Category: AI Art
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3 Sept: dVerse Poets Quadrille 207
A Recipe for Autumn Autumn spins empty stillness.It’s touched by cold moonlight.Spins the sun at the horizon,and fields to prickly stubble.It’s creeping mist.It’s brooding fog.Its leaves lost to trees, and twigs casting intentions.Autumn is shadowless days,and deep bowls of soup. Written for dVerse Poets, Quadrille #207 “spin” (quadrille is 44-words sans title). Some artwork is created…
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2 September: Journal of Thoughts from Last Week
A Journal of Thoughts from Last Week The I In It (a cadralor poem) Scio Me Nescire – I Know That I Know Nothing I.They call from a glaze of grey skies marked with white stars of geese,a band of loud trombone songsblowing through small clouds. II.This day is pulled by change,a season’s race pipped…
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31 August: To Meet In Fragrant Wood
To Meet In Fragrant Wood I.She’s hired, a full day’s work,unfolding chairs from folded, one chair at a time,so that we can sit separately. II.Time goes by, her face fades,her colours leach and bleach and fray.She took her voice with her. III.Winter sky shall be empty of youand I want to keep on grieving –…
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30 August: A Six – Part: 25.1 Keep Yourself to Yourself
At an Intersection Named After an English King and a SaintSix Sentence Story: Part 25.1 Keep Yourself To Yourself, Girl Hi, my name is Brigid, and this is my Show and Tell. I’m named after St Brigid of Kildare, the patroness (that’s like a saint) of Ireland, the goddess of spring and fertility and life…
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30 August: A Six – Part: 25 Out of Bedlam
At an Intersection Named After an English King and a SaintSix Sentence Story: Part 25: Out of Bedlam earlier this week: … and silently walk out the door, deafening myself to their words chasing after me. A letter from Bethlem Royal Hospital arrived 3 days ago; it’s still unopened, and out of frustration, Hanzō picks…
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30 August: Journal of Thoughts from Last Week (Revised)
A Journal of Thoughts from Last Week The I in Time It was a few weeks ago, over lunch. Talking about when we were young, old times and that the world seemed easier back then, although it wasn’t. Less complicated, maybe. Our husbands worked together. Wives supported each other when our insular world turned bleak,…
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29 August: A Summer Funeral Pyre
That oak tree, the one when I looked up through its branches seemed to fill the sky in June, is now at August’s end. Leaves falling from limb and twig, its earthly-ways departing from their perfect place. Leaves the colour of a young girl’s brown eyes. Leaves blowing in through the open kitchen door, drifting…
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28 August: Ink In Thirds – 100 Words
With Outdoor Seating, Too. We’ve a bakery in the village now. A proper one – bakes their own bread. Cobs. Bloomers. Boules. Baps. It used to be a chip shop. After that a pedicure shop with fish in tubs of water that ate dead skin off feet. Then it was a dry cleaner, although the…
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28 August: A Six – Part 24 Walking the Deep Greys
At an Intersection Named After an English King and a SaintSix Sentence Story: Part 24 Walking the Deep Greys last week: Hanzō is bowing deeply before him … and Pierre asks, “Who are you?” “He’s Hanzō, he’s a relic, he’s Drake’s,” my answer is faintly audible, and Pierre’s eyes are hollowed by the weariness of…
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27 August: The Reality of Real
A Cadralor Poem The Reality of RealI.the stones aren’t real. a palette knife edgesthe cement, chipped paint stone grey matte. II.her shopping bag hangs limp. flaccid. handlehooks over her shoulder. recycled. real plastic. III.he texts women should be sweetlipped andgentle. She replies, “pillock. you’re unreal”. IV.it’s august heat but she wears a woolly scarf.her fiancé…
It's Still Life 