Tag: AI Digital Art
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22 December: Winter Solstice Cadralor
A Solstice Light Winter solstice morning in Miami. 7:03am. The sun cuts the clouds. A sliver chases away darkness from where it hides. Below chairs. Under beds. Below bedsheets. This divine light brings me joy. Coffee on the balcony. 9:35am. White candle lit. I recite, all by memory. Eyes closed to noise. Morning traffic. There’s…
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21 December: Geometry of Weather
The Geometry of Weather This is where hurricanessweep over the road.Horizontal up and over, overrun by lay down weather.And today’s wind frees vulturesfrom gravity’s grip, wings angled like geometry.Wings reigningover this lay down weather. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Imagery and poems/prose…
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21 December: Happy Winter Solstice
We Are the Centre of the Wheel We are the Weavers,as we are the woven ones. We are the Dreamers,as we are the dream. May the longest nightbring tranquility and peace.May its returning light bring hope, and renewed life.Embrace the long darkness –it is dawn’s rebirth. To those who celebrate it,happy winter solstice. Note: In…
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19 December: Sunday’s Six Sentence Story
This was once a building, now skeletal wood rot rafters, sharp peaks, joists, long beard moss, grey and matted by rain, but the wind is still strong enough to challenge its heavy weight. Black vultures on the roof ridge. Count them: 1, 2, 3 … and egrets wading the wash; herons picking their way through…
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13 December: Sunday’s Six Sentence Story
My gran had a small farm with a garden, small enough to keep a winter pantry supplied, large enough to keep her friends alive, and she had 2 goats, unnamed because as she put it, Would you name a rug or a chair – Well, no, so why would I name a goat – to…
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11 December: Waiting for a Storm
Waiting for a Storm The morning beckons,it’s a crow’s call, or a hypnotic knock of wavesagainst a boat’s hull …and on the next webbed secondI am sleeping again. Seagulls are chasedfrom the coast by this storm, tossed on whitecaps.They perch in winged treesexcept for a heron watching crayfish scuttlein disguise under the colour of mud.…
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9 December:
The Fontana di Piazza San Babila July heat had usall dipping into fountains,our bare feet soothed in water, feathers, stones, and coins. And there was a young womanwith bright white skin, a slickof perspiration on her arms,and I wondered what she imaginedas her hand swept through cool water. She smiled, and I thoughtshe might be…
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8 December: Observations
Random Observations at the Brea Café There’s an air of atheism about a plastic flower,no matter where it is. It just seems wrong. I’m in a café that smells of stale chicken soup, and the waitress, whose name is Beryl accordingto her name tag, is astonishingly slow, butI’m not the sort to complain, except within…
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7 December: Fiction, Maybe, Maybe Not
A Walk With Wolves Yesterday was a walk with my father’s memory. His wisdom still resonates in my bones. As always he keeps to my left side, to speak to my heart, he says. We walk with two wolves, a White and a Grey who step from the depths of salt marsh reeds – they…
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6 December: Somewhere There’s Always Chocolate
Somewhere near the equator, my youngest son is explaining to his daughter of nearly 6 years why she can’t have chocolate for breakfast, in much the same way that I explained to him when he was 6, why he couldn’t eat chocolate for breakfast, and much like my mum explained to me that eating chocolate…
It's Still Life 