Category: AI Art
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20 Dec: Found Poetry of Ragnarök
And this I also know. The one called Mother is richerThan wealth, tho’ hersIs a burden of worded sword. Ósnjall mapr hyggsk munu æy lifá Too deep they are. DeeperThan the wits she keepsWatch o’er flame. She who Is called Bairn’s-Strife,She who suffers a daily death –For her bairn drinks in Ever-Live. það gefur honum…
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19 Dec: Found Poetry of Ragnarök c.5
And this I also know. The power of gods and foeShall swallow with ice-cold jaw. Gáttir allar, apr gangi fråm, ’tis old lore to the ear.’tis a wits-word.’tis ever wisest the Weaver Of word-keep and secret, sheWho is called Hearth-Warm, she Of fated lip that speaks in silence.Once and again. She who wanders wide for…
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18.12.24 Ink in Thirds
Every Ebb and Sigh I sit here, on a bench, a memorial seat to someone I don’t know, taking in a breath of salt and secrets drifting from the rising sea. This incoming tide is a melody of brine; my dreams; their ghosts; rushing in on the keel of an old ship, sails like fallen…
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18 Dec: Found Poetry of Ragnarök
Ragnarök: The Weavers c.4 And this I also know. Sá ës sæll ës sjálfir of ǎ ’tis ill this sword of faults.’tis a silent spine, too bold and dry-skinned. to wit men suffer a hasty tongue.to wit her Mother’s measure.to wit men feast of faults. Byrpi bẽtri berræt mápr braútu át, And this I also…
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17 Dec: A Six – Drifting from The Moles Pub
Beyond an Intersection Named After an English King and a SaintSix Sentence Story: Day 4 Drifting from The Three Moles Pub “Did ya get lost, or what, Brigid? … re-bloody-calculating,” says the child-like brogue of the SatNav — Nick’s focus snaps to the map on the PCM screen, “… lil’ fucker …” he grins. “Thanks…
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16 Dec: Found Poetry of Ragnarök c.3
And this I also know. At the end of heaven’s wingsComes wind.Over courtsAnd alters ofThe Weavers who This world hast hung. Væfprúbnir móbur bräutir már .Hung.from aWeave a story for time.Weave a home faredThee three of wise. We,Of life we come. We, Of secrets cast.Weavers in this andEvery world.Life-Cravers.Life-Givers. Væfprúbnir fjölp ek freistapak, Hidden in…
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14 Dec Found Poetry of Ragnarök
And of this I know. There is one called Wind-Cool.She winter’s sire,Fierce is its race, Loud sounding For measuring moons.Eldest in days. pä vas fyrst af mant And there is one called Rain’s Poison-drops.Answer well dread race ofAncient childrenWho from frost’s arm wasBorn. Thou of old.Thou of art.Thou of wind over waves,Moon’s devourer andTroll’s firstBreath.…
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Friday 13th: Ten Things of Thankful
In no particular order: 1. Lovely soft cashmere bed socks on a freezing cold night; my feet are eternally thankful for small mercies. 2. British strawberries in December. I am thankful for agricultural miracles but may I have a Christmas Mandarin orange, please. 3. I suppose I should be thankful that it’s not snowing, but…
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12 Dec: The Relevance
The Relevance The sun light,it’s like yellow roses. A sky blue peepshow between clouds that spring and foam. Dad’s painting seascapes again.He keeps a wandering eyeon my sister and I. We walk the beach.Looking down. Beachcombing. I’m always on the move, I’m told,for fear of calcifying, Dad says. One day I’ll look up that wordso…
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11 Dec: Ink In Thirds 100 Words
In the Light of a Lamp I’ll say right upfront that she didn’t kill herself. Mum told the removal men where to place the piano; in the dining room against the south-facing wall, but when Dad came home he glared at the piano and walked past it like it was a naughty puppy who’d peed…
It's Still Life 