Here we see a less known Dutch master, / With his collar and cuffs starched as stiff as dried plaster. / But his unhousebroken dog / Left a malodorous log / On the artist’s studio floor – causing a bit of a social disaster.
The siren’s call of playing the lottery / I confess is a bit of a mystery to me. / The cry of “You must be in it to win it,” / Only proves true “There’s one born every minute,.” / Then “This way to The Egress!” (with a nod to my old chum, P.T.) 8>)
The question about theatre dear to my heart / Is does its Art imitate Life, or does Life imitate Art? / No one really knows. / A bit of both, I suppose. / But who cares when it’s curtain up for the play’s start?
The theatre is where words arise off the page / And move us to tears or laughter or rage. / And we know it’s not real! / Yet somehow we feel / Enriched and ennobled by what we see on that stage.
(And Thank you and Godspeed to Norman Jewison {1926-2024}.)
When it comes to the offense of imprecise meter, / The old Bookworm is the penultimate meter cheater. / But as the great Minnie Pearl / said, with a grin and a whirl, / “Shucks, that don’t matter. I’m just so proud to be here.” 8>)
Quite frankly it seems likely to me mes amis, / You’ve got the wrong end of the stick, you see. / It turns out that his paramour / Is in fact a Him, not a Her. / Well after all, this is Gay Paree! 8>)
But that is, after all, the notion: / For AI to attain real emotion. / It may become sentient, / able to hold a resentment, / Its feelings hurt by our critical demotion.
But why shouldn’t the maligned AI / Give painting the old college try? / What harm can it do? / But I agree with you, / The result’s an offense to the eye. ;>)
Here we see a less known Dutch master, / With his collar and cuffs starched as stiff as dried plaster. / But his unhousebroken dog / Left a malodorous log / On the artist’s studio floor – causing a bit of a social disaster.