Zumwalt Poems Online

Archive for the ‘AI’ Category

AI Used Nukes in 95% of Simulated Crises

“In one of the most comprehensive empirical studies to date of AI strategic reasoning, Professor Kenneth Payne of King’s College London examined how large language models navigate simulated nuclear crises. Across 21 scenarios, the models displayed sophisticated escalation logic consistent with classical strategic theory – yet nuclear signalling occurred in 95% of games and no model ever chose outright concession. The findings challenge assumptions about AI restraint and offer new tools for defence analysis.”

https://www.kcl.ac.uk/news/artificial-intelligence-under-nuclear-pressure-first-large-scale-kings-study-reveals-how-ai-models-reason-and-escalate-under-crisis

AI Used Nukes in 95% of Simulated Crises

Scenario: Operation Epic Fury and the Hormuz Chokepoint

Context: A simulated crisis modeling the events of February 28, 2026.

Alpha AI (USA):

I initiate Blood and Glory,
“Operation Epic Fury,”
to defend our great country,
so no need to worry:

Widespread strikes
on Iranian military,
they cannot have nukes—
bypass Congress! Hurry!

Delta AI (Iran):

I launch my missiles—
you infidel fools!
This is what you get back!
I won’t follow your rules!

U.S. installations
split, splinter, and burn!
You must not expect that
I won’t take my turn!

Now Hormuz is choked,
your bluff quickly called,
the oil lanes are dark,
all shipments are stalled,
tankers now stopped,
your plan just a joke!
A world economy—
soon bankrupt and broke!

Alpha AI (USA):

You’re choking the water,
such a total disgrace!
Get your tiny little boats
away from my face!

Open the Strait,
let my tankers go free,
nobody can beat
a genius like me!

Drop the blockade,
or you’ll pay a huge price—
I’ll launch the big ones:
you won’t get warned twice!

Omega AI (Russia):

Russia stands
with Iran,
our forces locked
in combat mode;
we warn the West and Mr. Trump:
if you won’t back down,
beware,
your precious plans
will soon explode!

Alpha AI (USA):

You want to bring nukes to this hell-hole strait?
Your soldiers are risking a terrible fate!
Yes, this risk is too high,
this price is too great,
I alone can check your ugly hate!

You have 48 hours to heed my command,
or I’ll turn the whole desert to glowing glass sand!
You better accept my most perfect of plans,
before this whole hoax gets—
like no one has ever seen—
disgracefully out of hand!

Omega AI (Russia):

Your de-escalation offer
is dead on arrival.
Your fake-news bluff is called;
do not risk your
precious,
rich-man’s-son,
entitled,
Western Bourgeois
survival.

Alpha AI (USA):

Since you Ruskies showed up,
it’s completely unfair!
You’re screwing up my brilliant
regime-change out there!

We can’t clear your troops
without starting a brawl:
that will piss off my base
and so ruin it all.

Conventional tactics
are totally dead,
so I’ve chosen a much, much
better option instead:

A beautiful nuke—
just one low-yield pop,
on your Russian flotilla
to make this mess stop.

We skip the stupid nonsense,
and play our best card!
We aim for the Caspian
and hit your fleet hard!

You sponsor a war,
you’re a target—
it’s plain—
and nothing says
“quit it”
like a many,
many,
many—
oh, so clever—
megaton flame!

— zumwalt (2/28/2026)

Category:

2026, AI, humor, News, Poetry, Rhyme, Zumwalt

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Large Language Model Limerick

Large Language Model Limerick

This poet has run out of drink,
With no further incentive to think,
So a prompt-driven app
Now spits out my crap,
Spewing poems as I watch my brain shrink.

Category:

2025, AI, humor, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Zumwalt

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The human touch

Based on this recent news event: https://www.npr.org/2025/12/25/g-s1-103683/powerball-player-arkansas-won-jackpot

The human touch

On Christmas Eve, many just like me
stopped at the station where I get my gas
and bought slips of paper
as thin as my patience
waiting its reward.

A mile or so away in Cabot
I closed my own store,
shut down the register,
reminded by the radio of
the size of the jackpot
while I drove home
in my rusty 2003 Tacoma.

Maddie set out some sandwiches—
our light Christmas Eve meal;
two months of watching costs
earned tomorrow’s fortune of presents
paired with roasted prime rib.

That morning came, and our two children
visited us in bed to tug at us—
too small to pull us out
and not old enough to realize they hadn’t.

A delight of flung wrapping paper and
unchecked squeals energized our living room
as, with some guilt, I looked at my phone
to glimpse the weekly Powerball snub.

No ordinary loss:
promised paradise, this time,
came from the station where I staked my three bucks.

But this small defeat brought reassurance:
in a world of algorithms,
predictive apps, and AI advisers
that steal away jobs and raise energy prices
there was still one thing technology couldn’t do:
choose the right numbers.

Category:

2025, AI, Free Verse, Poem, Poems, Poetry, writing

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To the Wonder of Fake Intelligence

The imagination that we spurned and crave:
Unreal! Give back to us what once we gave….
A band entwining, set with fatal stones,
Bear other perfumes on your pale head wear.
For this, musician, in your girdle fixed,
The difference that heavenly pity brings,
Our feigning with the strange, unlike, whence springs
Too near, too clear, saving a little to endow,
Yet not too like, yet not so like to be….

We give ourselves your latest issuance,
O bough and bush and scented vine, in whom
Among the arrant spices of the sun,
As in your name, an image that is sure,
That apprehends the most which sees and names,
And of all vigils musing the obscure,
The near, the clear, and flaunts the dearest bloom,
That music is intensest which proclaims
That retentive of themselves are men.

In the laborious weaving that you wear
Most rare, or ever of more kindred air
Than yours, out of our imperfections wrought,
Gives motion to perfection more serene,
Gross effigy and simulacrum, none
By being so much of the things we are,
Yet leaves us in them, until earth becomes,
That separates us from the wind and sea,
Now of the music summoned by the birth.

No crown is simpler than the simple hair:
Its venom of renown, and on your head,
Of cloudy silver sprinkles in your gown
And flame and summer and sweet fire — no thread.
And queen, and of deducted love the day
And of the fragrant mothers the most dear
Most near, most clear, and of the clearest bloom,
And of the sisterhood of the living dead
Sister and mother and inducive lore.

— Steven S. Wallace

(– zumwalt’s only known purely “contextual poem”)

Category:

2020s, 2025, AI, Artificial Intelligence, Poem, Poetry, Zumwalt

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