Category: AI Art
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The Old Woman With No Cat
Where is the Old Woman?” …the cat demands,pacing the length of the kitchen,tail held high like a sceptre of injustice. “She is late.My bowl is half-empty.My sunbeam is un-warmed.This is negligence.” The crow, from the fence, offers:“Perhaps she’s writing poetry?”The cat scoffs.“Poetry doesn’t fill stomachs.” “No shit!” agrees the robin. Just then—the back door opens.There…
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Ten Things of Thankful
Two weeks into the April Poem-a-Day Challenge, and I’ve not run out of ink yet. My Ten this week are centred around home. Spring is coming on fast paced; chores done and more created; a new garden project. The charging pod for my car is installed, so no more power cords hanging out the kitchen…
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1404: Six Sentence Story
Part 8: Brigid’s Diary, Night on the Rhône — Half-Light and Wake That night on the river I learned how sound can become a weight, the engine’s pulse settling into my bones until sleep itself felt mechanical. The lanterns shook in their brasses, and the Rhône carried a smell of acrid silt and sulfur embers…
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1304: The Liturgy, Part 8
Liturgy for the Mechanical DarkNight on the Rhône, Half Light and Awake I. The Weight of Sound Sound has become a weight.Not noise—noise is fleeting:a shout, a clatter; this thingshuffles marrow in bone. This is weight:the engine’s pulse hammering my bonesuntil sleep feels mechanical,a function rather than a rest. Lanterns shake in their brackets.The floor…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The First Crocus (Or: How to Philosophise a Flower) The Old Woman kneels in the still-cold soil,points to a brave spear of yellow poking through frost and forgotten leaves,“Look,” she whispers.“Spring.” The cat pads over,sniffs delicately …then draws back as if offended by hope. “Hmm.A small, yellow invader.Uninvited.Asserting itself.” She smiles.“It’s a flower, not a…
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Ten Things of Thankful
This is the 20th year that I’ve participated in the Writers’ Digest April Poem-a-Day Challenge. Over that time, I’ve managed honourable mention a few times, and placed 2nd twice, but never won the competition. It’s true — the joy is in the participation and meeting up with old friends again, but I sure do wish…
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0804: Six Sentence Story
The Steamboat — The First Descent Brigid’s Diary, Episode 06: April 1834 The steamboat called “Le Marsouin” shouldered the Rhône with a relentless thump-thump-thump, its side wheels beating water into obedience while the sound ran the banks like a bruise. The engine breathed deep and hoarse beneath us, heat and hiss rattling the wooden hull…
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0704: Journal of Thoughts
7 April 17:01, 19℃ …says he’s going to lie down on his back for awhile, and so my question is, obviously, Does your back hurt, and he says, No, it’s just this cold you gave me makes me feel old (incidentally that is arse-backwards — he gave it to me first), and in truth we’re…
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0704: The Six Liturgy
Liturgy for the Steamer’s Hold(a hymn for those who have known the terror of enclosure) I. The Shudder That Will Not StopIt enters you through the soles of your feet.The paddle wheel’s repeating blow,strike after strike relaying another,water beaten into obedienceand singing its pain through the hull. The shudder climbs your spine,settles in your skull,becomes…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
A Cupful of Moon The old woman with no catdigs where the crow dropped her house key,a hole just moonbeam-wide,neatly spooned between two failuresof courgettes. Her spade hits porcelain.Not bone.Not root.A teacup …a drowned saint,half-sunk in the drought-starved clay,glazed in sorrow and stained by Earl Grey. The crack in its sidesings in a language of…
It's Still Life 