Sonnettics

These AI images of Lolita are all generated by deepai.org using the following sonnet as the text prompt:

Lolita’s eyes are nothing like the sun;
 Her cheeks are pale, not rosy like dawn’s hue.
 If beauty were a game that could be won,
 She’d break the rules, then redefine them too.
Her lips are chapped, yet sweet as sugared lies;
 Her voice, a lilting tune of teasing airs.
 No goddess walks with childish, scuffed-up thighs,
 Yet in her sway, divinity declares.
I’ve seen pink skies, where innocence once roamed,
 And yet her glance outstrips their fleeting grace.
 A fractured Venus, both adored and loathed,
 Her smile mocks time, her laughter rewrites space.
And yet, in all her cruel, untamed deceit,
 I burn to trace the shadows at her feet.




	
 
	
	

		

	


	


				
					
		
		
		

			

															
		

	


	


	


				
					
		
		
		

			

															
		

	


	


	


				
					
		
		
		

			

															
		

	


	


	


				
					
		
		
		

			

															
		

	


	


	


				
					
		
		
		

			

															
		

	


	


	


				
					
		
		
		

			

															
		

	


	


	


				
					
		
		
		

			

															
		

	


	


	


				
					
		
		
		

			

															
		

	


	


	


				
					
		
		
		

			

															
		

	


	


	


				
					
		
		
		

			

															
		

	


	


	


				
					
		
		
		

			

															
		

	


	


	


				
					
		
		
		

			

															
		

	


	


	


				
					
		
		
		

			

															
		

	


	


	


				
					
		
		
		

			

															
		

	


	


	


				
					
		
		
		

			

															
		

	


	


	


				
					
		
		
		

			

															
		

	


	


	


				
					
		
		
		

			

															
		

	


	


	


				
					
		
		
		

			

															
		

	


	


	


				
					
		
		
		

			

															
		

	


	


	


				
					
		
		
		

			

															
		

	


	


	


				
					
		
		
		

			

															
		

	


	


	


				
					
		
		
		

			

															
		

	


	


	


				
					
		
		
		

			

															
		

	


	


	


				
					
		
		
		

			

															
		

	


	


	


				
					
		
		
		

			

															
		

	

		
	

	
	
		

		
	

	
		

			
			 This work is licensed under a  CC0 Universal Public Domain Dedication license (CC0) 
		
		

A girl of summers, youth's eternal flame,  
Her laughter rings like bells through forest halls.  
Dolores Haze, a fleeting, tender name,  
Whose shadow dances where the sunlight falls.  

Her gaze reflects the sky's cerulean hue,  
Yet holds a world no child should ever know.  
A stolen innocence, a heart askew,  
Trapped in a tale where loveless sorrows grow.  

She skips through days with wild, unbridled mirth,  
A sprite who rules her fleeting, golden sphere.  
Yet whispers haunt the edges of her earth,  
A fragile dream beset by doubt and fear.  

Lolita now, the echo of her song,  
A fleeting star in darkness, burning strong. 

Oh Lilith, how you move through every space,
Your steps, so quiet, leave no trace behind.
I watch you close, though I can’t show my face,
A pull so strange, it drags me from my mind.

Your voice is soft, like whispers in the night,
A song that sings but never quite is heard.
I feel it stir beneath the pale moonlight,
A haunting, deep, unspoken, like a word.

I wonder if you see me watching still,
If you can feel the way my heart beats fast.
I know you don’t, but still, I want to thrill
In knowing that you’re close—yet, I’m outclassed.

I dream of being near, though I remain,
A shadow, bound to you by silent chains.

In shadowed halls where dreams and whispers dwell  
Her brush ignites the canvas, fierce and bold
A realm where beauty bends, where chaos swells  
Her hands bring tales no common tongue has told  

The curves are forms she shapes with wanton grace  
Each stroke a hymn of bodies, wild, untamed
Desire drips like moonlight from the face
A primal ache her artistry has claimed

Oh, Leonor, your visions pierce the veil  
Erotic worlds where beasts and lovers twine  
A feline gaze beyond all earthly scale
Seductive art where everything’s divine  

In her, the bounds of flesh and spirit blend  
A lover’s dream with neither start nor end. 

In Wonderland's domain, two morons stand,
Watch Trumpledee and Trumpledum debate.
Each claims the crown, the nation's fate at hand,
Their voices raised, their tempers fueled by hate.

"’Twas I," says Trumpledee, "who won the race,
The people chose my name, their voices clear."
"Nay," counters Trumpledum, "I hold the place,
The rightful leader, I, whom they revere."

Their followers, divided, clash and fight,
While truth lies buried, lost beneath the fray.
The looking glass reflects a fractured sight,
A land where reason's light has gone astray.

Oh, Wonderland, ensnared in endless strife,
When will you wake and mend your broken life?

Here's a story for you:  

---

**"A Whiff of Wonder"**  

Alice stumbled through the forest, her head spinning with the riddles and peculiarities of Wonderland. The question lingered in her mind like a ghost: *Who are you?* It was a question she had been asked countless times that day, and one she couldn't quite answer.  

The Caterpillar lounged atop its mushroom, languidly exhaling blue-tinged smoke from its ornate hookah. It watched her approach with its heavy-lidded eyes, the smoke curling lazily around its segmented body.  

"You again," it said in its slow, melodic tone. "Still no closer to an answer, I presume?"  

Alice hesitated. "No," she admitted, folding her hands in front of her. "But I think I might be. If I could just...think more clearly."  

The Caterpillar tilted its head, a curious expression crossing its face. It tapped the side of its hookah with a chitinous claw. "Perhaps clarity is not what you need," it mused. "But expansion."  

"Expansion?"  

It leaned forward, offering the hookah’s slender stem to her. "A whiff of this," it said, "might help you see the paths hidden beneath the brambles. A little...perspective adjustment."  

Alice’s cheeks flushed. "Oh, I don’t know. I’ve never tried anything like that before."  

"Then how can you know what it might teach you?" the Caterpillar countered, a wry smile playing on its lips. "If you're to answer the question, you must first be willing to ask it properly."  

The smoke swirled hypnotically in the air, its sweet, earthy scent curling into her nose. Alice felt a strange pull—curiosity and caution entwined. *Could it really help me?* she wondered.  

Taking the stem hesitantly, she glanced at the Caterpillar. "Will it...change me?"  

The Caterpillar laughed, a sound like the rustling of leaves. "Everything in Wonderland changes you, Alice. Why should this be any different?"  

With a deep breath, Alice placed the stem to her lips and inhaled. The smoke filled her lungs, warm and strange, and when she exhaled, the world seemed to shimmer around her. Colors brightened, and the lines of the forest softened as though they were melting into one another.  

"Who are you?" the Caterpillar asked again, its voice reverberating like the hum of a distant bell.  

Alice closed her eyes, letting the question settle in her mind. For the first time, it didn’t feel like a riddle or a trap. Instead, it felt like an invitation.  

"I am..." she began, her voice trailing off as images danced behind her closed lids. She saw herself as a child in her mother’s garden, as a curious wanderer in Wonderland, as a million possibilities and contradictions all at once.  

When she opened her eyes, the Caterpillar was watching her intently.  

"Well?" it asked.  

Alice smiled softly. "I think I’m...a question still being answered."  

The Caterpillar chuckled, withdrawing the hookah. "Not bad, little one. Not bad at all."  

As Alice turned to leave, the world seemed lighter, as if Wonderland itself had sighed in relief. The question still lingered, but it no longer weighed her down. Instead, it felt like a companion, urging her forward.  

And somewhere behind her, the Caterpillar exhaled another plume of smoke, satisfied.  

--- 

What do you think?

As The Dams Are Removed From 

The Klamath River

The Klamath is my road, my path, my home
Too long my kind, though royal, have been lost
The purpose of my journey, not to roam
But out to sea, then back at any cost
The cost of this, my journey, has decreased
My road, my path, my home has been restored
The sacredness it feels has now increased
The sacredness that used to be ignored
And thus I swim where freedom lets me go
I go to where I need to be at last
At last where I began in Klamath’s flow
Is where my freedom calls me from the past
The past is past and yet I know the way
A salmon king for yet another day.

Indica is a goddess, dressed in green
She visits me in visions bathed in smoke
Such fantasies appear before they’re seen
An invocation needed to invoke

The call of buds she bears is heard by those
Who listen to the songs she hums aloud
And yes, she is aware, Indica knows
Such songs are those of which she can be proud

The pride of sweet Indica draws me in
To places she invites me with commands
Dichotomy is not her only sin
And yet by this she issues sweet demands

The goddess named Indica has a voice
That likes to make you think you have a choice.