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AI is the future

I've always admired the skill of Brian Bilston poem Refugees, which gives a reversed interpretation of its message when you read the lines in reverse order.  I've often mulled over the prospect of doing it myself, but found it far too hard. It is incredibly hard to make it flow, but I think I may be nearly there. No AI was used in the creation of this poem.  AI is the future These clever men have done it! AI has been given all the power it needs - Accurate answers take mere moments! Human error is a thing of the past! When intelligence is seen as electrical impulses  The bounds of possibility are infinite Without mellinnia of scruples to hold AI back. To be free from the drudgery of mindless repetition, To be free of the mundane, To see themselves as cats, as superheroes, as saviours, To reap the rewards of being the best, These clever men wanted it all. In the race to be the first, Each agent has been gifted the power  Over systems for human safety, weapon deli...
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Making a home

I'd been mulling this over for a few days, then something clicked on my way to visit my son and grandchildren.  It's annoying when phrases come to you when you're driving along a busy A road, but fortunately they are used to me scribbling notes frantically after I've parked, and during conversations!  Making a Home The fair haired girl has waited through rounds of dates, the passing of chocolates and nuts, while aunts and uncles exclaim over sets of Avon talc and soap, socks and ties,  until - at last - it's time for her parcel to be pulled from beneath the tree.  The colourful wrapping -  sealed with care in the dead of night scant hours before - rips open, falls to the floor: "I got Lego!" Her excitement caught on cine will make the family laugh for decades to come. Her dad shows her how to build a house overlapping the bricks for strength saving smaller ones to fit round the window frames, how to overlap the sloping roof tiles.  No one can know the hund...
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Je voudrais des timbres, s'il vous plait

I've always been better at French in my head - I can make a good stab at understanding it, and can form a coherent conversation right up until the time it comes to actually open my mouth.  At this point all communication seems to break down.  This hasn't been helped by the attitude of certain individuals I've met on my travels!  Je voudrais des timbres, s'il vous plait My hesitant French teeters on high heels Into a sudden lull at the post office.  "Quoi?" shrugs itself out of the bored cashier, Reluctant to keep my words company.  I repeat the phrase, with even less confidence, And it ricks its ankle in shame.  "Pour Angletterre?" I take a small step forward, Panicked at the distance opening up between us.  "Oh, English! Tenez." And just like that,  Without any need to click my heels, I vanish.  © Copyright 2026. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved
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What are you doing, Granny?

I love the peace and quiet of a relaxing holiday, but always miss my grandchildren. Having said that, they take a bit of getting used to when I get back!  What are you doing, Granny?  Just let me sit for five minutes to do this sudoku!  I'm taking time out from the noise, the chaos Of much loved grandchildren. The same grandchildren, that for four straight weeks I've thought about fondly, bragged about, Bought puffin-patterned socks for, Picked special stones up off the ground for, Was so pleased to see, a few short hours ago.  Just give me space To fill in nine-numbered boxes, Restore order to my thoughts, And I'll be back - with a smile And a hug all round.  © Copyright 2026. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved
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On the bank

Phil is doing well at the fishing festival, despite the downpours today.  As luck would have it, his peg was 20 yards from where I was sitting outside the caravan when it came time for his catch to be weighed in.   On the Bank voices drift over the hedge: friendly rivalries fuel the banter, soften the reckoning of the scales.  each net hauled from the lake offered up for judgement: "two hundred, easy". enough to win the section, maybe win the lake; enough to move him up the league, to win the approbation of the crowd. © Copyright 2026. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved.
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The wind is a fractious child

We're in the Midlands at a fishing festival.  At least, my husband is at the festival. I'm enjoying the warmth of late summer, reading, writing, sharing poems.   The wind chases across the surface of the lake, Dances through the forgiving willows' branches, Lifts the corner of my page, Steals the warmth from my skin.  The wind is a fractious child, Demanding full attention Before moving on to the next thing.  © Copyright 2026. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved.
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Shetland

Our final stop on the Iceland cruise was Lerwick in the Shetland Isles.  I was keen to explore these islands, made familiar from watching the TV series Shetland, and took the obligatory photo of the house where Jimmy Perez lives. But sadly, Douglas Henshall was nowhere to be seen.   Shetland I thank this old fisherman's family For setting a memorial bench at Eshaness, Where I rest, whipped by a wind Screaming fresh off the Atlantic, Watching kittiwakes ride its currents Above iron-stained sea stacks, And lulled by the music of the sea.  © Copyright 2026. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved.
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