Category: AI Art
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9 March: For FOWC
A Woman in the Image Of There’s a woman in townwho wears her face as a disguise.An old age sort of mask, that’spart of her game. It’s a second existence, like a volcano. She goes rushing about everywhere.Arguing and shouting at walls.Her surreptitious ways crackle fromher throat like an ache in your ear. She can…
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8 March: Rattling Old Bones
Rattling Old Bones Children,noisy as crows calling out,wound up tight, andlet lose on dinosaur bones. The museum echoeswith a rattle of words,they rise then settlelike dust on the floor. Take the train. Bring the kids. Half-price! A young motherwith three small childrenpauses, meditates ona spectrum of colour from the beveled windows.A rainbow has spilled its…
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8 March: for RDP’s Apricity
The Heat and Freeze of It You know, like apricity,that feeling when the sunbores deep into your skin, like that stinging when yourbrain’s in paradoxical cold.Is it hot or cold; don’t know. And he says, Yes, what about it. Well this feels just like that,all stinging, I say, brushingsnowflakes from my eyelashes. Written for Ragtag Daily…
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7 March: FOWC “Cook”
Who’s Cooking When I walk to the shopsalong the footpath, downby the winter-filled stream,I look to where the pub is, scaffolding on the frontageand tables still on the lawn,the carpark weedy and wild,and I stare up at the pub roof, the sky falling on the beamsand rafters, and I wonderwho was cooking that nightwhen the…
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7 March: dVerse Quadrille
On The Dock It’s winter. Thin snow,air bright, wind sings in the rigging.Scent of dieselhangs in shadows, fishing boats,engines throblike labouring hearts. Seagullseager for talk, they watchfish gliding from nets, slappingand gasping on the dock, and shining like cold stars. Written for dVerse Quardille #171 “gasp”. AI Digital Artwork is created using Midjourney. Imagery and poems ©Misky…
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7 March: Skyful of Moon
A Skyful of Moon I approached a manstanding in the street. He was staring at my house.No, he said, I’m looking at the moon. And there shining bronzeand gleaming gold, it leaneddown large over us. That moment seemed oblivion,dark and meant to keep. I remember reading somewhere,When the night is filled with black,write across it…
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6 March: For Sunday Muse
In A Dream With Turquoise Walls There once was a dreamthe colour of Seychelles’ sea,the colour of originsand maternal longing,and there was a swanwho dreamt it saton a young woman’s breasts,thinking that with timethose soft eggs might hatchinto creamy white. Written for Sunday Muse #249. A.I. Digital Artwork is created using Midjourney. Imagery and poems ©Misky…
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5 March: Stream of Consciousness Saturday
Captain Ahab It’s getting cold, and it’s raining again, and the one-legged pigeon is stood like a moody hiss on the gutter, staring in the frosty window at me as I crunch on toasted raisin bread. This bread’s been in the freezer for about a year, about the same time as when I named that…
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5 March: RDP “Intransitive”
It Is Raining She is an intransitive verb.No need for objects, orthings that have no face. She stands. A pathedged by stiffened trees.It is raining. The stream is rising.Swift. Churned clouded silt.Her dog jumps in. It’s gone. Some decisions are wrong,she tells herself. Her wordsdisappear below the water. Written for Ragtag Daily Prompt “Intransitive”. AI Digital Artwork…
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4 March: March Visual Verse
Silk of a Thistle There’s no getting closerto it than breathing in itsfragmented scents. Food. It’s the weight of nostalgia.It’s the tangles, and voices,scars, and echoes of a feast. Life is thistle and silk, andthose grapes spread out likea galaxy, whilst the hungry fast out of necessity. Lobster on a plate. A crackedexoskeleton, and we…
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