Simon Huggins - Poetry

My smile is sunny You look at me funny My cameras see you Other people's too You know my bots can see you Clearly peel back layers of intent — That disgust will cost you dearly. My agentic lawyers, botcoins spent Yours see, others agree Your eyes widen, as you realise You look away, too late, we see Your spent hate seals your fate. Our agents, millisecond negotiate And I come out a hundred fold more wealthy: Micro-hate, they say Wallets unhealthy make. And so our days unfold, each tic a legal mire Until a day untold, all legal credits expire. Expunged from society, we become Fired From Life, From Hope. Unfulfilled Tired. For now, I am a winner. Still I avert my gaze She'll see I think she's hot My heart beats to beat my brain haze That feels maybe, I've got a shot I jostle someone — Agentic lawyers deal. She's gone. Credits drained. I've only lost the lot. Simon Huggins, 1st October 2025

There was a carved pumpkin whose hat had been took By a ghost on a broomstick with a mischievous look The broomstick grumbled it had once been a tree And the ghost treated objects just like they were free. The ghost didn't care – A witch it would be — And then all would fear the witch spectre they'd see!! Well fancy that — a ghost in a hat. Flies on a broomstick like a witch and its cat (I once saw a witch who was a little too fat — The bristles sparked as it dragged where she sat) But a ghost with a hat! Well fancy that! Although, to be fair, it was missing the cat. The ghost suddenly jolted, and screeched to the earth Where sat the great pumpkin with a well-rounded girth The broom kept on going, and was shredded to sticks The ghost wailed out like the best Hendrix licks The pumpkin devoured it with a great roar of mirth And the ghost punched and screamed, for all it was worth The hat then plopped down on the Pumpkin's top The ghost became silent. The screams had stopped "Oh Pumpkin, what keeps me inside your self Is it magic, is it pixies, or a pointy-eared elf?" The Pumpkin was silent, but eventually said, "Ghosts aren't real. It's all in your head. So really you see you aren't really here." And with that weird logic, the ghost… disappeared! Simon Huggins, 18th October 2022 Notes This poem was inspired by an AI-generated image created using ChatGPT’s DALL-E integration. It was part of an experimental project where I would generate images and then write poetry inspired by them. ...

The Death Bread Car will come to play All smells of crusty rolls and oil Sometimes at night, and sometimes day To stay with those who do not toil. "Tap these bones upon my plate" Death Bread Car says in your head "Play my teeth from dawn 'til late And if you stop, you will be dead!" Death Bread Car cannot be sliced If you try your brains will boil And if you run, then in a trice Your lungs will fill with engine oil. So bake your bread with your own hands Toil to bake your bread each day The Death Bread Car, it roams our lands Bake fresh, keep Death Bread Car away. Simon Huggins, 17th October 2022 Notes This poem was inspired by an AI-generated image created using ChatGPT’s DALL-E integration. It was part of an experimental project where I would generate images and then write poetry inspired by them. ...

We are waiting still for war Nous Somme sous champ 300 mille Peace is such a bore Elon has Mars in store C’est toujours ombragé dans ma ville We are waiting still for war Monumental verdigris is raw Oradour m’offre un vie fragile Peace is such a bore Must blood like oil lap shores? Le sang, chansons pour l’huile We are waiting still for war Nike strews capital across floors Ensemble, la révolution est plus facile Peace is such a bore Gaia wells cries like pus from sores La crie comme bile est très viril We are waiting still for war Peace is such a bore Simon Huggins, 26th February 2022

I awake, dead like winter A bird sings Every weekend: Fat Balls and Peanuts Seed spilled to the ground at least I maybe saved something else Lists and lists of lists Trello-promised purpose Archived to the cloud What I am left with Today, Everyday: A Maintenance of meaning Poems here Stories there A little Open Source I look at GitHub's graveyard; Meaning abandonware Transforming a house Tidy, Paint, Build, Move A trail of meaning Dissolved by others' will I feel the structure's soul "You must prove You belong." Impassive judgement Like trees, but in masonry The garden, living change The pets, all but children in name The work, building another's dream Life continues like a stream. Simon Huggins, 2nd January 2022

My hands are leaves Catching the breeze The bend like a tendon Each leaf is a dance of life. I am pushing from the ground Waves upon waves of blades Bifurcating my soul Rooted in my whole I am many and I feel it all. I am not tall But my nose is a bud And I reach for the warmth Life nourishing and filling I struggle, push and emerge I am here, alive, seeing. I am nothing like you I am tree, grass, flower, me I am life, I am green I see with the fullness of being. Simon Huggins, 18th January 2021

Two grue morning Two shadows Over threshold ahead Tree silhouettes Distant grey threats Billow over pumpkin hill Good morning ball Good morning slivering glow Echo of pumpkin hill Over aching machinery Through pendulous perspectives Autumn neurons play We await, grues and I The full descent of day Simon Huggins, 26th November 2020

These chains have music in them Spheres pull on suffering clinks Like a celebratory toast Mostly, I ache Thinking of hope, until Done; A glint, a clink Making the most of a ghost Of a fate I dreamed Or to come. Simon Huggins, 17th November 2019

A world divided horizontally Is a world in pieces Time to go for a walk Simon Huggins, 30th May 2019

He held her gently in his arms His thumbs aching His penis fell out As she stopped breathing Simon Huggins, 30th May 2019