Angele Toomey Poetry

According to GTPZero, you should probably avoid reading today’s poem if you want to ensure you have only human generated poetry in your life. According to the GTPZero assessment, there is a moderate likelihood (50% chance) that the poem was AI generated.

I wrote the poem in very early January 2023, and it’s been in my drafts folder all year! It was around New Year so about 2 weeks before I had even heard of ChatGPT. I guess the lesson is that AI generated stuff can be problematic for the arts, but let’s also be cautious about the accuracy of those who ‘cry wolf’.

Anyway, so here I present for your reading pleasure, or not, my three part ballad to the apple. Which is as stupid as it sounds!

Apples - Part I
Apples, oh apples,
So round and so red,
The fruit of the tree,
That grows from the seed.

Your skin is so smooth,
Your flesh so sweet,
A treat for the senses,
A sweet, juicy treat.

You grow in the orchard,
On trees tall and grand,
A symbol of plenty,
A fruit from the land.

You come in so many varieties,
Red, green, or yellow,
Each one with its own flavor,
A fruit that is mellow.

You're a fruit that is versatile,
You can be baked or fried,
You can be eaten on your own,
Or used to make a pie.

So here's to the apple,
A fruit that is true,
A symbol of goodness,
Red, ripe, and fresh, too.

Apples - Part II
Apples, oh apples,
So round and so red,
A symbol of poison,
A fruit of the dead.

You tempt us with sweetness,
But danger lurks within,
For you are the fruit,
That tricked Eve into 'sin'.

You grow on the tree
Of knowledge and shame,
A reminder of choices,
That led to our blame.

We see your seeds like snake-eyes,
And still decide to make cider,
A symbol of rebellion,
A fruit that's a liar.

Venerable and versatile,
You can be baked or fried,
But beware of your power,
For you can't be denied.

So here's to the apple,
A fruit that is bold,
A symbol of temptation,
A story often retold.

Apples - Part III
Apples, oh apples,
So round and so red,
A fruit that's so silly,
It's almost absurd.

You're the butt of the joke,
In so many a pun, you are no introvert
You make us all laugh,
Until our sides ache, our stomachs hurt.

You're the gift to the teacher,
In every school play,
You're the punchline of jokes,
That never get old or go away.

You're the prescription of the doctor,
In every cartoon,
You're the object of humour,
In every cartoon's buffoon.

But despite all the jokes,
We still love you, apple,
For you're a fruit that's so versatile,
And oh so very adaptable.

So here's to the apple,
A fruit that's a hoot,
A symbol of laughter,
And endless silly fruit.