ChatGPT thinks that your poem is "quite complex and deep" but it's managed to improve it nonetheless:

A green cosmos, at quite a thrilling speed
With sudden rain, it plants a novel seed.
Investor's luck, on a peculiar stance
Filling pockets, taking a risk on chance.

In warm plateaus where sweet airs rove
Fruitful promises in the orchard grove
But I faltered, lost in past's sweet charm
Toffee-apples, TV, in memory's warm.

In wool jerseys, to the meadow, we flew
Autumn's revelry dispelling the dew
Memories planted of laughter and cost
And the abrupt feeling of something lost.

Raise the anchor, Hamish, my dear friend
Off to adventures, where stories blend
In the cosmic ship, with the twinkling stars
We explore our universe, Venus and Mars.


I know we must abide
each by the rules that bind us here:
and the divers, and the sailors, and the
women on the pier.
But how do you choose your form?
How do you choose your name? How do you
choose your life?
How do you choose the time you must
and kick, and rise?


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got a book coming out in 2 weeks called bicester village and another one coming out in 4 and a half weeks called english tailoring


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the first one is. we've taken ages putting it out cos we couldn't make the cover look good with writing on it so we're doing it without writing on it

Benny Bunter

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Yeah I was wondering about it the other day, Sufi said he would send me a copy ages ago. What's the other one like?


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brilliant. really exquisite small pieces very finely tailored. no one else could do such fine and delicate work.

Benny Bunter

Well-known member
Ah good. Tbh I never got round to rereading your first book since I first got it just cos they're all so long. That's not to say they're not great, just it's a bit of a commitment to get started on them. Be good to see some shorter more refined ones.


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saw ben mendehlson today holding hands with a very young laydee. he pointed at me and told her he'd got a poem once. i didnt recognise him someone else told me it was him


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i did a talk on 'overthinking' for a design agency last week. they had a film crew filming it. not seen the film yet hopefully i dont look too weird. do you want to read it? no? ok i'll post it anyway.


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i wrote it 15 minutes before i had to leave the house so as not to overthink it but i think it's still pretty decent.

I tend not to think. Once I realised It was keeping me up at night I stopped and life has been a great deal simpler ever since. When working, thought is a hindrance. It slows me down. It presents me with options, and options need consideration and the flow is broken and momentum is lost, thought being branching pathways, and multiple possibilities, questioning and probing and doubling back. What I aim at is the maintenance of a speed fast enough that no options present themselves and consequently, no choices have to be made. A single direction, onwards, upon the only possible path, and one foot in front of the other.

It is something of a gamble, or an act of faith, in that we have to trust the next word will be available when we need it, arriving just in the nick of time. And in truth, this is precisely what we do in conversation, without forethought, the words tumble from the mouth, without premeditation,

there when we need them. This spontaneaity allows us to surprise ourselves, to reach a destination we hadn’t been aware of setting out for, to discover a new image, or a new idea, or to articulate a feeling we hadn’t realised was inhabiting us. We very often don’t know what we think, or what we feel, or even what we know, until the words give a shape to it, externalise it and set it down for us. At that point it becomes real and objective. We are able, working in this way, with the attention poised, to speak what was hitherto unconscious within us. It allows us to give expression to the forces that converge upon us, that act within us and act upon us from outside ourselves ‘

not searching for what is eternally true, true for all time and across times, not chiselled into stone or engraved in metal, but written upon the water and carried in the wind

seeking a fidelity to the moment, working with the energies available to us, and sensitive to change, to what rises up in us, what nudges at us, and gnaws at us, each fluctuation of desire, each gust and flurry, dart and drift and lull, squall and cross-wind, pressure and temperature

our changing faces, the condition of lung and gut, the local mood-colouration, what is at the forefront of the mind, and what is further back, in the obscurity of the dark

working with the exigencies of place, the influence of the surroundings, the light, the air, the landscape or the room, the configurations of star and planet and fortune, the press of people about us, their preconceptions and their desires, and our own response to these things, our own shrinking back or pushing forward, our own contractions and expansions

working with the materials we have at hand, and accepting what we are given, so that if we don’t access, as we very often don’t, an ease and assurance of flow, we can make a virtue of

what is snarled and tangled and turbid

even what is hesitant and uncertain, what is timid and needs coaxing without affecting a suavity we do not feel

but always speaking what is there, at the moment it becomes conscious

just as good communication depends upon this act of hygiene, saying, I feel this way, I sense this, I want this, I fear this,

knowing that if we wait too long, what was true, is now false, the local conditions have changed, the sun has gone behind a cloud, and the heat gone from the moment, the words turn to ashes in the mouth.