Tag: AI Digital Art
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22 April: NaPoWriMo (a haibun)
It’s lazy-hot for mid-May. A few days before she finishes 6th grade, and she can hear her mother talking, voices slipping in and out of her open bedroom window, “somethingsomethingsometimes she makes my flesh crawl,” so she knows what she’s telling the neighbour. She swings her feet off the bed, she’s wearing white cotton socks…
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21 April: NaPoWriMo
A Stark Hand I am in the strange hands of wind that reach the cliffs and pebble beach. I have come here to hear the voice of time’s sentinel, its sun-washed ancient secrets. Tell me of your lost lore, what guards your stark hand so well. I turn my face to the sky where by…
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20 April: NaPoWriMo
A (Prose) Poem Starting with a Line from Armageddon by T. Silverman Every time I see you, I ask if Bruce Willis is dead. For months, the days repeated and the windows were blank with winter, and then it was April – an eclipse, red-tint full moon from Sahara dust, and a devil-horned asteroid, and…
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19 April: NaPoWriMo
A Blot Upon It All She calls me her blot. Her watermark. As if she’d looked directly into the sun, or a flashbulb had gone off in too close a proximity. Like January eyes – bokeh’d, fogged, a wet ache, foot-loose, if those eyes were feet. Forlorn perhaps, but not always, just as night can’t…
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18 April: NaPoWriMo
The Old Woman Who’s Not Whistler’s Mother She’s not Whistler’s mother,but if she were, she’d describeherself as the shape of cloudson the way to a different life. And she might suggest thatshe is a dinosaur … not plasticas that’s not been invented yet,who’s bored with herself. And that her cheeks, once pink,are now the colour…
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18 April: NaPoWriMo (17/4 prompt)
Duality’s Voice She is the morning,And the birds mistake her for it.But this worldIs an indifferent parentWithout a guiding heart. Life is an eddy. A swirl.One day her heart will forgetTo beat,But today she smiles and wonders,Who am I to feel so loved. Written for Miz Quickly’s 17 April prompt: Two poems with a title that…
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15 April: NaPoWriMo – Pizza
Of Myth and Mozzarella This great human reverence,that we will call a pizza,that scatters laureates’ wordsto spark and kindle flamesin overheated ovens. Stone-baked.Oregano perfumed,and for the love of basil,heavenly ripe tomatoes.In spite of ones hungry heart, I plead a thousand-foldfor a knife sharp enough toslice through this ecstasy.This angel gate.This ecliptic circle. FEED ME! Written…
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16 April: NaPoWriMo
Quietness Why not always.I will be the calmness of the sea, where I will unravel your knots.I will be the daughter of high tide, and you will be my window. Why not always,for your wading and for your washing. Why not alwaysbe in my high waters running deep, and rebel wild. Why not alwaysin a…
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16 April: A Six – Part: 5 Out of the Frying Pan
Previous instalments of this story: Part 1: The Pull Back Part 2: The Measure of Her Part 2: The Gatekeeper’s Response Part 3: The Colour of Walls Part 4: Tectonic Shifts Part 5: Out of the Frying Pan Part 6: How to Break Eggs Part 7: A Moon River Part 8: Starlight Shines on the Roof Part 9: Before When Part: 9.1 Flower Power At an Intersection Named…
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14 April: NaPoWriMo
It’s All in the Delivery Dead centre in the middle of the intersection at Rue Norvins and Place de Tertre, a delivery van stops. The driver takes no notice of the traffic queueing ahead or behind him, the hysteria, the ear-pinpricking gibberish, the honking horns and shaking fists. He unloads 3 cases of wine and…
It's Still Life 