Category: AI Art
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0302: Six Sentence Story
The Tidal Deconstruction of a Beach I. (The Taking Tide)The first pull doesn’t cleanse — it draws out the salts of pretending, the bitter, crusted lines worn too long like old salt on skin. It siphons from your marshes without asking, leaves you stinging and unarmoured, wondering what else you’ve been built from. And in…
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0202: Liturgy of Unmasking of a Beach
Liturgy: The Unmasking of a Beach (Or: Where Water Meets the Wound) Note: This week, I am trying something completely different with my Six. Not a six sentence story (as usual) but the (anthropomorphic) psychological effects of storm-driven tides on a local beach. I. The Withdrawal of the SeaThe tide does not come to cleanse.It…
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0202: Journal of Thoughts
Senryuwe call it orderbut the stones made their own waylong before we named Haikurain sleeps in the cracksof a thousand quiet yearsgold dust in the hush Written for SenHai 37 . Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI. Poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2026.
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat’s Koan(Or: The Sound of One Paw Clapping) The Old Womanis reading a book of Zen poetry.The cathas claimed the sunbeamthat crosses the page,and with it, her attention. “I have a koan,” he purrs,without opening his eyes.“What is the sound…of one hand clapping?” She looks at him over her glasses.“You don’t have hands.” “Exactly,”…
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Csárdás Part 4
Csárdás — (the heart’s Final fire) First,the bow drags slow.A raw, dusk-coloured moanrising from the fiddle’s belly,pulled from soil olderthan any spoken name. A field at sundown stirs there:the sag of an empty chair,steam rising from a bowl gone cold,a love that lingerslike breath on winter glass. Then, the spark catches. The heart remembers fire.The…
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3001: Ten Things of Thankful
This week, Sussex had stargazing evenings. It’s such an English way of thinking: in sideways rain, floods, and horizontal wind, cheerfully announcing a stargazing tonight. There’s something very ‘me’ about that, too. A stubborn, hopeful tilt of the chin. Clouds? Cold? Wet? Never mind. The stars are up there somewhere. I’ll stand in a field…
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2701: dVerse Quadrille
The Yellows There was a timewhen time was everywhere.Autumn leaves meanttime for school,time for yellow pencils with rubber tips, and winter meanttime for rain coats,and tripping in yellow rubber bootstwo sizes too big —“Grow into them,” Mum said. Written for dVerse Poets Quadrille #240 (44 words including “Trip”). Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2026.
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2701: Six Sentence Story
A View on Voyeurism Louise’s kitchen window faces two houses: Alison’s, her husband, a retired podiatrist, and Jean’s — her husband lies face-down between the hydrangeas and the electricity meter. Southeast Ambulance Service stands with him, or rather does not; the defibrillator is put away, as if it’s a game they lost interest in playing.…
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2601: The Liturgy for the Watching People
Liturgy for the Window Vigil I. The Geometry of WitnessingA window is a frame.Not for art,but for the ordinary.We think we are looking out,but we are really looking in. Into the small, sudden theatre of endings.Where medics close a defibrillatorlike a book whose final lineno one wants to read aloud. II. Of DistanceWhat we see…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
Do Cats Know How to Swim?(Or A Torrential Tale in One Question) The rain has not stopped for two days.The patio is a shallow lake.The birdbath is a waterfall in revolt.And the cat — who is not hers, never hers, stares out as if the worldhas personally offended himwith its weather. Without turning,whiskers twitching at…
It's Still Life 