Mastodawn

This is a space to rant as much as you like this week. Or contemplate the future we are heading towards with almost inhuman speed. Maybe you reminisce about a past that lives inside you, but may not exist in the outer world.

Hallucinate more than AI, or let your experience talk.

Ridicule the irony that this image is generated by AI.

Do you see someone having the last laugh at the end of the horizon?

Unless stated, all featured images are produced by myself with the assistance of AI

#AI #creativePoetry #freeVerse #lifeStyle #ReenaSXplorationChallenge #reflections #writingcommunity

Eugi 1d ago

The way we were – Throwback Friday

devotion blurred with passion

adoring moments yet to be embraced

the spirit of love grace’s hesitant

while weeks pass disturbed

tender hugs breathe numbness

and once warm smiles gelid

as unconscious moments

become one

with bitterness in the soul

beginnings and endings

with nowhere to go

Throwback –
16 Mar 2022

Unless stated, all featured images are produced by myself with the assistance of AI

#creativePoetry #freeVerse #life #perception #reblog #reflections #society

The Poet's House 1d ago

My Blank Canvas

In elementary school I was handed a blank canvas,
some brushes and paint.
Our teacher said, “paint something you learned”
I decided to paint a Navajo dwelling
somewhere in the desert untouched by written history.

In one hand I held a palette
blending the colors of a night sky.
A memory sparked and inspiration ignited
what flowed through my heart
flowed from my brush.

Brilliant reds and oranges cut across the landscape
to create a horizon of infinite possibility.
And from the shadows of the foothills a desert emerged.
From the desert floor my brush pushed towards the sky
a hogan of earthly browns creating a place of warmth and security.
From the chimney grayish-white smoke rose into the evening
garnishing the sky like a fond memory.

Next to the hogan I painted a corral
that contained three horses nodding in the night.
They dreamed of running free across the desert
breathlessly charging the infinite sky
leaving a thunderous echo that awakens the spirits
of those that drift away on subtle winds.

Little specks of lightning white
formed the stars above the corral.
Each star, a child that dared to dream.
Each star, a child that played freely upon the canvas.
Their childhood shall never be forgotten
by those wishing upon a star.

I painted a tortoise that freely roamed the desert floor
Its colors so faded by time it blended into the scenery.
Barely recognizable against the foothills of the desert
the tortoise walked slower than the setting sun.
I asked the tortoise what he would do to complete this painting
Paint a mouth on me and I will tell you, he replied.
I painted a smile that reflected my own.

To the side of the canvas, I envisioned the long shadows of night
creating the silhouette of a cactus
and next to that cactus a desert fox
tip-toeing across the foothills, seeking mischief and foolery;
mindful not to leave footprints in the sands of time.

And as the desert fox played with the night
I pictured a crow landing on the edge of the chimney
a temporary home to watch the concluding light
and protect those dreaming away the night.

Image: Banksy Mural. Title: The Street is in Play. New York City October 1st 2013.

#Art #Canada #Canadianpoet #Freeverse #Painting #Poetry

Eugi 2d ago

My Journey with AI: Balancing Emotion and Technology

Sometimes, I have qualms about the value of AI. I feel there are notable disadvantages such as job replacement, ethical issues, privacy concerns, and an open door to security and cyber attacks.

On the other hand, I feel AI offers numerous benefits through improved efficiency, creativity, and accuracy.

Personally, I use AI to create images, but not for writing. In my opinion, AI lacks empathy and emotion, so how can one write poetry without emotion?

music, my go-to

many times I’ve queued up

to enjoy a concert

loved rock and roll early on

add doo-wop, blues and soul

hard rock and heavy metal

keep rockin’ and party on

Quips from my book Bits and Pieces and Me.

#24 success and failure

it’s not either or

it’s a combination

#25 we learn through mistakes

hopefully we heed the lessons

more than once

“I’m tired of trying to do something worthwhile for the human race, they simply don’t want to change!”― August Dvorak

This Week’s Writer’s Workshop Prompts – June 11, 2026

Here are this week’s prompts:

Write a post based on the word value.

Write a post in exactly nine (9) sentences.

Do you use Artificial Intelligence for anything? Have you ever used it to write a blog post? What is your opinion of it?

Have you ever had a situation where you made a fool of yourself in front of a stranger, only to meet the person later in a social or business setting?

Did you bring your lunch to school? What did you usually have?

What is your current favorite type of music? How did you come across it? Share some examples.

Three Things Challenge #MM451

Your three words today are:
QUALM
QUIP
QUEUE

Unless stated, all featured images are produced by myself with the assistance of AI

#Threethingschallenge #ebook #freeVerse #lifeLessons #perspectives #quote #WriterSWorkshop #writingcommunity

The Poet's House Jun 6

The Murmuration of Poets

The murmuration of poets
is God’s pupil.
The depth of knowledge
infinite.
In the darkness’ abyss we exist
only to find ourselves
in God’s light.

#Canada #Canadianpoet #Freeverse #God #Love #Poetry #Poets #Thepoetshouse

Ashley Halliwell Jun 6

It is storming outside and Emerson taught me how to play dominos today.

It was pretty fun although he kicked my ass.

I also saw this prompt about small spells to do on your birthday, and half of an enormous poem formed in my head while I was taking my 30 minutes of boredom based on the suggestion to write a letter to yourself a year ago even though it isn’t my birthday. So I’m going to post it here for posterity’s sake.

“annus epilepticus”

you don't know this yet
but the premonitions you've been having of
your own death are true
and a mere few weeks past your 28th birthday
you will die - just enough - to touch the
robe of any god you know
when the subtle fire you've always been
strikes you back
and strikes you back again

you will hang on for just long enough
for your kind partner to burst into the room
cradle you in his arms
and guide you, screaming in mortal terror, back into the light

you have never been good at dying
but this will take you a hair’s breadth from death
and you will bear the scars on your temporal lobe
(and speech pattern) long afterwards to prove it

and whether it is by fate or some wild magic
this will save your life in more ways than you will
know

for most of July, you will not be able to speak
coherently. you will eventually choke out
your suspicion that the seizures induced
Wernicke's aphasia, and everyone who knows
you will agree with you, a cruel fate for
you, but more importantly, you will come back…
changed.

you will start writing better poetry. something
about the way your brain burned and cracked
will allow you to see things from a different angle,
to look askance at language in a way you
never did before.
the partner that saved your life will convince you
to start attending a poetry workshop held in a coffeeshop that july. the rhythm of writing and
performing regularly amongst very talented
wordsmiths will help break you out of your
agoraphobia.
one of them will take notice of the way you
perform, noting its similarity
to Shakespearean acting and encourage you to attend the open mic he runs.
so you start performing at Linneman's Riverwest Inn again for the first time since 2023 at his
personal request.

you will somehow muddle through your divorce
proceedings on july 23, five years and 13 days
since leaving your ex husband, and it's a miracle
you will be able to do that since even getting
out of bed to use the bathroom still feels like running a marathon, but you're so hell-bound
and determined to get rid of this man that
when the judge asks if the marriage fell apart
due to incompatibility of temperament, you will
shout ABSOLUTELY loud and clear as day into
the microphone. (you will also show up hours
early to the hearing. you don't want to miss this
for the world.) when your ex husband replies, it's the most defeated you will ever hear him.
spite has always been your strong suit.
the judge will finalize your divorce, and
then the question arises of who you will
marry next.

you will leave the answer up to the two people
you consider yourself married to
already, a man who cannot lie
and a boy who cannot tell the truth.
in a rare show of generosity, the liar boy
will concede to the honest man.
he will live to regret that decision. you, however,
will not.

as the months progress, it will become increasingly clear that despite your love
for him, your relationship with the liar is built
on sand. surviving your seizures will leave
you with a new perspective on life and
precious little patience for wasted time or
undue stress, and the liar will waste your time
and mess with your head.
you will tell him he is killing you. he displays no
remorse. you will scream, beg, plead, and stop
short of borrowing and stealing to get him to
listen.
despite his damn near single-minded obsession
with you that will make you feel like you're
emotionally his hostage, he will not care about
the affect he's having on your other relationships
or your well being.

one very early fall morning, after you've spent the
entire night in the emergency room with him and
your fiancé, “heat above” by greta van fleet will
come on. your fiancé will remark that it feels as though you are driving into a different
timeline as dawn breaks. you, spiritual and full of subtle fire as ever, will respond that you feel it, too. your liar will
say nothing.

finally, in november, after
months of suspicion that he's cheating on you (despite being polyamorous!)
he will get sloppy and you'll catch him when he
forgets to turn his location off.
this is your red line and you will dump him over it.
to add insult to injury, he will tell you you're
overreacting.
you will know better than that by now.

despite your heartbreak, you will feel more
free after leaving him than you have in months.
you will compile a dossier of evidence against him
and publish it to the world.
this is when the mask and gloves come off and it
will spark
a months long battle of he-said-she said online.
he will slander both you and your future husband.
you will have even fewer regrets about leaving
him.

one of the final acts you will do before moving
out from the apartment you and your fiancé share with your liar
is a manifestation ritual that will make you feel
powerful beyond imagining - you will gaze into
a mirror with your future husband while “heat above” plays in the background. you will picture yourself in red sunglasses driving down water street with more money and fame
than sense, husband
next to you. you pass your former lying flame on
the street, roll down your window, wave to him like a queen, and ride on
as if he had never meant a thing to you in the
first place.

you will choose “heat above” as the song for your
intentions for the year to come after how that ritual made you
feel.

on January 5th, you will feature at Linneman's, your poetic home.
you will write a brilliant bespoke set for the
occasion, combining music, poetry, and
references to shakespeare at the
host’s request. the audience is small, but they are
so engaged that they offer you a standing ovation at the end.
you have nothing prepared for an encore, so you
will offer them a story about your eccentric
great uncle.
it will go over the time limit, but not a soul will
care.

you will marry your husband on January 23rd in the
same coffeeshop that helped you work through
your agoraphobia. the wedding will be incredibly
small, but it will be the finest wedding either of
you have ever attended. the poet who runs
the workshop that got you writing again will
write a special poem for the ceremony.
your friend and frequent collaborator will travel
all the way from Madison to attend. your
husband's best man will travel all the way from
iowa. your “gentleman of debauchery”, as they are called, is your dear friend who you will
date a few months later.

you will wake up the next day in the fabulous
hotel that your best man and
a friend of yours who you met
by chance arranged for you and your husband
to find that one of the videos you posted from
the wedding is going viral on instagram.
it is your first look video, and no one, friend or foe,
will quite know what to make of it.
within days, it will amass millions of views.
you will keep posting.

you will start to get inundated with direct messages from people who are fascinated with
your body after you get an idea to post videos of
yourself in lingerie that your husband found
for you at a clothing swap, and because you are
struggling financially, you will decide to start talking
about your Patreon more.
to no one’s surprise but your foes, you will get
subscribers, enough to make hundreds of dollars
in the first two months you talk about it.
in the meantime, you will keep going viral.

a few weeks before your next birthday, on
your regularly scheduled Internet travels,
you will come across a creator who found out
that she copes with mast cell activation syndrome
and that she has been taking H1 and H2 inhibitors
for it. you will tell your husband what you saw, and seeing as you've already been taking H1
inhibitors for some time, he will find you H2 inhibitors.
you will take them as an experiment, and the
difference is like night and day. you will feel as
though you are emerging from a decade in a
long, dark cave.

the change will frighten you.
you will keep going anyway.

you don't know it yet, but despite everything -
you will do more than your best this year.

Allēna 6/5/2026