Tag: a.i.Art
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4.03: Found Poetry of Ragnarök
The Weavers c. 13 I ween myselffrom death. From its fair and fame,From its winking of an eye. Vid eld skal öl drekka. Haply, I am its fooland most faithless friend. Thou ask of runes—but silence is surely better when deadby the fire, we, drinking beer. Vid eld skal öl drekka. This is the continuation…
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From the Oracle in Hindsight
Her Shadow Work Her mother counts pennies,grapes in a bag,pages in a book. More is better—she heard that somewhere. Her father says double yolks are magic, “Eggs are quieter than hens,”and moonlight quiets a dreambecause it sweeps the stars. Words of war wrap the house, a bitter path,the cards are castand signs read. Desk, plough,…
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25.2 dVerse Indigo
Knolling Indigo Indigo blueit fills the twilight scene,Spills inky songs in a secret tongue andWarmsso soft with it tints serene. Indigo blueswept from depths of wonder lies, So truethis blue that colours my dreams Sanctuary lies in your indigo eyes Written for dVerse Poets Quadrille Monday (Quadrille: 44-words sans title, include the prompt word “indigo”). Some artwork is created…
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25.2: Found Poetry of Ragnarök
Who is more blest …the living, the lifeless,the crow by the door,the hearth, the fire,or the lame horse. Deyr fé—Deyja fændr.Who will prevail. Who is more blest …the son come too soon,stones below water,a ship at berth,or icy winter’s breath. Deyr fé—Deyja fændr.Who will prevail. Who is more blestthan he of none. This is the…
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23.2 A Cadralor Poem
Wild Poppies … I. In a Danish fieldyou ripple, ridinga breeze. Your seedsfrom dark to bright, blossomsscattered like broken vows. II. Wild peals of feathered voice,the wind that envies yoursilken red. Quick!Root your brethren to a fieldin drifts of delirium. III. You scorn shadows nestingin shafts of wheat, scorn the corn and its rigid rod.…
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21 Feb: A Miracle Done
You laugh as if a cool sweep of sea has touched your feet, touched your toes white as snowdrops. In your wonderfully wide eyes, cool grass on a summer day is a miracle done. What will your first word be: some sound no one will comprehend until a tide of liquid laughter ripples beyond babble.…
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19 Feb: Journal of Thoughts (and AI)
The I in I Want I want to look at crows on a limband not think Hitchcock. I want to remember the tasteof soft sticky sweets wrappedin dull waxed paper. I want a poetic mould, a soulof mellowed rhyme,of wit and shine. I want to remember wordsand names and famous songsthat sit on the tip…
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17.2 The Whisperoak
The Whisperoak Louisa had always been drawn to the old tree in front of the house. Its roots curled into the stone walls, its gnarled branches scraped the sky, and its massive trunk was hollowed into a darkened passage. Her grandmother said that it was ancient even when she was young and that those who…
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15 Feb: Winter Daybreak
Daybreak 7:15 a.m. Saturday.The sky is the same dreary expanseof rain sodden soil that mirrorsmy emotional tone. Grey hills that catch the light,lifeless as steel—the samelandscape as Sunday, Tuesday, and every daythis February. It’s a Brontë sort of colour,of stunted joy felt by a blossom spurnedand snubbedby a winter chill. Some artwork is created using…
It's Still Life 