Poetic Pandemic Preview: The Canopy Bed Digital Text Art Manipulation

Click to enlarge

The Canopy Bed Version 2

I was experiencing massive frustration in trying to get my shape poem, The Canopy Bed, to conform to Kindle Publisher's format and all fit on one page, even after I reformatted the page in Word and shrank the font. It occurred to me that I could take a screenshot of the shrunk-down version of the poem. I simply pasted the screenshot into MS Paint and saved it as a JPEG.

The poem looked a little bland all on its own, so I found an image on Pixabay. I then opened the image using Pixlr's free image editor (http://pixlr.com) and layered the poetry JPEG over the top, increasing the poem's transparency. I also added a "dust" effect that I felt enhanced the image. 

I don't get squat from Pixlr for telling you about them, except for the satisfaction of sticking it to Adobe for their skeevy ways. I feel that even the free version of Pixlr is a strong competitor for Photoshop, and I don't have to pay a monthly subscription fee to use it. Having a competitive free version of their software available for broke-asses like me makes Pixlr the good guys and gals of the digital art software world, while Adobe are the sketchy, mustache-twirling villains tying broke digital artists to railroad tracks by putting evil DRM in the software that these poor souls paid big bucks for. 

Planned obsolescence is a sleazy game of dirty pool and I don't like it. So, if I ever do start making money off my work, I will purchase the paid version of Pixlr, and Adobe can go lick a cactus, right alongside of Apple. My iPhone 7 decided to go tits up yesterday morning, with no warning signs such as the battery not charging as quickly or not holding a charge as long. 

I had always piggy-backed the phone onto my computer with a lightning cable, and it worked fine and dandy. Sometimes if the computer went to sleep, the phone would stop charging. This is what I figured had happened when I found the phone lying on my computer desk dead this morning. No big, I thought. Now that the computer's awake, the phone will charge back up.

No dice.

I took the phone out to the car to try and give it a quick boost from the car charger, which usually wakes it up in less than a minute. It was still unresponsive. So, I brought it inside and plugged it into a wall outlet to charge. Nothing was shaking. My son took it up to his room to charge it on his wireless charger. It remained dead, so we called the time of death for the damn thing at about 12:30 PM, and I ordered a Samsung Galaxy 10 that I'll be paying off for the next two years. Except for iCloud, I've had it with Apple.

This image fits in the book, but I realized that it might be difficult for some people to make it out on their tablets, computers, or smartphones. So I decided to create a web version and include a link in the book.

The new book is called Poetic Pandemic and it is due for release in the second week of May. You can wait for the free promo announcement shortly after release, and pick up a copy then. As I always say, free is my favorite price.

In the meantime, if you haven't already grabbed your copy of my first poetry volume, Another Autumn, why not check it out now? It's only 99 cents, which is pretty close to free. Or, if you have Kindle Unlimited, you can borrow a copy. 

Here is your handy link. https://amzn.to/3aExYT5

Now you can't say I never gave you anything. I have just given you a fantabulous digital picture and a link to some ornery poetry. What more could you want, except, you know, to win the lottery or something like that?

Cheers,

Your ornery old Aunt Cie

And now for the acknowledgments and legalese blah-blah

The background image behind the words is copyright Ajay Kumar Singh.

https://pixabay.com/photos/planet-lonely-spark-night-universe-4848364/

Contents of the poem, the transformative image utilizing the poem, and this explanatory post are copyright 2020 by Cara Hartley

Please do not repost

Reblogging is acceptable on platforms that allow it.

Sharing a link to the poem is acceptable.

Quoting portions of the poem for educational or review purposes is acceptable if proper credit is given.

This poem is published on the following sites:

http://poetryofthenetherworld.blogspot.com

http://www.naughtynetherworldpress.com

http://publish0x.com/naughty-netherworld-press

Check out more ways to support Ornery Poetry!

https://www.naughtynetherworldpress.com/p/places-to-support-poetry-of-netherworld.html

November PAD Chapbook Challenge 2019: Day 18: Monody: Silenced Voices

Collage made by Yours Truly using Pixlr

though all different

you each had a special gift

I won't forget you

~Cie~

Notes:

Today's November PAD Chapbook Challenge asked for a poem having something to do with music. These people all had something to do with music, and they all died after the turn of the twenty-first century. And if anyone wants to be a wanker and demand to know how I can have Jeff Hanneman and David Cassidy in the same collage, I will tell you that I can because it's my damn collage and I'm not a narrow fuck who only listens to one kind of music.

However, the great thing about being someone that no-one pays attention to is that I can do something like this, and ain't nobody gonna give a fuck.

November PAD Chapbook Challenge 2019: Day 17 + Words for Wednesday: Bullying Hurts for a Lifetime

Image copyright Bill Dodds

Image Copyright Bill Dodds

strange child

playing by yourself again

how do you expect anyone to be your friend

when you're such a peculiar thing

too shy to look anyone in the eye

exploring alone on a Saturday

wishing the Lord your soul would take

sometime on Sunday night

before Monday rolls around

and you're back at school

with the pretty boys and girls 

who bully you mercilessly

after years of being taunted

your inquisitive spirit stagnates

lying dormant in the graveyard of your heart

as you attempt to pacify

your restless, wounded soul

with substances

and false love

and other lies you tell yourself

to get through another day

~Cie~

Notes:

The November PAD Chapbook Challenge prompt was to write a Health poem. So, I chose to write about how bullying impacted my mental health, not just in childhood but throughout my entire life. Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me is horseshit. I have been both physically and psychologically abused. I would say that not all of the scars are visible, but given another thought, yes, they all are. 

A friend who is on the autism spectrum pointed out that there are a lot of people who say that they would never make fun of a person with autism. However, those same people will gladly make fun of a "weirdo" who doesn't "act normally." 

When I was bullied in school, my family would tell me that I needed to "stop being so weird" and then the other kids would accept me. I allowed people to do terrible things to me in the hopes of being accepted. 

If you have been bullied or abused, you are not the one to blame even though you are the one who carries the pain. 

I still feel like nobody hears me or will ever hear me. But I will never again let anyone use me as their punching bag or for their sick perversions. Abuse is not love.

Please do me a favor and don't tell me that you hope this poem isn't autobiographical. It is. It is my reality. It is my truth. 

I created the Words for Wednesday badge using Pixlr. 

Tidbit Tuesday: November PAD Chapbook Challenge 2019: Day 13: A Fetch Story Poem: The Ballad of Gerry Clifford: One So Small

Targeted version 7

Pixlr manipulation by The Real Cie

how can one so small

make a difference at all?

I fear all is lost

Gerry Clifford

Notes:

Fair warning that the explanation for the tidbit is longer than the tidbit. If you are the sort of nerd who enjoys reading about creative processes and what was going on in the author's fucked-up brain, you may enjoy this. If you prefer it when authors shut up and just tell the story, you'll probably want to give this mess a miss.

It may seem a massive--nay, an outlandish and well-nigh unforgivable exercise in utter laziness for me to repackage this poem which I published just yesterday and publish it again for Tidbit Tuesday. However, I have my reasons beyond laziness for duplicating and re-routing this little gem. You see, my muse has returned and I am inspired! The many wild, free-roaming chapters of Fetch are finally being corralled and structured into novelettes or novellas. I don't rightly know which yet. That will be determined when the manuscript is complete.

Each novelette or novella begins with a poem, and this is the poem that kicks off Book One. The artwork, which may or may not end up serving as the cover for the book, was created by Yours Truly using Pixlr. No credit is due to Photoshop, which I used to use exclusively, but Adobe is scummy and is making it so people like me, who have older versions of Photoshop, are not able to access those versions because they want to strong-arm everyone into paying monthly blood money for Creative Cloud. As our hero, Gerry Clifford would say, "fuck that shit." Although it would sound more like "fook that shite."

The November PAD Chapbook Challenge prompt for the day requested a Persona poem, and I was stuck. Then I thought of Team Netherworld's beloved protagonist, Gerry Clifford, and decided to let him take over and write a poem that sums up his personality and motivation in just a few words.

Fetch is an Irish term for an apparition of a person who is still living. Gerry's body is alive, but his brain is severely compromised, and so his spirit is starting to make more frequent astral excursions.

Fetch is the flagship story in Team Netherworld's Yadira Chronicles, and Gerry Clifford is its male protagonist. When Gerry's cognitive abilities became too deteriorated for him to remain at home, his wife, Anne, had him placed in London's Candlelight Ridge Care Center for Memory Loss. On his first day in the center, Gerry encountered Yadira Root, who presented herself as a kindly older woman volunteering her heartfelt help but who was, in fact, a daughter and high priestess of Nyarlathotep.

To Gerry's horror, he discovered that the residents of Candlelight Ridge were being targeted by a malevolent hive entity which appears as flashes of brilliant multicolored light. It quickly became apparent that the entity had a particular interest in Gerry and was biding its time for reasons he couldn't understand. 

Upon fleeing the entity, Gerry found himself in the presence of Pepper Baiij, a troubled caregiver working with memory-impaired patients in an assisted living facility thousands of miles from England in Ransom, Kansas. Pepper had strong psychic abilities. She had been devastated to hear of Gerry Clifford’s diagnosis. His band, Mainline, was a longstanding favorite act of hers.

We have enough Fetchy material for several books. We doubt anyone else is excited as we are, or, in fact, gives one single fuck. We don't care, we give a fuck and are going to unleash our words on the world regardless.

Nyarlathotep is the creation of H.P. Lovecraft. Everything else in this post can be blamed on Team Netherworld.

Carpe Diem #1772 + OctPoWriMo 2019 Day 31: Senryu: My Blue Bell

Image Source

I sing an old song

remembering what I've lost

my dark-haired bluebell

~Cie~

Notes:

My inspiration for this lamenty-ass Senryu is an old folk song I found in an 1800s songbook belonging to my father (RIP) about a million years ago when I was sixteen or seventeen. The original song was from a young fella to a young lady. I sing it from the perspective of a broken old hag to her long-lost cowboy, because that is how I roll.

I was born in East Virginia

North Carolina I did go

There I met a fine young fella 

And his name I never did know

Well, his hair was dark of color

Cheeks they were like roses red

He said my breasts were like white lilies

Where he longed to lay his head

I'd rather live in some dark holler

Where the sun would never shine

Than for you to love another

And to know you'll never be mine

I don't want your greenback dollar

I don't want your silver chain

All I want is your love, Darlin'

Say that you'll be mine again

Since Adobe is foul, my copy of Creative Suite 6 which I purchased in 2012 no longer functions and for the time being my broke ass is using the free version of Pixlr because I refuse to pay blood money to Adobe for Creative Cloud. I made the following image of a broody, goth, vampiric-looking fellow by the light of the moon using Pixlr. I thought he went nicely with the poem. Then I thought of a new story idea. Brooding Goth Vampire Dude's tentative name is now Heath Montgomery. If nothing else, at least he has a great name.

Once Long Ago Version 9

Pixlr manipulation by The Real Cie