Hi Guys thought you might like to see this. I asked the GPT chat Bot to write a poem about WOFF.....

"Wings Over Flanders Fields":

Through the clouds they soar,
With courage to the fore,
Their engines roar,
Wings Over Flanders Fields.

Brave pilots take to the sky,
With steely grit in their eye,
They fight, they fly,
Wings Over Flanders Fields.

Amidst the smoke and haze,
They navigate the maze,
In a deadly ballet of aerial craze,
Wings Over Flanders Fields.

Their wings of honor shine,
As they defend the line,
Against a formidable foe malign,
Wings Over Flanders Fields.

They pay the price so high,
For freedom's endless sky,
With valor that will never die,
Wings Over Flanders Fields.

In memory we hold,
Their stories, brave and bold,
Of battles fought, and tales untold,
Wings Over Flanders Fields.

So let us remember, with reverence and awe,
The pilots who answered the call,
Their legacy, forever enthrall,
Wings Over Flanders Fields.

A previous attempt was probably better...

I had to coach it a tiny bit it came up with wings of steel, so I mentioned
Wood and linen.


Wings over Flanders Fields, of wood and linen made,
In biplanes and triplanes, they braved the raid,
With open cockpits and engines that hum,
They took to the skies, where battles were won.

Their wings of wood, a fragile frame,
Covered in linen, a canvas flame,
In doped fabric, they soared with grace,
Navigating the skies, in that perilous place.

Above the fields, once peaceful and serene,
Now marred by war, a ghastly scene,
But through the clouds, they climbed so high,
With courage and skill, they touched the sky.

In Wings over Flanders Fields, they took to flight,
With goggles on, and all their might,
The wind in their hair, the thrill of the chase,
As they sought the enemy, in that vast space.

Dogfights in the clouds, a dance in the air,
With loops and rolls, they showed their flair,
Maneuvering their planes, with expert hands,
Dodging bullets, in daring demands.

Through rain and fog, and misty haze,
They braved the elements, in hazardous days,
Their wings of wood, their canvas shield,
As they fought with valor, on the battlefield.

In the Great War's skies, they risked it all,
Their camaraderie, standing tall,
For in the face of danger, they stood as one,
United in purpose, until the battle was done.

So let us remember, those aviators brave,
Whose wings of wood, their lives did pave,
In Wings over Flanders Fields, their legacy lives,
As heroes of the sky, who still inspire.

BRAVO! : : :

Pretty amazing. Now if you could just get it to write code.

I love it! Any chance it can convert CSF3 to be multi-core aware? haha.

Yeah one day I am sure it will be able to write whole games.

Have it work on the port to a new engine!

but surely someone will then suggest that after multi-core aware, it will move on to "self-aware". and then, ....

also, I'm not at all poetically inclined, so is there a reason why the last two lines of the last, um, verse? paragraph? don't rhyme like in the others parts? just being a bit nit-picky here.

ME: ChatGPT, write a WWI flight simulator more comprehensive and historically accurate than Wings Over Flanders Fields: Between Heaven & Hell II and it's expansions.

ChatGPT: Ask me something more plausible, like how to end world hunger or poverty.

loftyc self aware I think it already seems to be so! I told it about the bad last line rhyme and it politely agreed and corrected it, but also changed a few more lines - I just have too many versions to post


LOL Hellshade - very smart AI It's getting kind of cocky too though

Sure you did. THIS IS YOUR OWN WORK INNIT ! Very cunning Polovski.

I wish, although if I'd have said write it in the style of Polovski it may have lowered the quality somewhat. The cat sat on the mat...

OK here's the final one after it corrected the last rhyme:

GPT Chat: You're right! My apologies for the oversight. Here's a revised version of the poem with a rhyming last line:

Wings over Flanders Fields, of wood and canvas made,
In biplanes and triplanes, they braved the raid,
With open cockpits and engines that hum,
They took to the skies, where battles were won.

Their wings of wood, though fairly flimsy made,
Covered in canvas, with fabric fray'd,
In doped linens, they soared with grace,
Navigating the skies, in that perilous place.

Above the fields, once peaceful and serene,
Now marred by war, a ghastly scene,
But through the clouds, they climbed so high,
With courage and skill, they touched the sky.

In Wings over Flanders Fields, they took to flight,
With goggles on, and all their might,
The wind in their hair, the thrill of the chase,
As they sought the enemy, in that vast space.

Dogfights in the clouds, a dance in the air,
With loops and rolls, they showed their flair,
Maneuvering their planes, with expert hands,
Dodging bullets, in daring demands.

Through rain and fog, and misty haze,
They braved the elements, in hazardous days,
Their wings of wood, their canvas frail,
As they fought with valor, on the battlefield.

In the Great War's skies, they risked it all,
Their camaraderie, standing tall,
For in the face of danger, they stood as one,
United in purpose, until the battle was done.

So let us remember, those aviators brave,
Whose wings of wood, and canvas pave,
In Wings over Flanders Fields, their legacy thrives,
As heroes of the sky, who still inspire with their lives.

Gods Below! It's come to this at last. Fascinating. Disturbing. Intriguing on a profound and visceral level.



A more useful comment? It must be utterly destroyed before it consumes us all. Delenda est Carthago

As for the actual effort by Chat GPT, there's work to do yet before the Vogon poets are threatened.

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If this is the future of creative writing, poetry and prose, much like the borogoves, will be all mimsy.

Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

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I offer this ode to our beloved sim in response, NOT written by AI. (blatant plagiarism of Kipling to be sure, but then I only steal from the best)


There's a Legion that never was listed,
That carries no colours or crest,
And it serves in such barmy detachments,
That it's poor understood by the rest.
Our forebeares they left us their blessing,
They taught us, and groomed us, and crammed;
But we've shaken the ancient few pixels
To go and find out and be damned,
Dear lads!
To go and get shot and be damned.

So some of us fly for the Kaiser,
And some of us soar for the King,
And some rise up for La Marseillaise,
And some for old Sam take to wing:
And some of us drift up to Ypers,
And some drift across to the Somme,
And some share our tucker in Soissons,
And some at St. Mihiel do bomb,
Dear lads!
At St. Mihiel get giddy and bomb.

We've painted old Flanders vermilion,
We've washed the old Alsace in red,
We've shouted on simulat battle,
We've flown until we were dead;
We've laughed at the world as we found it,
From high in the spurious air,
From Zeebrugge on down to Mulhausen
We've battled with nary a care,
Dear lads!
We've flown with nary a care.

The damned depths of Hell were our portion,
And Heaven at large was our share.
There was never a skirmish too windward
But the Virtual Legion was there:
Yes, somehow and somewhere and always
We were first when the trouble began,
From a recce flight over old Lille,
To a dogfight on high over Thann,
Dear lads!
We mounted and fought over Thann.

We preach in advance of the Army,
We skirmish ahead of the Crowds,
With never a general to help us
When we're dying above in the clouds.
But we know as the cartridges finish,
And we're filed on our last little shelves,
That the Legion that never was listed
Will send barmy ones as ourselves,
Good men!
Hundreds barmy, just as ourselves!

Then a health (we must drink it in whispers),
To our wholly unauthorized horde,
To the line of our dusty foreloopers,
The RB3D'ers adored.
Yes, a health to ourselves ere we scatter,
For flight simmers won't wait for the train,
And the Legion that never was listed
Goes back into quarters again!
Regards!
Goes back in the skies once again.
Hurrah!
The Sop and the Alby again.
Here's how!
The Vickers and Spandaus again.
Salute!
Wings O'er Flanders Fields once again!

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You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din. But it's got Polovski's fingerprints all over it. He does things wot no other bloke can.

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Pol is a prince, a prince I say, and no putdown on him intended at all. T'was the bloomin' AI tryin' t'write the poetry that got me ire up.

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