Tag: AI Digital Art
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14 November: for Sunday Whirl
Tunnel Vision Stood there, pitied not,before a mirror,a body that’s escaped memory. Blind lips.A kiss pressed with fire. Never trapped,but let lose to burnamongst glass stars. It’s been far too long since I played with Brenda’s Sunday Whirl. Happy to be back for this one. Sunday Wordle #628 a dozen words: stars, glass, fire, trapped, lose, tunnel,…
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13 November: The Rehearsal (Oldest Version)
The Rehearsal: Broken Epitaph there’s the conversationperhaps there’s rain and cold a broken story unfolds no I don’t know what they say,and does it matter anyway all those cracks in cords, those oaths,play 4 and then 4 again, play oneof those endless pieces with cracks in mirrors and soulsthat fall apart and then the music…
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10 November: 04 Völuspá
Mótsognir I, drawn of dread juices of flesh,born from Ymir’s breast and bone,and dreaded buzz of wings, I, dreaded spawn of blue bottles.Drawn from a maggot’s coddle.I, born under a constellationof blustery red … by the gods, I am Mótsognir who drank from the spumeand foam of courage and might.Who was the first born, lord…
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9 November: Alone
No one should be alone,to move on a different plane,to live out these miles in rainwhere there is no end. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Imagery and poems ©Misky 2023.
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8 November: Love’s Palace
A frame of mind without a head.Or pillar.This is to burn love’s palaceAnd question ourselves. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Imagery and poems ©Misky 2023.
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7 November: Just the Slightest
Just the slightestImperceptibleMovement of leaves. A shiver of windThrough the dried thistles. Clouds overhead Brushing the sky,As fast as a lifetime. RDP Movement . Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Imagery and poems ©Misky 2023.
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6 November: The Widow’s Stick
All year that limb hung there as if baffled by gravity’s indecision, and sometime between dark and daylight, it lost its balance, fell from the sky, and plunged to the earth. White beechwood bark peeling and curling back onto itself, lichen-poxed, and laying in the mud-soaked grass like a withered long bone. It’s what my…
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5 November: Still
Still He’s fallen asleep in his chair.The sun’s served its purpose today,it’s nearly set, and his stillness isin me. It’s not translatable. He breathes, nearly unmoving.He’s water within water.His heartbeat sounds liketiny footsteps. Running. This man of mine is a paradoxof cyclones and soft breath.Movement and salty stillness.And he burns hotter than the sun. He…
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4 November: Twenty-Two Seconds in 1974
Twenty-Two Seconds in 1974 Wake up, he whispers in her ear.She turns over, her eyes unwilling to release the last dusting of sleep.Those brown eyes of his; those brown eyes.And he says “Do you trust me?”“Do I trust the man who drugged me last night? No.” she says.And then she grins that sort of grin…
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4 November: The Suitcase
Mum thought it was a suitcase, but then she didn’t open it up to look, because that would mean spending more time in the charity shop than she wanted to do, just in case some neighbour walked by and saw her – in a charity shop for fig’s sake, so she bought it for a…
It's Still Life 