Category: AI Art
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24.10: Everywhere Poems
Periphery The world rarely arrives whole.A horn.Tyres on wet tarmac.A crow.Heat lifting from stone.The rest,we quietly build. Everywhere Poems don’t have a subject. They have a starting point and follow wherever attention leads. It’s — go for a walk and see where you end up. Some images created with Midjourney, some are not; all writing…
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24.10: Stream of Consciousness
It’s stormy. Windy. Rainy. Well, windy is putting a British edge on the word; it’s 75mph gusts and 50mm of rain in twelve-ish hours or so, rain going sideways, upwards occasionally by the look of it, although technically I suppose that’s still downwards eventually, everything comes down eventually, except perhaps petrol prices — not my…
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Ten Things of Thankful
A week of resilience in ordinary things. Rain returns. Numbers behave. A crow keeps me company. A storm tests the house. Summer is folded away. Creativity finds another instrument. Sussex reminds you where home is. Two stories keep moving. A passport arrives. The roof holds. I. Rain Again Thankful for two days of rain and…
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23.10: Everywhere Poems
Where the Tide Has Gone I. The wind sings,weathering ribs of wood,shadows comb their fingersthrough the sand. Beyond, the sea lieswhisper-flat and silver, as though the moon has drawn itfrom the land. II. These old posts keepvigil at the shoreline,holding memoriesof every vanished tide, and somewherepast the quiet rim of evening,water waitsfor heaven to turnthe…
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21.10: Everywhere Poems
21.10.26 morning hedgea blackbird lifts with a twigtoo heavy for it.it drops, then gathers it again,as if the nest is forever all. Everywhere Poems don’t have a subject. They have a starting point and follow wherever attention leads. It’s — go for a walk and see where you end up. Some images created with Midjourney;…
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20.10: Dead Men Don’t Drown
Dead Men Don’t Drown: #11 (catch-up with all episodes here) Dear Ms Macleod, thank you for the photographs, which show what appears to be a folded letter secured by a spiral lock, though I agree the name is unhelpful, since the finished packet looks less like a spiral than a paper tongue stitched through its…
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19.10: dVerse Quadrille
A Man with Moonlight she hums sounds of sleep,soothes her child as she observes — behind screened windows,blotched yellowed-whiteby the moonon the gated garden wall, a manwalking in the moonlight. alone. and in her loneliness,she wonders whatthoughts and hungercross his mind. Written for dVerse Poets, a quadrille of 44-words including the word ‘screen’. Some images…
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19.10: A Six – The Alcove
The Heist (episode 4) (a letter from the Soup Gobble) The postman arrives carrying an envelope addressed, with admirable confidence, to The Gargoyle Sitting on the Right. “That’s me,” shouts the gargoyle who appears to every mortal eye to be sitting on the left, but perspective has always been a treacherous little beast and gargoyles…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat on Time(Or: Why Clocks Are Just Decorative Anxiety) The cat sits before the mantelpiece,one paw raised toward the clockas if delivering a closing argumentin a case he has already won. “Consider,” he begins,“the clock.A round face.Two hands.Constant ticking.And for what?To tell you it’s 3:47when your stomach knowsit is now.Now, Old Woman.Now is the…
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17.10: Stream of Consciousness
Pitch the mountains at my back, lace-up waterproof boots crunching through the ice-crust on yesterday’s snow, and the air flying white as fine gauze, the sort of weather that flattens curves and rubs out distance, where light makes no shadow and you can’t quite tell where the ground stops and the sky begins, except there…
