Tag: a.i.Art
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4 May: A Cadralor Poem
A Few Thoughts After Lunch 1.There’s a bird by his foot. It doesn’t fly.It’s not asleep, and it doesn’t move.It waits for him to turn the soil,so it can peck at what’s trapped beneath. 2.The air is still as grey. Grey is never noticed.Invisible. Unseen as the back of a page.I remember the Grey Man.…
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7 March: FOWC “Cook”
Who’s Cooking When I walk to the shopsalong the footpath, downby the winter-filled stream,I look to where the pub is, scaffolding on the frontageand tables still on the lawn,the carpark weedy and wild,and I stare up at the pub roof, the sky falling on the beamsand rafters, and I wonderwho was cooking that nightwhen the…
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3 March: Reworked Mezzaluna
A Mezza Luna My mezza luna, crescent moon. Up there, pronging errant clouds. Up there, where stars move heaven and earth. Cut and sliced, night’s fabric redressed. Full to blousy. Wax to wane. Sad and joyous, so pale and faint. Up there. Up there. We stare up. Up. ©Misky 2023 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter.
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25 February: RDP Plump
Plumped Like earth waking upfingertipsthat outweigh the sun.Plump as red, and nearing rot.A mouthful of strawberries Written for RDP “Plump” AI Digital Artwork is created using Midjourney. Imagery and poems ©Misky 2023 Shared on Twitter #amwriting @midjourney
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25 February: #SOCS The Bus Stop
Give That Girl A Prize … several people already waiting for the 11:10 bus into town. A husband and wife with two gaunt dogs on leads; several kids – why aren’t they in school, and two tall men tilting on their walking sticks. I must try to recreate those two using AI art. A teenage…
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25 January: dVerse Grandmothers
Granny Eunice Granny says she’ll give mea dish of tonguesif the screen door slams. The screen door slams. Fly paper swingsand snags sunny yellowin the summer breeze. Bacon’s fryingin curls and shrinks.Spits. The flame jumps. Granny’s arms are dressedin skin and flour.Butter on her cold fingers. It’s a blessing to a baker, she says. Scones.…
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18 January: dVerse Winter
A Black Bare Twig I am whiteness and droning drear,woolly and wet,a slipped cold mask,a drumming ear. Huddle ’round your woodburners,seek that whirring fanof warmth against your skin. Garb your hat and scarf and socks.I am the ice underfoot,your skates cutand track my spine, your children embed me with laughter.I am a dark galaxy,winter’s chariot.Gather…
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