There’s No Wrong Way to Prompt
By Ellie Brewer
Inspired by, with rhetoric from, “Prompt your way with Gemini” by Google
Enter prompt here…
Is that how it works? Am I doing AI?
Yeah, it just does whatever you type
Help me think of titles for my tell-all memoir.
Make this email sound more professional before I hit send.
What is something smart I can say about renoir?
If a girl calls me a snack, how do I reply?
What’s a good excuse for me to cancel dinner with my friends?
Yeah, that’s how it works! You’re doing AI!
You know it can do other stuff right?
Generate “original” art,
write “original” pieces,
respond to others for you,
and so much more…
Why bother trying for yourself when a machine can do it for you?
There’s no wrong way to prompt, right?
Blind Men
By Noel Warren
“Beware the blind men who clutch flowers and think it is the only beauty in the world because they can feel the petals and smell the sweet scent.”
Gold they search for and cannot find
(for you cannot seek gold if you are blind)
and they refuse to believe they cannot see;
their folly is their joy in thinking they are free.
And we, we remember those fools.
We sing our songs and indulge their rules.
In heartache we laugh because our tormentors require mirth,
whilst we sing and wonder why we let them rule this Earth.
They cannot see, though they have eyes.
Invisible to them are the nymphs and our sighs;
(around them walk myths: of muses and elves and goddesses)
they ignore the fairy lights, staying on the high road, yet laudeless.
Forget their delusions, child,
and sing for them when you pass them in the streets or the wild.
My daughters, pay the blind men no heed.
It is no use to give your heart to the not yet freed
Love never fails / a brief moment of silence after the storm
By Tessa Knutson
I rang heaven and they put me on hold
Moments later when the streetlight’s glow was dim
And down the road sounded spirits and machines
Heaven rang me back in the form of a friend
And I found that humans and angels couldn’t be so different
When the wound of the soul cried out
God answered
And God is starting to look a lot like a
Beautiful Stranger
In a desperate moment
With grieving tears flowing
Sincerely
for no clear reason
Other than their own antennae of the universe
Picking up a frequency
Of someone needing love
I’ll never regret a moment of patience
Before a brief warm light rains from the sky
Breathing as a Virtue
By Tessa Knutson
Again
Again I rise
Open up this space
For The Great Wind to blow through
There’s a thick layer of oil
A Heavy Grief
Swallowing you
For a moment
Everything is silent
And as the time piles up
The weight gets thicker
Squeezing Joy
Or filling Peace with syrup
Open
Unclench your hands
Open your chest
Let the sopping soreness
Release itself
And the tension
Slide through
Like a knife sharpening
All around
There are smells and senses
They embellish you
The dust of the earth
Seasons you
As you open space
To your humanity
“I am not worth the dust on the feet of them that hang” - John Proctor, The Crucible.
By Zariah Jean
I am not worth the dust on their feet
Nor the crumbs that descend from lying lips.
Not worth the remnants of the rich man's steak,
The few cents they round up to charity in our local food city,
I am not worth being the dust that settles around the cattles hooves-
Being the vapor that coated the western frontier in our nations longing for expansion.
So tell me now
How is it that you say I am worth the blood of a man
An innocent man
A son of a carpenter who had faith in place of his wealth,
Obedience in a state of confusion
How is it that everything thing that has beat me into this-
To dust.
that fills my vision,
Fills my lungs,
Reminds me that from dust we were made
To dust
Will it all return.
How could I ever forget that
If it was not for the shovel of loving hands, I would stir restlessly forever.
How is it that I- filthy me- and the entirety of my being
Is now
clean
Purified
filth far removed as the east is from the west
From the sun to the forgotten dwarf pluto
how could I be worthy of the kings blood
drawn from brutal strikings
For you
For me
When still
I am not worth the dust on the feet of those who hang.
The Man of the Rock
By Margo Windemuller
Inspired by my own original painting, titled ‘The Man of the Rock’
Painting not included because I would have exceeded the three work submission limit
Far out upon the main,
The Man of the Rock is waiting.
Indeed, a box seat for World's greatest comedy:
Shrieking currents and howling crashes thrash,
Pressing on the Rock, shredding his shins.
Yet no trace of rusted lifeblood flow,
And though he chips, he does not shatter;
And though he weakens, he does not fall.
In the blue chaos beyond,
The Man of the Rock is waiting.
Windfall slings blades at leathery hands,
In a desperate clawing at the wooden staff in grip,
Yet the Rock isn’t to be had, firm and steady in the hate.
But where is the promise of the coming Word of light,
Who will strike down the briny dark of the deep?
Out in the terror of the seas,
A man on a rock sits;
waiting.
Impression, Sunrise - The Hope for Opportunity
By Anabelle Osborn
Sweet serenity on the open sea,
The vast expansion of endless opportunities,
The sun rises upon a new day, new experiences, new possibilities, old hope.
The sun beams reflect on the sea and shine an optimistic array of vibrant oranges,
My journey awaits me, I can barely wait,
My hope was almost gone, but now it’s alive like the waves that guide my boat,
To a new place beyond my humdrum life here,
I look ahead at the infinite sea, yet turn back to shore,
My little fish boat won’t take me far.
Calumny
By Anabelle Osborn
The ones who speak truth are prone to calumny,
The unrighteous spread malicious rumors about the righteous,
Reputations and lives are damaged by the false accusations of insecure and fearful people.
We misrepresent others to tear them down,
But all it does is expose our own insecurities and flaws.
These calumnies don’t have any power over the high-minded,
Our judgment comes from the One who sees you for you rather than your worldly, corrupted
reputation.
Let those who preach calumny preach,
Their judgment will come one day,
They only condemn themselves with their hypocritical blasphemy.
Big Picture
By Dillen Foster
I struggle to see the details.
Of people, of things, of ideas
Instead, I see the big picture.
I see where I am now.
Driving, talking, reading, writing, laughing,
And I see the end of it.
I see that I will drive to my destination
And return from whence I came.
I see that I will laugh and grasp for air,
And move on with my day.
I see the actions of someone,
And see the consequences of the consequences.
I see the sun rise and set, just for it to repeat,
Rise and set and rise and set and rise and set,
Until it eventually explodes.
And I see the big picture of people.
I see them mess up, and fix it
Or mess up and leave it in pieces.
I see them go home to a cat or family or no-one,
And go to sleep and hit restart on their “new day”.
I see them love and hate and cry and laugh,
Only for all of them to end up in the same grave.
I see the big picture.
Not the details, until someone shows me.
And the details, they confuse me.
I hear of Saturday get togethers filled with activity,
And I hear how amazing it was and of all the memories made,
And I am confused. The good time ended; those memories will fade.
I hear of what happens before dances; makeup and dresses and hair
And I hear how fun it was, being surrounded by others as they complete this,
And I am lost. It’s only preparation; how does a few others make the difference?
I hear of football games, of hangouts, of concerts and college and all other small ‘big things’,
And I just don’t get it.
How? How do such small things matter so much? How can so much joy come from something our brains will inevitably deem irrelevant and delete? How does the cumulation of these parts come short of the sum? How?
I see the big picture, through a telescope of sorts
I am uncomfortable with microscopes. They seem too small.
How, when you look at the stars for so long, do you learn to love something so seemingly miniscule?
Mize Well Take The Stairs
By Mr. Davick
Chorus
There is one thing I know
The elevator's slow
It makes me wonder
Puts me in a sunder
When life ain't fair
Should I take the stairs
The stairs the stairs should I take the stairs
When life ain't fair I should just take the stairs.
Three buses rolling down the interstate way, taking us south we trekked all day. Palm trees,
horses and lots of golf courses we are traveling south gettin a little testie but we don't care
cause we’re traveling with our besties. Bucces for lunch or maybe it’s brunch, nowhere to sit we
sat in the ground then loaded back up... Florida we're bound!
Chorus
Rollin in the hotel about 6 or 7 but didn't go to bed till quarter to 11. We were having so much fun
we were ready for some sun, but didn't know yet the elevators we'd regret. With a door so slow
it was hard to wait, we didn't know if we should take the bait. The stairs, some people said, cuz
they couldn't wait to get to their bed.
Chorus
Breakfast was fine but not so many choices. Hard boiled eggs and some toast and muffins.
The waffles were fluffy with syrup and butter but we all got shaken when we realized.... there
wasn't any bacon. Bacon and sausage would hit the spot, settled for yogurt and rotten bananas
praying that God would send some manna.
Chorus
Church with my homies in downtown Orlando the drummer in a cage because he was the rage.
Lunch at the mall we were so glad there wasn't a brawl. We searched the mall with phones and
friends, searching every store on the map, but we're all disappointed we didn't find a Gap.
Chorus
Disney spring was a hit cuz we got to check our fit. Legos for daze seemed to be the craze.
Cruisin and bruisin through the crowds we went, bustlin and hustlin for food and fun, we stayed
on task and some found some masks. Back to the bus at the end of the night, some had to run
cause they didn't keep the time.
Chorus
We walked and talked all through the parks, we spent so much money and made our marks. We
saw lots of characters and took our selfies, rode the rides and some got kind of fried. Hagrids
had a line and kept brakin down, we didn't care and we didn't fear cuz we were all strung out on
butter beer.
Chorus
It came to an end, and we were back on the road ready for home and a little break. Trusting
God for our future, we don’t really care about that Act score, even if it was barely a 4. God is the
one we trust and love, he has a plan and will lead us on.
Chorus
It couldn't have worked with out Ms Piersant but I can't wait to get home to eat a bacon egg and
cheese croissant. Bye bye trip you have been too good, I am ready to go home and get so
clean then get ready for May 16!
Freshman Year
By Jura Godwin-Smith
It's a quiet year
No drama I'm involved in
Not many friends
But ones I have, I admire
I keep to myself
My old schools are different from here
They were like the eye of the storm
Buzzing wildly like hornets
Stinging those they don't like
And moving on to the next
Odd, isn't it?
No one has looked at me funny yet
And something in me expects them too
But they don't
It's peaceful here
And a quiet year.
Sea of Me
Keira Shreeves
01 Sandhill Crane, 02 Sandhill Crane
Margo Windemuller
Untitled 2, Untitled 3 , Untitled 4, Untitled 5
By Julia Collier
Untitled 7, Untitled 8, Untitled 10
By Hudson Cook
Snow-Clad Travelers, I'd Rather Be a Cow in Switzerland, “How much you wanna make a bet I can throw a football over them mountains?”, Do You Hear the People Sing?, Are You There, God? It's Me, John
By Andrew Womack
Invincible
By Zariah Jean
Ori + Co
By James Osborn
