Tag: a.i.Art
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat’s Bedtime Story The Old Woman is tucked beneath quilts,the moon is a sliver in her sleepy tea,and the cat, perched on the duvet,clears his throat. “Once upon a time,” he begins,“there was a… a mouse.A very… small mouse.With… fur.” He pauses.Blinks once.Twice. “And he… um.He… walked…across a… floor.A wooden floor.It was… oak.” Another…
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6.12: MicroDosing 100 µg
“The heart has its reasons of which reason knows nothing.” – Blaise Pascal’s Pensées It’s December again. The air grows thin and bright in December. Reason sleeps. Another sense awakens. A filament stretched across the dark, humming with a frequency only grief can tune. The clock’s face glows 03:06, not as numbers, but as a…
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5.12: A Poet’s Thoughts on Grief
A Poet’s Thoughts on Grief I have found grief’s pain remains.It does not leave. It does not soften.It evolves. It ceases to be a personal affront,a fist shaken at a betraying sky. It ceases to be a question that demands an answer. It ages.It becomes a quality of light.A longer shadow.A poetic quality. We learn…
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1 Dec: The Liturgy of Pepperbright Canticle
Liturgy for Pepperbright Canticle (reading time: 1 minute) I. The Nature of the SparkPepperbright Canticle arrives as a glint.Vivid. Gold-green.Like sunlight striking a brass bowlof crushed herbs. It tastes of citrus heat, wild laughter,and something faintly medicinalthat refuses to apologise.It does not ask permission.It simply is:truth slipping out sideways,a confession madewith a mouth full of…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat and the Penguin Inquiry (A Winter’s Tale in One Act) The cat is pressed against the cold glass,the garden becoming a white sentence,watching the snow like it’s televisionfor intellectuals. “When,” he asks,without turning,“will the penguins arrive?The documentary said snowmeans penguins.And ice.And… formal wear.” The Old Woman looks up from her knitting.“That’s the Antarctic,…
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24.11: Unbound – The Liturgy
The Liturgy for the Unbound Heart I. The Colour of Softened Truth It begins where blush meets ash,a muted rose,pressed between pages of memory,tinged with the softness of smoke after rain.Not pink, not grey,but something woven of both,a tenderness wrapped in quiet release,the hue of truthwhispered after years of silence,the moment sorrow exhalesand becomes something…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat and The Book of Obsolete Words(A Masterclass in Feline Flattery) The cat is sprawled across the Dictionary of Forgotten Tongues,one claw resting delicately on the entry for: “Philofelist”: n. A lover of cats. “You,” he announces,with the gravity of a judge delivering a life sentence,“are clearly a philofelist.It’s archaic.It’s dignified.It’s literally written here,…
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21.11: MicroDosing 150µg
Quiet Hearts There’s a man who wandered here and there, collecting silences: the thin breath between cathedral notes, the feather-pause beneath a crow’s wing, the split-second hush before a lie takes shape. He trapped each one in cork-sealed jars, labelling them with careful hands, certain he was gathering rare specimens of the world’s quiet heart.…
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18.11: dVerse Quadrille
The Internet Is Down Again Come on, you sulking hulk,we coax you from the dark,we whisper to your routers,and promise you the clouds.Rise now, little lights,shake off your grumpy moody gloom.The world waits, half-breathing,for your bright return.Come on, Cloudflare, wake up! Written for dVerse Poets, Quadrille (44 words) “coax”. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2025.
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17.11: Liturgy for Black that Remembers
A Liturgy for A Black that Remembers Of ReasonWe gather at Vantablack.A surface that is a hole,a pigment that is absence,a door that is not a door,but a consequence. We speak to the Black That Remembers. Of PortentsThey slow their steps;their instincts hum a warningolder than sight. The crow,feathered in a lesser dark,names it for…
It's Still Life 