Tag: AI Digital Art
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23 October: God’s Seed
God’s Seed I know a woman who cleansdirt off a bar of soap. Her husband is a clean man,always smells of Wright’s Coal Tar. Spends his days on knobby knees,planting seed against the willof God’s own wind. His only mistress is the land —widely indifferent to his wife,who dreams of the day when his manhood…
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21 October: We Reigned
We Reigned Over Summer As a kid, I understood water.Dive in head-first, water seems hollow.Feet-first, it’s a brick wall. Sometimes I’d pretend to be a boat, capsized.Or an iceberg. Frozen. Stiff. Floatinglike a Poohstick. Then I’d wade outof the shallows, imagine every stone left dry and parched, fish flapping —all that water held in my…
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20 October: Ten Minutes Past Twelve
At 10 Minutes Past Twelve …he says he’s burnt the soup.How do you burn a liquid, I ask,and he says he just turned his back on it for a second, and it was toast. How does soup become toast, I ask,and he says marrying a poet is a bloody curse. Toast it is, I tell…
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20 October: Deep Water
Deep Water That black lake lies flat,lessons for a river, and there’s a far away tree,punctuation at the lake’s end, I want you, it says. Thin little skinny tree,as if fiction was a fact of death. Deep water is what it is,a fear that says it wants you. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI,…
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18 October: The Goatherd #13
The Spirit of Goats Sure as rocks roll down hills,the woman felt it split her skull. Feltthe explosive roar.Felt starlightdescend all round her. Heard a herald ring in her ears. This stormof no small power,renegade skies daredmock the Mara. A floodthat hurled trees, breakinginto one another,a cataclysmicconscious crush. Black crows chose for the sky,panicked, go…
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17 October: Flash Fiction (332 words)
Fifteen Minutes on 25 December 1968 (332 words) It’s Christmas. The one when the White Album came out. It was a Christmas gift. I bought it myself. I mean, I like socks and handmade polyester button up jumpers, well in truth, no I don’t, which why I bought my own gift that year. Anyway, it’s…
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15 October: The Letter A
The Letter A I still hear the sound of a spoonagainst the side of a granite pestle. I’m in Mum’s kitchen.I wasn’t raised in this house,so it’s not our kitchen, and she tells me that she’sthe only one of her siblingswhose name doesn’t beginwith the letter M. Madeline,Margaret,Millie, and then of coursethere’s Robert. Mum says…
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15 October: Seige
A Black Coat tonight’s deep dark is shining tonight is a seeping melancholy it’s pure as the moon is clean bodies fragrant as the garden of edendreams emptied of sleep and death washed she’s at his grave – neither dead nor gone the ripe smell of paradisethe rise and fall of demonswar’s antiquity is overflowing…
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14 October: A Bubble for Tom
This is a bubble for Tom. His post tells all. 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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13 October: Flash Fiction
Camping The tent smells like vindaloo, Mum says. Dad’s rented a tent. We’re trying camping before he buys one. In case we hate it. He’s picked a spot located in nowhere, and my little sister is already whining that something’s bit her arm. And her chin. She only stepped out of the car 2-minutes ago.…
It's Still Life 