Tag: AI Digital Art
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3 October: Saints Not Saints
SAINTS NOT SAINTS (Flash Fiction: words: 531, reading time 3-minutes) INKED I.He’s one of those –a saint who’s not a saint.He stands on the top stepof a long flight of stairs,and watches people … some in haste,suits and ties, mothers with their harsh wordsfor children dragged along on short legs, homeless men insulatedin newspaper for…
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3 October: Hunters in the Snow
Hunters in the Snow: The Trees The gales stripped the treesof every autumn-ambered leaf.Oh, how they howledin that biting steel cold. Such were those long winter months.Our spring brought not green,nor blue to sky, and fish frozein streams as they swam. Spiders died in their webs,caught in rims and spines of ice.And the sun, glassy-eyed,…
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2 October: Tattoo
Tattoo It’s a long lingering bruisefor a woman he once loved, a red inked heartwith a twisting rose vine,thorny,prickly. Bloody woman’s still under his skin. He’s thankful for small mercies,it’s on his boney shoulder bladeand he can’t see itwithout mirrors and contortions. And he cushions his beer buzzagainst the snooker table,draws back the cue stick,…
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1 October: Counting for Something
Counting For Something There’s a lunar halo around the full moon. And a Chihuahua barks at mefrom the other side of my neighbour’s door.It’s a voice of acid rain, and I’m holding a bag of French goodies –Dijon mustards and pink macarons.I’ll dig up something for the dog. It’s the last night of September,and the…
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30 September: A Pioneer Poem
A Ghost of You Time won’t heal this scar –I’m your scattered ruin.Your touch, how much‘fore your scent leaves mywaking sleep and dreams.Take your weedy walk –I’m your scattered ruin.Time won’t heal some scars. A Pioneer Poem for MPP “haunted”. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text…
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30 September: For Unicorn Challenge
The Derelict Line to Turners Hill My feet have come to rest here,at the end of this dim lit lane, where fallen leaves, gold and red and brown,rain down like regal crowns, and however soft I treadupon this hardened path, I stop and look and listen for the 8:04,a train from a sky faded world,…
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29 September: A Pocketful
A Pocketful I am from damp forestswith moss hanging like men’sgrey beards from branches. Orange huckleberriesWild blueberriesJune’s strawberries, sunburnt red. There was no pizza,tomato sauce was ketchup,and pockets always deep. And you neededan operatorto connect to another phone. My dad collectedbuffalo nickels,and shiny silver dollars … and my mum made all of our clothing,and all…
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28 September: Haibun Monday “Equinox”
Autumn’s winter came last night. September’s departing with a rip. Trees undressed of their fiery colour. A storm blows through. This one has a name. Agnes. A woman. As though a storm might sit in a chair in a secluded corner, cross her legs in a most delicate and enticing way, sweet as dripping honey.…
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27 September: The Goatherd #10
The Girl of Goats The man arrivedon the back of dawn dew air.If only, if only to turn back time.If only to be there. For her. Moonlight had a creased disregardthat night – it was blackas a crushed star. The moon pulled at him,and he knew its crush. She told him of cursing the wind…
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25 September: Idling Thoughts on a Road Trip
25.09.23 Driving South Along the Mosel River 7:25Fog licks the morning in curls, and rides like wingless birds on grapevines. Hushed on terraced steps. River reflections that come for solitude. This is the Mosel River. 8:00The old church tower is a spike into time. We are small. Solitary. Rising essence of water, we are this.…
It's Still Life 