Category: AI Art
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9 October: For Unicorn Challenge
One Saturday Afternoon Dad’s sitting in his stressless chair.By the window.TV remote in one hand,an air gun resting on the windowsill. The gun is filled with buckshot. The gawd-damned deer, as he calls them because he says he doesn’t curse near kids, and I’m 6,are eating his raspberries. And the…
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09 The Found Poetry Project
9 October: Wood Woodopened my mindand emptied the air. Fetched the earthto enter me. I breathe old sage again.And againI am insatiably filledwith my own lament. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. (found on pgs 17-18) Wounded by Love, The…
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08 The Found Poetry Project
8 October: Free I am sureof fragrant wordsheard in my head. Smoothed.Planed down.Rasp and crystalline as sea stone. Erase my heart of sight,and I will leave my thoughts free. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. (found on pgs 14-16, 17)…
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7 October: A Quadrille for dVerse
Feather Something as pure as a feather,a bleached bone quill,a white wisp vane, maybe fallen froman albatross in a brush with an angel. Or an owlsitting in withering elderberries. A feather hangs in knotted websof a spider, opalized by moonlight. A 44-word (sans title) quadrille written for dVerse Poets “brush”. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI,…
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07 The Found Poetry Project
7 October: In a Stroke My heart was with his,and I knew the bread to cut the mackerel to gut. In a single stroke, I wished nothing morethan to inhale grace. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. (found on pgs…
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06 The Found Poetry Project
6 October: Irascible On the other side of the mountain,mother dreamsI am a teenager,my young footprints cry out,as if by divine power. And I moveher stones here, and moveher stones there. When the word came to me.Irascible. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not…
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6 October: Old Wool and Bumblebees
Old Wool and Bumblebees There’s smoke in the air,or maybe it’s my old Fair Isletweedy wool sweater. Every odour and insect descendson old wool. It always smells of something. But this is smoke. Just heard on the radio —the last storm carried a veil of smokefrom North America’s wildfires, hitched itself on a wave of…
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05.1 The Found Poetry Project
5 October: The Lamps I am leftto the beauty of night.Skin, lamps, bright and shining.Earth no longergrips meto its pale. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. (found on pg 10) Wounded by Love, The Life and Wisdom of St Porphyrious,…
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05 The Found Poetry Project
5 October: The Monk I stayed the night,outsideon a wooden bench, dreaming such long stories, … that I met a tall monkwith a long beard, and when I woke, … I met a tall monk with a long beard,who said words would loosen my tongue. An explanation of Found Poetry and Dadaism can be read…
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4 October: The Goatherd #11
Bounce And there’s a girlwho laughs at crows,the ones that bounce acrossthe grassy dry, and shebounces against her mother’s hip,this girl, Binti Mbuzi, is inked by soil’s spit and mud,steeped in its quietude.Hers is a childhood of perfect hours, and today, she feels its flaming morning, fit toflit from flower to flower,like the sun winging…
It's Still Life 