Abyssal Self-Portrait
I met my other body
where the blue began.
I said:
I have been trying
to become more human.
It said nothing,
which is how the sea speaks
when it is being honest.
Its arms moved through me
like old thoughts
👉https://t.co/GKUaMVcMCD
#poetry#myth#writer
Abyssal Self-Portrait
I met my other body
where the blue began.
It had no bones,
only weather.
One eye, dark as a locked chapel.
Eight questions
unspooling from its face.
#poetry#AIart#creativewriting#myth#psyche
Read the full poem:
https://t.co/kgPqfkjRkc
Painted this collection of leaves, flower fragments, and seed pods over April and May.
Some were faded, insect-eaten, curled, or spotted with age, which made them far more interesting to paint.
❦ https://t.co/sTzEjUWa5K
#watercolour#art#leaves#fieldjournal#decay#texture
The underworld isn't dark but flooded.
A journal-style meditation about a zebra and pomegranates.
I like the thought that the underworld might be luminous rather than ruined.
#poetry#watercolor#surrealart#myth#writingcommunity#AIart
What if form isn't a boundary but a passage?
A celestial fish swims through her,
dragging a moon in its wake.
She is nearly water now.
#poetry#art#watercolour#surreal#quillshadow
https://t.co/utwQ3S8uHU
She was not born so much as poured, from a river that remembered colours before names.
Each year, on one day only, she awakens and remembers. A lyric story of Mary Magdalene - witness, mourner, and creature of the forest.
https://t.co/xuWxOUYtsx
#quillshadow#fiction#myth
The Forest Became Them
The forest called, and they became,
One with the soil, a silent flame.
A thousand voices merged as one,
The darkened earth beneath the sun.
In every branch, in every stone,
The forest whispered, "You are home."
#DALLE3#AIart#poetry#nature#evolution
I Gave Him My Cloak
He did not ask.
The wind cut through his steps
as he walked from the edge of the sea.
His skin was pale
and peeling.
His eyes did not settle on anything
for long.
He did not look like a prophet.
He looked like a man
https://t.co/vkfplNymx7
#poetry#myth
Once a creature,
a velvet gecko perhaps,
mistook the sky for a door.
It climbed it.
No—
it kept climbing
when climbing failed.
It was a natural
step.
Flattened itself into prayer.
Or pressure.
Or—
God, being distant,
did not answer—
only left fingerprints
#poetry#AIArt 🤍