The Knight's Watch Verse I - A knight sits at his campfire in the sunset
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Prompt: A knight sits at his campfire in the sunset
He sharpens his sword and rests after a great adventure
His eyes wander, as he longs so much for his maiden
The one in the far away land awaits him, but it's still a long way there
Prompt: A knight sits at his campfire in the sunset,
He sharpens his sword and rests after a great adventure,
His eyes wander, as he longs so much for his maiden,
The one in the far away land awaits him, but it's still a long way there.
Prompt: In the silence of solitude, where thoughts unwind, The truth of mind, we come to find. A mirror reflecting, our deepest self, In the endless expanse, of consciousness's wealth.
Prompt: Natuur is voor tevredenen of legen.
En dan: wat is natuur nog in dit land?
Een stukje bos, ter grootte van een krant,
Een heuvel met wat villaatjes ertegen.
–
Geef mij de grauwe, stedelijke wegen,
De in kaden vastgeklonken waterkant,
De wolken, nooit zo schoon dan als ze, omrand
Door zolderramen, langs de lucht bewegen.
–
Alles is veel voor wie niet veel verwacht.
Het leven houdt zijn wonderen verborgen
Tot het ze, opeens, toont in hun hoge staat.
–
Dit heb ik bij mijzelve overdacht,
Verregend, op een miezerige morgen,
Domweg gelukkig, in de Dapperstraat.
Prompt: We are crucified between the west and the east.
What is not an eagle is a liver for us.
Favored, fate, over my people,
so that he does not allow himself to be mutilated!
Prompt: Make a perfect iconic maximally wide landscape-oriented beautiful captivating dynamic expressive multicolored stylized abstract Art Nouveau and Bauhaus-style illustration for this poem BY EMILY DICKINSON, without any text or information. Avoid cliches and a sickly-sweet interpretation. Without any clouds.
“Hope” is the thing with feathers
“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -
I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.
Prompt: Be it sight, sound, the smell, the touch.
There's something,
Inside that we need so much,
The sight of a touch, or the scent of a sound,
Or the strength of an Oak with roots deep in the ground.
The wonder of flowers, to be covered, and then to burst up,
Thru tarmack, to the sun again,
Or to fly to the sun without burning a wing,
To lie in the meadow and hear the grass sing,
To have all these things in our memories hoard,
And to use them,
To help us,
To find...
God...
Prompt: The world was made by an Egyptian god
at the potter's wheel. He took land and water from the Nile and he spun them in his mind until the light. From the light he imagined the woman and the flowers. But the woman resembled the jug and when he lifted it to drink, the potter was dizzy - and his palms
caressed the overturned pitcher beside him. That's when the song was born.
Prompt: A huge amber leaf is the centerpiece, with a vibrating urban streetscape merged within the details of the leaf. The leaf appears to be melting, with azurite liquid metal flowing over the city scene, creating a sense of surrealism. There is a vivid sense of dynamism that accentuates the role of the urban landscape in the visual narrative.
Prompt: The humus has left its thousand-year carpet on the ground. The trees touch each other in height, in trembling unity. Below, dark is the jungle. A short flight, a cry crosses it, the birds of the cold, the foxes with electric tails, a large leaf that falls, and my horse steps on the soft bed of the sleeping tree, but under the earth the trees understand each other again and touch each other. . The jungle is one, a single great handful of perfume, a single root under the earth.
Prompt: The sky and stars,
Seem too far.
The ocean and sea,
Appears too deep.
But family and friends,
are around every bend;
So enjoy your time,
before it ends.
Prompt: An image incomparable to a flower,
Of which there will come an hour,
When its beauty surpasses many dreams,
And trickles to the common along a stream.
Prompt: A blood-black nothingness began to spin. A system of cells interlinked, within cells interlinked, within cells interlinked, within one stem. And dreadfully distinct against the dark, a tall white fountain plays.
Prompt: Full body splash art portrait. She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
Prompt: In the frosty grasp of winter's tale,
A crystal flake begins to sail,
Through the chilly air it glides,
A masterpiece in nature's guides.
Delicate and wondrously formed,
Intricate patterns, each adorned,
With glistening facets, pure and bright,
Reflecting hues of soft moonlight.
A dance of beauty, a fleeting glance,
As it descends in a tranquil trance,
From heavens high, it softly lands,
Upon the earth, in gentle hands.
Unique in shape, no two alike,
A tiny wonder, a snowflake strike,
A fleeting moment, a work of art,
A miracle born from nature's heart.
So fragile yet with strength untold,
A tale of wonder, to behold,
In its brief life, a story told,
Of beauty, grace, and secrets bold.
Oh, crystal flake, in silence drift,
Your presence, nature's subtle gift,
A symbol of transient delight,
A fleeting marvel, a winter's night.
Prompt: "I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree. A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast; A tree that looks at God all day, And lifts her leafy arms to pray; A tree that may in Summer wear A nest of robins in her hair; Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain. Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree.
neo-impressionism expressionist style oil painting, smooth post-impressionist impasto acrylic painting, thick layers of colourful textured paint
Prompt: A raven sits on a bust of Athena above the chamber door, shadows on the wall, 19th century gothic decor, abstract ink on paper drawing, in the style of John Rea Neill.
Prompt: A stately raven, a bust of the goddess Athena, above a chamber door, shadows on the wall, 19th century gothic decor, abstract oil on canvas, in the style of Henry Beer.
Prompt: Through lost winds of time
I barely survive
When I start to breathe
I vicariously thrive
When I start to see
I let the world imbibe
When I start to feel
I cry
Prompt: Everyday my email is full of propaganda. Marketing adds for job websites I may or may not have signed up for, obfuscating the opportunities that could be brought for one who apparently cannot apply in person
I sell myself on my charisma, i just need them to talk to me
And the border keeps me from working in the country that holds my great loves
With housing figured out its almost enraging, frustrating
I feel the need to extrapolate into the blues
The tell tale signs of rot
The meta cognitive games we play to interact with each other
The relativity of intelligence
The system integration I reject for its eldritch horror, but the old ways are gone
At least hear
Burning bridges, collecting the hard luck fucks of fury, I throw my hands out in the air cutting down the motion of trying to thumb a ride, relenting to the forces of time throughing my though off track, back down to the lane of pain where one finds the dreams of the white lines on the highway.
Love, what is it but a chemical concoction mixed up in the soup, a strong reaction driven by those who get you off be it physical or in a more cerebral state, the sexiest soups got both but to many people don't need a reason
Prompt: The monsters were never
under my bed.
Because the monsters
were inside my head.
I fear no monsters,
for no monsters I see.
Because all this time
the monster has been me.
Prompt: Beautiful seascape in the style of Van Gogh, magnificent surreal sailing ship with white sails... azure sky... elements of Klimt in the deep green sea. Detailed, crisp with perfect composition, fluffy clouds, white sails
Dream Level: is increased each time when you "Go Deeper" into the dream. Each new level is harder to achieve and
takes more iterations than the one before.
Rare Deep Dream: is any dream which went deeper than level 6.
Deep Dream
You cannot go deeper into someone else's dream. You must create your own.
Deep Dream
Currently going deeper is available only for Deep Dreams.
