Tag: AI Digital Art
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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…
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3 November: A Moment
A Moment October.Is gone. It’s another new-born month with a new maskthat’s scented and presseddeep into me like a salty hook pullingme back to the sea, or windforking through dry leaveson bare branches or stuttering soundsof playing cards pegged onbicycle spokes. The sea has turned cold,the waterbites my toes, but only for a moment. Some…
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3 November: 03 Völuspá
Thunderclap Seidhr Odin, took her fra Valhöll’s shelf.He, her protector, and she is Vala who calls on the shapers of stars,for their threads of fate and sight, and she calls to south’s lay of lightand the sun’s earth-tethered moon. Her one hand holds steeds of Hel,in the other a death bell’s knell. Seidhr blood she…
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2 November: She Shapes the Wind
She Shapes the Wind From here,She feels the chalk cliffs breathe.Below her, The Atlantic exhales in waves,And inhales wild vapoursInto its kelp roots. She comes hereWhen her mind is a hive,When her heart despairs. She can leanInto a wall of wind, and holdMirrors to her soul’s window. Vigilance is here,Watching for those who seekPeace of…
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1 November: The Season Leaves Should Love
I.I really should love this season, gilt and ruby leaves that move with the wind, catch and hang in spider webs. But I don’t. People in my family always die in the winter. Every last damned one. II. We are like grass. Some always die, but most lift their veil in spring and renew. Recharge.…
It's Still Life 