't always show.
>
> For poets brushed off his cruel jest,
> With pens held high, they'd do their best.
> Creating beauty to manifest,
> The power of words, and not ingest.
>
> With every verse they would compose,
> They countered Will's spiteful blows.
> Through rhymes of love and joy that rose,
> They painted pictures no one could oppose.
>
> And soon enough, the donkey's tunes,
> Faded away like afternoon moons.
> His trolling days were just balloons,
> Popped by the strength of poets' boons.
>
> So let us remember, my dear friend,
> That art will always transcend.
> And though Donkey Will may offend,
> Our rhymes and passion will never bend.

Unsurpassed! Lord Byron is jealous, Shelley is envious, and Keats wants to meet AI.

On Tuesday, August 29, 2023 at 3:08:05 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> On Tuesday, August 29, 2023 at 6:55:51 PM UTC, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > There once was a donkey named Will,
> > Whose words were like a bitter pill.
> > He trolled poetry groups with his swill,
> > And brought silence with his ill.
> >
> > His rhymes were cruel, devoid of grace,
> > Leaving poets in a dismal space.
> > With mocking words, he'd leave a trace,
> > Of pain upon each poet's face.
> >
> > But little did this donkey know,
> > That artistry would always glow.
> > And though his trolling would bestow,
> > His impact wouldn't always show.
> >
> > For poets brushed off his cruel jest,
> > With pens held high, they'd do their best.
> > Creating beauty to manifest,
> > The power of words, and not ingest.
> >
> > With every verse they would compose,
> > They countered Will's spiteful blows.
> > Through rhymes of love and joy that rose,
> > They painted pictures no one could oppose.
> >
> > And soon enough, the donkey's tunes,
> > Faded away like afternoon moons.
> > His trolling days were just balloons,
> > Popped by the strength of poets' boons.
> >
> > So let us remember, my dear friend,
> > That art will always transcend.
> > And though Donkey Will may offend,
> > Our rhymes and passion will never bend.
> Unsurpassed! Lord Byron is jealous, Shelley is envious, and Keats wants to meet AI.

With pens held high, they'd do their best.
Creating beauty to manifest,
The power of words, and not ingest.

Has AI been reading my work? <,< >,>

With every verse they would compose,
They countered Will's spiteful blows.
Through rhymes of love and joy that rose,

Maybe not, I don't write of love and joy...

On Tuesday, August 29, 2023 at 5:57:18 PM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> On Tuesday, August 29, 2023 at 3:08:05 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> > On Tuesday, August 29, 2023 at 6:55:51 PM UTC, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > > There once was a donkey named Will,
> > > Whose words were like a bitter pill.
> > > He trolled poetry groups with his swill,
> > > And brought silence with his ill.
> > >
> > > His rhymes were cruel, devoid of grace,
> > > Leaving poets in a dismal space.
> > > With mocking words, he'd leave a trace,
> > > Of pain upon each poet's face.
> > >
> > > But little did this donkey know,
> > > That artistry would always glow.
> > > And though his trolling would bestow,
> > > His impact wouldn't always show.
> > >
> > > For poets brushed off his cruel jest,
> > > With pens held high, they'd do their best.
> > > Creating beauty to manifest,
> > > The power of words, and not ingest.
> > >
> > > With every verse they would compose,
> > > They countered Will's spiteful blows.
> > > Through rhymes of love and joy that rose,
> > > They painted pictures no one could oppose.
> > >
> > > And soon enough, the donkey's tunes,
> > > Faded away like afternoon moons.
> > > His trolling days were just balloons,
> > > Popped by the strength of poets' boons.
> > >
> > > So let us remember, my dear friend,
> > > That art will always transcend.
> > > And though Donkey Will may offend,
> > > Our rhymes and passion will never bend.
> > Unsurpassed! Lord Byron is jealous, Shelley is envious, and Keats wants to meet AI.
>
> With pens held high, they'd do their best.
> Creating beauty to manifest,
> The power of words, and not ingest.
> Has AI been reading my work? <,< >,>
> With every verse they would compose,
> They countered Will's spiteful blows.
> Through rhymes of love and joy that rose,
> Maybe not, I don't write of love and joy...

We don't write of love 'n joy, my Muse is Diabolical!
'Cause we want
'cause we need
'cause we are
desiring poetry
Now, Diabolical

Countless nights of ferocious anger
And grinding teeth
The jaw is clenched
The fuse is lit
The target locked
We want their spam dead
Their heads on our plate
They wanted war
And war they will get
Those sorry fools - they never knew and were never prepared
for the Diabolical Muse
sorry not sorry Satyricon, 'Now, Diabolical'