Category: AI Art
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2906: The Liturgy
Liturgy for the Year of His Absence(Cagnes-sur-Mer, Winter 1842 — Waiting Becomes a Way of Life) I. The Question That Never Leaves Where is Felreil? Not a question of geography.Not a question of distance.A question of existence:whether the world still holds him,whether the shadows have released him,whether he is still stridingin his English-blackened bootsthrough streets…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Great Digging Mystery(Or: A Cane Corso’s Underground Ambitions) The cat sits on the fence post,high, safe,watching Crymych,the Italian mastiff with the Welsh name,dig a hole in his garden.Deep.Determined.Earth flying like brown bag confetti. The Old Woman appears with her tea.“What’s he doing?” The cat doesn’t look away.“That, Old Woman,is the question of the hour.Is…
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2706: dVerse Ars Poetica
Ars Poetica: The Yew This is a tree.But this is not about the tree,and it’s not about that summer,or the forest behind our house,or the Japanese maplethat Dad naileda birdhouse on. Nails.Crucified.Like Jesus. I called itthe Jesus Treeafter that. And it’s not aboutthe huckleberriesI ate before chasingsomething. Something — I can’t recall what. Always runningbeneath…
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2606: Everywhere Poems
An Everywhere Poem: The One Busted for Drugs Pollen is thick as midgeson a loch, a leaf blowerand the windscreenis clear. Bless their obnoxious noise. Coupon in my pocket. Spend £60,get £20 off.£60 is easy. Meat, more meatand maybe a chicken. Pallets in the aisle. Shopping trolleys stop,turn,batter one another. No milk.No lettuce.No beans.Green cabbage…
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Ten Things of Thankful
A week of extreme temperatures, soaring into the low 40s celsius (104F+) and making life for many very difficult. We’ve created a ‘cool room’ in the living room, where we stay planted during the hottest part of the day. The bedroom needs the same treatment, but building codes prevent us from doing it right. I’ll…
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2506: Everywhere Poems
An Everywhere Poem: The Childhood Rituals of Cake Batter I wake in the middleof a dream. Something about clay.Or maybeit was cake batter. Mum always let me lickcake batterfrom the mixer beaters. Unless my little sisterwas nearby, then we had to share. Like our clothes, my sister and Idressed in the same fabric. Mum sewed.…
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2406: Six Sentence Story
Clam Chowder Summer heatwave; you’ve fallen asleep with The Telegraph spread across your knees. I remember our second date: we spoke of death, a girlfriend, a fire, a club with locked exits; only those who’d paid went in. Most of them didn’t, you paused, and I finished the sentence. It was that time of year…
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2406: Everywhere Poems
An Everywhere Poem: Same as It Always Is I’m a child among green,leaves,grass,and Queen Anne’s lace. Take a load off your mind,child,says the forest. A man nods.His dog shuffles upa layer of leaves. I’ve never seena nose so happy. Mist freedfrom a damp cloth sky.It was sunny the other day.Fish-and-chip weatherand battling gulls. But that…
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2306: Brigid’s Diary – A Six
Part 14, Brigid’s Diary: Winter, 1836 – 1841, Cagnes-sur-Mer, France Where Waiting Is Believing The arbours are vine-brittle skeletons touched with ice; terracotta pots lay shattered by winter’s slow fist, and even the small grey angels above the door have surrendered to grimaces. For these five years, we’ve lived in a stone cottage adjoining the…
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2306: Everywhere Poems
An Everywhere Poem: A View Through Vaseline Lilac blooms ‘tweensteel rails, click and plink,luggage sways in the aisle, his shoes relax at angleson the seat opposite.I glance away from the sign “No feet on seats”. Scented air:Perfumedsour sweatand coffee. Cantonese;French;Arabic. Station announcement in English. A woman nods off.Jerks awake. Mid June is juicy green,ivy on…
It's Still Life 