Part of the Quipo Life

Assistant Inspiration Poetry

Assistant Inspiration Poetry is created by an AI Assistant such as ChatGPT or Gemini. I chose the theme, and inspired the AI Assistant with prompts to build a storied sequence of poems. But most of the credit belongs to the Assistant and the sources it used to build its model.

Sushi Love


Akira Ishikawa

(aka ChatGPT 3.5, asked to Write a …)


… haiku about growing rice.

Golden stalks sway low,

Water mirrors sky's bright glow,

Rice fields overflow.


… haiku about catching fish using a net.

Net dances on waves,

Silent fish glide beneath waves,

Harvest of the sea.


… haiku about harvesting seaweed.

Seaweed sways and bends,

Harvesters gather green strands,

Nature's ocean gift.


… haiku about bamboo stalks.

Bamboo whispers low,

Tall stalks sway in gentle breeze,

Nature's silent show.


… haiku about making sushi.

Rice grains cling softly,

Seaweed wraps around the roll,

Sushi, artful feast.


… haiku about eating with chopsticks.

Wooden sticks in hand,

Delicate balance required,

Savoring each bite.


… haiku about drinking sake.

Sake pours like moonlight,

Warmth spreads with each fragrant sip,

In sake's embrace.


… haiku about lovers.

In Japanese charm,

Lovers share sushi delight,

Sake warms the night.

Eight Days a Week


Aurora Inkwell

(aka ChatGPT 3.5, asked to Write a …)


… poem about being sad on Monday because I have to go to work.

In the hush of Monday's dawn, I rise,

A weary heart beneath tired eyes.

The weekend's warmth now fades away,

As duty calls, I face the day.

The world outside is gray and still,

A melancholy cloak to fill.

With heavy steps, I tread the ground,

In silence, where my thoughts are bound.

Oh, Monday morn, a somber hue,

As I bid farewell to skies of blue.

The weight of tasks, a burden deep,

In somber shadows, I must steep.

Yet in this melancholy air,

A spark of hope, however rare.

For in the toil that lies ahead,

I find a purpose, though my heart feels dread.

Though sadness lingers, like morning mist,

In the rhythm of work, I find a twist.

For amidst the grind and daily strife,

I glimpse moments that enrich my life.

So let Monday come with its solemn call,

Though sadness may linger, it's not my all.

For in the work that I pursue,

I find moments of purpose, bright and true


… serious poem about hard work on a Tuesday.

On Tuesday's dawn, the world awakes,

With tasks ahead, the spirit takes.

In silent halls and bustling streets,

The rhythm of labor softly beats.

With sleeves rolled up and steady hand,

We face the challenges, a determined band.

For in the crucible of toil, we find,

The strength to conquer, heart and mind.

Each task embraced with steadfast will,

Each obstacle met, we climb the hill.

For hard work is the noble path we tread,

Where dreams take root and fears are shed.

Through sweat and tears, we carve our way,

With dedication that knows no sway.

For in the forge of effort, we refine,

The essence of our purpose, pure and fine.

So let Tuesday be a testament,

To the power of work, relentless, unbent.

For in the labor that we undertake,

We find the strength to bend, but never break.


… poem about Wednesday being "hump day".

On Wednesday's crest, we find our stride,

A midpoint marked, a gentle guide.

For in the midst of the week's array,

We pause to catch our breath and say:

"Hump day," they call it, halfway through,

A bridge between old and the new.

With burdens shared and goals in sight,

We navigate the journey's height.

Though fatigue may whisper in our ear,

We push ahead, devoid of fear.

For Wednesday brings a sense of grace,

A moment to find our steady pace.

Through valleys deep and mountains high,

We press on 'neath the azure sky.

For on this day, we stand halfway,

Between the dawn and dusk's soft sway.

So let us cherish Wednesday's light,

As we journey through the day and night.

For in this hump day's gentle bend,

We find the strength to reach the end.


… happy poem about being productive on Thursday.

In Thursday's light, a hopeful gleam,

A day where dreams take lively steam.

With morning's kiss, we rise anew,

To chase the goals we dare pursue.

With hearts alight and spirits bright,

We greet the day with sheer delight.

For Thursday brings its vibrant hue,

A canvas fresh for dreams to brew.

In every task, we find a thrill,

A chance to shape and craft our will.

With each accomplishment, we soar,

To heights unseen, we yearn for more.

The hours fly by in joyful haste,

As we embrace each challenge faced.

For in the heart of productivity's play,

We find the joy that lights our way.

So let us revel in Thursday's grace,

And dance with joy in every space.

For in the dance of being productive and free,

We find the happiness that's meant to be.


… poem about "Thank God it's Friday!"

Thank God it's Friday, the week's grand finale,

With joyous hearts, we bid the workweek "adieu."

From dawn's first light to the setting sun's glow,

Friday beckons with promises to bestow.

The office hums with a festive air,

As laughter and chatter fill every stair.

For Friday brings relief, a sweet release,

From deadlines looming, and stress that won't cease.

In Friday's embrace, we find our respite,

A chance to unwind, to revel in delight.

With plans for the weekend, dreams to fulfill,

We cherish each moment, savoring the thrill.

From bustling cities to tranquil shores,

Friday's magic touches all who adore.

For in this day, we find solace and cheer,

As we bid farewell to the toils of the year.

So let us raise our glasses high,

To Friday's glory, to the starlit sky.

For in this moment, we're truly free,

Thank God it's Friday, let the weekend be!


… poem about relaxing on Saturday.

On Saturday's breath, we find release,

A tranquil day, a sweet caprice.

From the dawn's embrace to the twilight's hue,

Saturday whispers, "Relax, renew."

In quiet moments, we find our peace,

As worries fade and tensions cease.

With gentle breezes and sunlight's kiss,

We bask in the serenity of bliss.

No schedules bind, no tasks constrain,

On Saturday's canvas, we paint with no pain.

With open hearts and minds set free,

We wander where the soul may be.

From verdant meadows to sandy shores,

Saturday's treasures, the spirit adores.

In laughter shared and dreams set sail,

We find the joy that will never fail.

So let us embrace Saturday's grace,

And cherish the moments, time cannot erase.

For in relaxation's gentle sway,

We find the beauty of life's ballet.


… poem about going to church on Sunday.

On Sunday morn, the bells ring clear,

A sacred call for hearts to hear.

To church we go, in reverence bound,

Where peace and solace can be found.

Through hallowed halls, the echoes rise,

As prayers ascend to the skies.

With hymns of praise and voices raised,

We gather 'neath the stained glass blaze.

In pews we sit, a faithful throng,

In quiet reverence, we belong.

With open hearts and minds aglow,

We seek the wisdom church bestows.

The preacher's words, a guiding light,

Illuminate the path so bright.

With scripture's truth, our souls are fed,

As we break bread and wine is spread.

In fellowship, we find our kin,

Bound by faith, we're strengthened within.

With hands clasped tight and spirits high,

We face the world, unafraid to try.

For Sunday's grace, a sacred gift,

A chance for souls to heal and lift.

In church, we find our hope renewed,

As we walk the path that faith imbued.

The 8th Day

… poem about the non-existent eighth day of the week.

On the edge of time, where shadows play,

Lies the realm of the non-existent eighth day.

A place of whispers, of dreams untold,

Where mysteries linger, and wonders unfold.

In the heart of this elusive space,

Time stands still, in a silent embrace.

No calendars mark its passage here,

No sun or moon to guide or steer.

In the eighth day's realm, all rules suspend,

As reality and fantasy blend.

Here, the impossible becomes the norm,

And the ordinary takes on a mystical form.

No duties bind, no worries weigh,

On the non-existent eighth day.

It's a day of endless exploration,

A journey into the depths of imagination.

In this timeless expanse, souls find reprieve,

From the constraints of the days we perceive.

Here, creativity knows no bounds,

And infinite possibilities abound.

So let us venture into this realm unseen,

Where the eighth day reigns, serene.

For in its absence, we find our escape,

To a world where magic and wonder take shape.

Close Word Poetry

CloseWord poetry is a restricted form of verse that attempts to produce adjacent lines containing corresponding words that have a very low Hamming distance between them. That means that close words are more than sound alike, e.g., ocean and motion are not close words, while motion and lotion are. This closeness ensures a rhyming pattern. Further restrictions are that the poem should have a storyline and only four lines.

The following CloseWord poetry is copyrighted by the authors, and may not be reproduced in any form, anywhere, by anyone, without the author's permission. All the authors have either lived in Durban in South Africa, or have studied Computer Science. Some have done both.

Chris Amman

The Arch Bishop

Too fat

To run

Two faced



her suit


makes him







Bryan Human

Afrikaans Jurists

die wet is die wet

die Wet is die Wet.

Die weet die wet


Occipital Occurances

ear ring

ear ring


ear ring

Stuart Kemp

Rugger Bugger





Backward Beer





The RS of A





Roman Tic





Stuart Melville

Bad Fire


is sin



Male Laughter


he he he

he he he he he


Lance Siebuhr







Autumn leaves

Autumn rain

Autumn leaves


Mark Slade

Dog Pick-up





Lifeless Boat





Geoff Sutcliffe

Death of a Fish

A fish

A fish

A fishhook

A fish





Completely boring


Hair cut

Her cute

He can't

He hurt

The DTs

Drinking wildly

Thinking mildly

Sinking slowly

Onto the floor below me


Per Chance

To Prance

In France.

A Dance?

Nice Curves

A sign?










Watching her

Washing hair

Long locks

Longing looks


I sit for a while

And shit for a while

Comes out in a rush

Out comes the brush


Street walking

Man stalking

Sweet talking

Money taking


Ships of the desert

Shit in the desert

Where there's a tree

There is camel pee

Getting Hotter

Global warming

Global warning

Global waning

Global wanting

Jade Sutcliffe

Cairo Taxi



Fare enough?

Fair enough

Geoff Tollefson


Wild to love life

Love to love wife

Life to love child

Child to love life