Category: AI Art
-
2 May: dVerse First Line Poem
The Trees Are Whispering Your Name “The trees are coming into leafLike something almost being said—” Like the pause before I love you,Like the breath before a sob,Like the way your hands hoveredOver my ribs— Are you sure you want all this light?The trees unfold,Show me their green ink blots:Here’s where she laughed in her…
-
1 May: Ten Things of Thankful
In no particular order: The Joe Bonamassa concert in Brighton on Sunday. It was a brilliant night! Three pigeons in the birdbath at the same time, trying to push each other out of the way. What an argy-bargy. What a proper laugh. Spring flowers and floral arrangements My crow. My robin. Neither of whom are…
-
01.05: Three Line Thursday
Orange whispers on forgotten steel,time’s slow kiss, a bleeding bloom—the bridge between metal and memory. Written for Three Line Thursday “Rust”. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not…
-
01.05: Old Woman With No Cat
The Old Woman Adopts a Mould Culture (For Research, Obviously) The petri dish gleams on the windowsill—a swirling nebula of sentient blue-green,thriving on neglectand last Tuesday’s lasagna sins. The cat, honorary Head of Microbial Astronomy,presses its nose to the glass:“Fascinating. It has your eyes.”The old woman nods.“And your manners.” The crow, MSc (Disaster Studies &…
-
30.04: A Six – The Book of 27
3 of 27: Threshgold – a Colour once felt, not seen—the terror just before hope Content Warning: This post discusses topics including suicide. Reader discretion is advised. If you are feeling vulnerable, please consider whether you wish to proceed. The Colour Called Threshgold Her breath is steady, scarf tugged loose by the wind, and she…
-
29.04: The Old Woman With No Cat
The Old Woman and the Milk’s Mortality Crisis the cat paces before the fridgelike a wee, furry coroner,one paw pressed to the milk bottle’s pulse. “it’s clinging to life,” purrs the cat.“one more dawn, maybe two.”the old woman peers at the use-by date—smudged, dubious,possibly written in invisible ink. “it’s fine,” she declares.“time is a construct.also,…
-
28.04: Threshgold- The Liturgy
3 of 27: Threshgold – a Colour once felt, not seen—the terror just before hope 3 of 27: Threshgold – the terror just before hope I. The Threshgold Threshgold is not the leap—it’s the foot hoveringabove the abyss,the heartbeat where fallingand flyingstill wear the same face. You’ll find it in the pausebefore the pistol shot,before…
-
28.04: The Old Woman With No Cat
The Old Woman and Aleph in the Garden My mother’s name is Aleph—a swallowed alphabet,the dirt’s own first vowel. The robin cocks its head.“Explain the worm, then.” The old woman with no catsinks her spade again—bites clay, bites air, bites centuries.“Aleph,” she mutters,“is the shape a worm writes—a letter no god can read.” The robin…
-
26.04: Poem-a-Day Challenge
A Hermit Crab Poem: On the Back of a Receipt 1 bottle full-fat milk(life is too short for skimming anything)3 overripe avocados(they bruise faster than first loves)1 jar of honey(thicker than apologies at 2 AM)2 donuts(the baker knows my name.asks, “where’ve you been?”I say, “somewhere warmer.”he nods like a priest absolving an absentee.) 1 bouquet…
-
26.04: The Old Woman With No Cat
The Old Woman and the Second-Hand Spellbook – (Domestic Maleficia) the old woman drags home the tome—its spine cracked like a bad omen,its margins scribbled with “TRY THIS :)”in what might be bloodor very committed raspberry jam. the neighbour’s cat(now a black market bibliomancer)sniffs a page and sneezes:“ah. cursed. discounted. perfect.” the dead woman flips…
