Εξατομικευμένες λίστες στο Spotify με τη δύναμη της AI https://greekhub.org/exatomikevmenes-listes-sto-spotify-me-ti-dynami-tis-ai/ #AIpowered #personalized #Playlists #Prompted #Spotify #tests #GreekHub

Nice set of questions — lots to unpack #prompted #protagonist

This monthly timed and #prompted #flashfiction #contest is a fun #writing exercise. My submission shorty!
https://medium.com/the-short-place/stage-left-0d8f420e1ddd @short_place #fiction #shortstories #ballet #theatre #opera #dreams #writingprompts #WritingCommunity #writer #writingchallenge #phantomoftheopera

An unhappy weasel approached the playground monitor, a capybara.
"What's up, love?" she asked.
"It's--" he looked unhappily over his shoulder.
"The dogs?" she #prompted. "They're loud, but they won't hurt you."
"No, it's--"
"The meerkats? Don't mind their staring--it's just their way."
"It's the monkey," said the weasel.
"He keeps chasing me round the mulberry bush."
"Just in fun," grumbled the monkey. The capybara separated the two & invited the weasel to soak in a yuzu bath for a bit.
#wss366

A Philtered Love
April 3, 2023

in the city of gods in the country of gods
in the very world of the gods we are to cherish
the god-mark on my arm remains an unknown
the god-mark in my head remains a memory
not of some god, but of clumsy six-year-old me
stumbling into the stove and thinking it should –

hurt a bit more, and wasn’t something there before
or that the rushes and their brushes down by riverside
may have left a larger chart, in bland tubers
overwintering, fermenting as paste, laying waste
refreshing coming springtime addiction delays
not of some god, but of the work one puts in –

to make sure the addiction gets fed, mash discarded
where by deatification it should instead feed chickens
by another mixed with milk and served in poor quarters
or, making chickens of us, a philter, a love potion
that we might, while gazing into mirror, add the last herb
before pouring our beliefs down our throats –

which six-year-old me in fact did, thus probably
that whole stove, arm, amorous self-redirection
I would have been an alchemist, happily, trading
in memories, in recipes, with whomever my god should be
my parents searching far and wide, asking at last a theist
who my pride of place should be, my temple –

but that temple today is a sigil on an ink-box
brushes tucked alongside, as I can walk wherever I desire
mixing remedies, patients gesturing to my god on my side
walking indeed with me, in relationship most personal
as I learn glass blowing for stowing in small bottles
those glories of herb and bark, god a furnace –

god a neutral noun, un-accented, common
mixed of soot and beetle for waterproofing
a non-someone, a chance remark, a happenstance of drinking
where I was to love myself and instead found cast iron
poppy-red against my embered skin, trailing pain reduction
that white milk in seven other gods’ tuber redactions –

might’s well mix again that one revelation in twelve-tea umber
brushwork on my linen fading, still legible, addiction-breaker

* * *

Referencing a writing prompt over at: https://writing-prompt-s.tumblr.com/

* * *

#poem #poetry #writing #prompted