#poemgen

[schizophrenology]

schizothymia

branch veins pulsing, aching, burning, climbing out of tomorrow and up towards something quieter, older, harder, safer.

that which does not climb, does not escape toward anything, only becomes closer to itself, to what it wishes it wasn't, and shouldn't be, and hadn't been before it found itself here lost in the bushes

[countesslime]

Doki Doki Literature Club still haunts me

https://instilledbee.net/projects/poemgen/ Insert: Every day, I imagine a future where I can be with you In my hand is a pen that will write a poem of me and you The ink flows down into a dark puddle Just move your hand - write the way into his heart! But in this world of infinite choices What will it take just to find that special day? What will it take just to find that special day? Use Yuri 3 font Easter egg/glitch

[schizophrenology]

He first deceased; she for a little tried To live without him, liked it not, and died.

Poem by Sir Henry Wotton

[schizophrenology]

In those days, in those far remote days, in those nights, in those faraway nights, in those years, in those far remote years, at that time the wise one who knew how to speak in elaborate words lived in the Land;

[schizophrenology]

Image Generated in OpenDalle v1.1 with the following poem as a prompt:

A Portrait in Greys

By William Carlos Williams

Will it never be possible to separate you from your greyness? Must you be always sinking backward into your grey-brown landscapes—and trees always in the distance, always against a grey sky?

                          Must I be always moving counter to you? Is there no place where we can be at peace together and the motion of our drawing apart be altogether taken up?                                  I see myself standing upon your shoulders touching  a grey, broken sky— but you, weighted down with me, yet gripping my ankles,—move                           laboriously on, where it is level and undisturbed by colors.

[schizophrenology]

"Sun" and "Moon"

by Henry Rowe (1750-1819)

ANGEL, king of streaming morn; Cherub, call’d by Heav’n to shine; T’ orient tread the waste forlorn; Guide ætherial, pow’r divine; Thou, Lord of all within!

Golden spirit, lamp of day, Host, that dips in blood the plain, Bids the crimson’d mead be gay, Bids the green blood burst the vein; Thou, Lord of all within!

Soul, that wraps the globe in light; Spirit, beckoning to arise; Drives the frowning brow of night, Glory bursting o’er the skies; Thou, Lord of all within!

THEE too, modest tressed maid, When thy fallen stars appear; When in lawn of fire array'd Sov'reign of yon powder'd sphere; To thee I chant at close of day, Beneath, O maiden Moon! thy ray.

Throned in sapphired ring supreme, Pregnant with celestial juice, On silver wing thy diamond stream Gives what summer hours produce; While view'd impearl'd earth's rich inlay, Beneath, O maiden Moon! thy ray.

Glad, pale Cynthian wine I sip, Breathed the flow'ry leaves among; Draughts delicious wet my lip; Drown'd in nectar drunk my song; While tuned to Philomel the lay, Beneath, O maiden Moon! thy ray.

Dew, that od'rous ointment yields, Sweets, that western winds disclose, Bathing spring's more purpled fields, Soft 's the band that winds the rose; While o'er thy myrtled lawns I stray Beneath, O maiden Moon! thy ray.

Images Generated in OpenDalle v1.1 using the text of each poem as a prompt