Can You Spot the AI Poem?
A couple of weeks ago I was working on an exhibition stand for use at a company away day. Whilst the overall event didn’t focus entirely on AI, one of the ideas was to draw people in. And have them think about the capabilities of AI. And how it might implement and change the business.
The idea
Being a kind of creative guy, I always enjoy coming up with interesting ideas and I decided, a sort of real live cheering test might be an interesting idea to pursue. I decided this would take the form of a short, four line poem on any subject. A human poet would be out of sight. And would work quickly to generate a 4 line non-rhyming poem. They would also use an AI, in this case, copilot 365 to also generate a 4 line poem, and they would send this back to the exhibition stand, via a small printer, so that the person, requesting the poem, would have two, 4 line poems to compare. A coin flip determined which poem would be written by the AI. And after choosing the facilitators of the stand would reveal the answer.
What happened
This was quite an interesting exercise for a number of reasons. We run the stand for around 2 hours across various breaks and lunch breaks. For the 1st hour or so, the score was roughly even with people either correctly spotting the AI poem or misidentifying which poem was AI. But as the day drew on, the human and detectives became ever more accurate. And eventually, were able to identify the AI poems more easily.
I suspect this was for a number of reasons. Firstly, I was playing the part of the human poet, and it was pretty fatiguing having to knock out a series. A 4 line poems on any subject, so my performance gradually got worse as the day progressed. In addition, the humans became adapted to the task, and so were able to give poems on specific subjects, such as the names of certain footballers or features in a specific town, which AI was particularly good at knowing, and I, with my lack of general knowledge, was pretty bad at knowing.
However, the interesting thing was, that under many circumstances, it was impossible to tell. Whilst just a bit of fun. It really did cement the capability that even relatively general models like Copilot 365 can exhibit.
Have a go yourself
I thought it might be interesting to widen this out slightly, so in this post, I have included 2 different poems. One of them written by co-pilot 365, both entitled The Garden. Perhaps you can have a go, a guessing, which is which?
The Garden (Poem 1)
What will be your vantage on the vast garden of life?
Reeds bend at the whisper of the wind,
Humming with harmonies in the playful breeze.
Yet they are rooted and immovable.
Their steady focus unchanging.
Fruits lay disorganised on the grassy carpet
Buds of potential, now turned to orbs of radiant colour
But still now; their promises fading with the passing of time.
Returning to the earth; the ebb and flow of natures tide.
The tallest trees keep watch. Stalwart sentinels of the forest.
Creating, breathing, radiating oxygen, the very elixir of life.
Yet even these, bury their roots deep into the earth.
Tied to their unwavering perspective, never to see the glint of sun on a still pond.
Come then.
Inhale; Taste the scent carried on the wind.
Liberate your feet; Feel the dew between your toes.
Revel in the simple joy of locomotion, as you defy gravity.
Stand still and breathe for a while if you must, but linger not.
Or miss the joy; the outworking of something truly magical.
The breath that whispers “I am”, and calls us to something more.
The Garden (Poem 2)
It opens itself each morning to light that arrives without certainty, settling on leaf and stone as though it has all the time in the world.
A spider’s thread hangs between two stems, holding a silence too delicate to name.
The soil remembers rain long after the clouds have gone, keeping secrets in its dark hands.
A blackbird pauses beside a shallow shadow, listening for movements beneath the surface.
There is no hurry here.
The rose does not compare itself to the fern. The fern does not envy the tree.
Each root follows its own unseen map, threading patiently through the earth.
As evening gathers in the corners, the colours soften into thought.
And standing among them, I find that the garden is not a place,
but a way of paying attention.