EchoGnomics
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echognomics.bsky.social
EchoGnomics
@echognomics.bsky.social
140 followers 160 following 740 posts
Randomly curious writer addicted to poetry prompts. Invisibly disabled. Published in various genres. Will post science articles with or without #SciHaiku. Hosting #DilemmasinVerse for February for these who need a break from writing blind passion.
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echognomics.bsky.social
👉A Mythic Perpetuity of Love Vortices

Cryptozoic beasts fall into transcendent, timeless, boundless love.

Prompted by Writers_Community on IG:
1) Feb 10 monthly prompt, all rewritten, then a poem created.
2) theme poetry challenge 3, which evoked the romance of Scylla and Charbydis.
Doodle of a whirlpool in light blue upon darker blue. Text is pale blue. A Mythic Perpetuity of Love Vortices Afloat on probability's waters multiverses, fragile bubbles ready to rupture-- And in each bubble, innumerable civilizations recite recipes of cosmic love invoking our names as portal And we? The immortal current converging all, the metaphysical brane mapping all vectors; our quantum entanglement reflecting through froth. I am the endless whirlpool You the six-headed hurricane's eye within our embrace, endless multiverses sink to recur elsewhere. EchoGnomics
February 11, 2026 at 9:57 PM
echognomics.bsky.social
I barely begun here, took a few days off, and now per #MMPrompt I must write my eulogy. A threat implied? 🤨
Prompt call roll:
#WeirdMicro #peculiar_proposal
#Grimscribe #vellum_pact
#Vss365 #bones #pale
#emoetry #challenged #blissful
#WipSnips #airports
#freeversefebruary #return #grumpy
White text against a background of green aurora borealis against purplish sky with stars. Poem. "Hic Jacet Echognomics" As we grieve, we are challenged to learn the inscrutable collage of her being. Her humor hid the bare bones of her history. Few knew what happened at the airports of her life, or about peculiar proposals received or how she flowered on crumbling walls. Sometimes a chance revelation of biography paled us, puncturing the world or person we thought we knew. What we mourn is not her biography but presence, unforgettable in love and humor. An intellect that leapt wallaby-like into the strangest places; a heart that took friendship's anthropologies seriously. She ascended the scientific minutiae of extensive libraries. Without glamour, she held secret vellum pacts within. Early a writer, ever-late in blooming. Vain in humility, humble in vanity, blissful when others were grumpy, and vice versa, she rode the cusp of paradox without plans to return. Believing no life was worth itself without the ripples it sends into others' lives and knowing her biography was her collective companions who gave her the world, she has asked us all a favor: to do a full convocation of friends with the task just not to comfort or eulogize her feats, but to create, piecemeal, a heartfelt collage of interconnected legacy. Be present, for her. EchoGnomics
February 9, 2026 at 4:26 AM
echognomics.bsky.social
Borrowed "life is now a dashboard" as a prompt from Dr. Deepak Dev's "The Discipline of Better." He won't mind, I hope. The art is originally from cakestock, modified.
Whitish text on a dark blue-green background, showing a child reaching for a shiny ball full of light. "Futures Stuck in the Past" Life is now a dashboard of wants & must-dos. Society is performance. Was it always? My anthropology grows hazy. Once I was a child, told day and night what to do still given room to become to dream big dreams Then we were adults telling ourselves what to be, day and night, we were grown-ups still fighting for room to just be and dream. Once we were raised by gentle giants full of reassurance and bandaged hugs. In their footsteps we pant feeling perpetually small and unfinished. EchoGnomics
February 6, 2026 at 5:46 AM
echognomics.bsky.social
Write a poem about waking a sleeping god. #MPPrompt
Uh-oh. Another ghazal draft called.
White text on a shaded, faintly marbled black-blue background. Poem: "Numinous Akarma" My home went a-blaze with dire threats made to me of with cod sleeping, Through later aquatic haze, I abruptly awoke an ancient god sleeping. No grimoire held still intact could recite its ways, names or mortal ken No philosopher could abstract the ethics of that god which lay sleeping Mathematicans easily bicker and manipulate infinities upon infinities, none dare apprehend the quantities inside the heart of this god sleeping Without faith or piety wielded, just scrabbles at kelp-wrapped stone My draining life unshielded became a sacrifice to this god once sleeping The null set keeps its nonexistence aloof from all other numbers, even infinity-- Nullity's non-substance I met, dying before this incalculable god sleeping I testify not as wandering ghost, lunatic, or joker. I met nullity in death floating at life's stillpoint for an eternity minus itself, a newfound god sleeping My impossible revival, my eyes and second mouth's gasp drained faces when centuries later, bright lights and hands freed me, a non-god sleeping. EchoGnomics
February 5, 2026 at 11:40 PM
echognomics.bsky.social
👉For your consideration: "The Lambent Conjecture: A #Ghazal."
Prompt credit roll:
#Fantasy
#Foxprose #a_legacy_coveted
#cassiopeian #offer
#emoetry #uncomfortable
#tower #wildwalkprompt
#vss365 #lambent
#GLOWprompt #Romance, #cabin, #bread, lying.
Also, too many BBT reruns
Black text of a poem upon a background of an starry aurora borealis on mountains, with a lake cabin scene overlaid at the bottom. "The Lambent Conjecture: A Ghazal Our mornings started sweet under quilts and birdsong sighing; Freshly-baked bread to eat, and in the stove embers were lying We once felt it uncomfortable fantasy, this sudden wild yearning, breaking our ivory-tower stagnancy; our hearts must be lying The idea of ourselves together, lambent, was a hidden hypothetical, deliberately unexamined as to avoid where truth was lying. That quietus from our existences to a warm cabin in woods, was offered as an experiment done in fantasy, yet without lying With dispassion we discussed the Puritan and the prurient alike in terms lambent then heated; without assumptions outlying-- An intellectual love affair chock-full of P and Qs triple-checked, scenarios simulated without fanfare, isn’t where most romance’s lying Yet in long odds, we proposed a possibility, maybe a legacy coveted-- and quickly, one by one, on the ground our clothes were lying. EchoGnomics"
February 5, 2026 at 5:48 AM
echognomics.bsky.social
#vss365 #soul
All other bolded phrases are from #FlawedPoetsSociety on IG a while back. This poem took a while to revise.
Black text on yellow-pinkish stationery patterned with sycamore. Prose Poem across 2 images: "Seventeen half-written letters I. Loving you was easy, letting go stark, our hands forced by destiny. We walked hand in hand as I left you ,the silhouette of forgiveness and pain. II. The color of goodbye was in my tears and in all the mementos I threw out after. I had to force some room to let better days call my name. III. I sat in the same rocking chair from ten years ago. The rocking was not nearly as sweet as your arms, just rhythm for my grieving. IV. I got diagnosed. My medical mysteries took so long to solve that healing feels a stay in an emotional burnout unit. V. Over and over I prayed and woke up angry at the cost of careless mistakes over decades. VI. My journal became a calendar full of sticky notes for self-healing: meditations, drafts of letters. None were sent to you. Moving on must be an unpaused verb. VII. Letters even when unsent are their own splendor. VIII. Sycamore trees shade emerald paths where souls journey under divine protection, they say. We knew these paths well. IX. Blooming in stillness was my curiosity for another whose life was a dark reflection of my past, making me face my own lost selves. Page 2 of poem, same background as page 1. X. We shared tender bruises of melancholy. Our chats grew into a cozy sweater- unravelled by my excess and his restraint. XI. Old wounds re-opened and emotions ruptured. We chilled then grew chill, backing off. XII. His full bowing out was graceful in intent, perhaps. In practice, no. XIII. I wound ripping up 17 half written letters: raw howls to somebody who thought the color of goodbye was not tears but turning ghostly invisible. XIV. I added everything up and nothing balanced. The only math left was time. Unsent letters became prayer and their own splendor. Thusly I prayed and woke up angry for months. XV. I felt a lonely echo trapped in the ripples of a brook mirroring the sycamore, waiting for my dark reflection to surface. Bewildered why I was even doing this, I recalled you taught me patience. XVI. Love, you would not have done any of that. You never pried about my scars; you had so many of your own. You were my support and warmth as I was yours. XVII. Everything we were only helped me grow. I will always be grateful for you, even as my heart knows why moving on must be an unpaused verb. EchoGnomics
February 2, 2026 at 7:23 AM
echognomics.bsky.social
A prompt is offered: write the ethical dilemma behind love or heartbreak. If it was good enough for this guy...

Tag #DilemmasinVerse and I will see and repost.
Light pink text on black background with an image of William Shakespeare. Verse follows: "Shaking Love’s Spear To Jump the conclusion or not, 'Tis the ethical dilemma of love whether you like it or not. Paranoid hypotheses fast warps to delusional conclusion: Othello’s jealousy slew Desmonda. Yet hopeful hypotheses keep hearts dancing on strings in painful infatuation. which some to premature graves doom. Others drink magic brews to show how love makes half-asses of us all." #DilemmasinVerse EchoGnomics
February 1, 2026 at 10:44 PM
echognomics.bsky.social
#mpprompt #poems_we_cannot_write
#vssdaily #terror A brief dansa macabre.
THESE POEMS WE CANNOT WRITE These poems we cannot write fall incomplete into that void still thieving our souls despite these poems we cannot write , Our minds with terror have toyed with a world gone schizoid torn by the contrite and the cordite. These poems we cannot write. When wounded we saw overjoyed schadenfreude from faces bathed in moonlight-- these poems we cannot write. What we remain destroyed by, that asteroid impact rendering our world bedlamite, these poems we cannot write. Echognomics
February 1, 2026 at 9:34 PM
echognomics.bsky.social
"Shapeshifting Library Dansa"

@daveashleypoet.bsky.social Thanks for the Dansa-off challenge!
#Cassiopeian #Libraries
@yeehawpoems.bsky.social

Also borrowed January prompts from #angelealowes on IG: #shapeshifting_on_Saturday_nights and #Peter_Pan_Was_Right set the rhyme scheme for me.
White text on a background of books on blue bookshelves. Page 1. "Shapeshifting Library Dansa Explore mental shapeshifting on Saturday nights. That needs no doomed fealty to flinty-hearted fairies; All paraphernalia can be procured from libraries. Breathe dust, wildflowers and wine. Peter Pan was right. Explore mental shapeshifting on Saturday nights. Feeling starburned and unkissed on the prairies? Read about forgotten, fossilized, archaic emissiaries Inside the uranium heart of cities’ museum sights. Explore mental shapeshifting on Saturday nights. Ache for when spring is coming with a strawberry in her mouth, but dread winter? Go, let the Canaries warm your shivery bones in your vicarious flights; Explore mental shapeshifting on Saturday nights. Yearn for grand adventures pitted against adversaries With a strength your pipestem arm no longer carries? Libraries will lend you the superhero strength of knights- Explore mental shapeshifting on Saturday nights. Feel yourself a soft mooncalf too full of Ben and Jerry’s? Plan brave camp-outs with scorpions under glowing Antares Camping, survival, and ecology books share insights-- Explore mental shapeshifting on Saturday nights EchoGnomics White text on books on blue bookshelves. page 2. "Feel adrift from modern excess, ready to shun voluptuaries? Learn the necessaries of life or thrill at death in monasteries. There’s lots on monks’ hoods, religious lives, and last rites-- Explore mental shapeshifting on Saturday nights…. Wonder about the Goddess Iris, or why anyone marries? Mythic or psychological trips can be taken without votaries-- Just pore through interlibrary grapevines on their websites Explore mental shapeshifting on Saturday nights. Long for a future profession which deep prestige carries, Away from the dusty grind of mills, silos and granaries, Hopefully clean work without bullfights or other affrights? Explore mental shapeshifting on Saturday nights. So get thee to thy book-hoards, these public libraries Which host a cornucopia of books and other necessaries for learning, whether causal learning or with rigorous cites; explore mental shapeshifting on Saturday nights! EchoGnomics"
January 29, 2026 at 6:39 AM
echognomics.bsky.social
👉"Moonlit Walk on a Crisp Night"
Prompt Credit Roll:
#WeirdMicro #fragile_mind #GrimScribe #Unstable_dictation #DawnChorus #new_chapter #vss365 #quiver #poeticreveries #moonlit #WIPSnips #procrastinate #Foxprose #lengthy_interludes
#OurPoetryX #feel_it_deep #VSSFantasy #Obstreperous
Image is of a full moon over a town in deep dark blue sky. The text begin top of moon, uses extra spaces as needed to bracket the moon then continues underneath. Moonlit Walk on a Crisp Night Words were unstable dictation compared to our steady breath the easy articulations of two bodies, one mine, one alert wolf-kin, orbiting something sunless in lengthy interludes, my heart a quiver of emotions no longer procrastinated. I felt it deep: that new chapter of being my body less obstreperous a fragile mind less fogged. Not a cure, but a waxing of grace, a fortification in moonlit silence. EchoGnomics
January 28, 2026 at 10:02 AM
echognomics.bsky.social
"Write me a poem about the lives you see on the other side of this screen. #MPPrompt"

Um. Not to be disobedient, exactly-- but here's multiple juxtaposed poems as one 3 page poem, since I see their lives in verse. Villanelle, limerick, senryu, part of sestina, quatrain, free verse...
Image of mountains colored in dawn pink and yellow, with black text interpersed. "Juxtaposed existences (Of lives on the other side of screens tapped out as winks, fibs, and verse, The poet imagines more in-betweens) Some furtive limericks about octopi do certain fingers fully occupy between bent knees as dull dates wheeze over bad restaurant meals of meat pie (Some people prefer seafood with greens, so this I fancy is one of the universes Of lives on the other side of screens) Would-be comic wits jab out clunkers to sharpen their worlds of wordcraft. Keyboard nine-to-fivers sneaking brief dopamine hits senryus at random (When work stalls to balky machines, instead of succumbing to curses The poet imagines more in-betweens) Echognomics" Image of a greyed out country highway with dead grass and snow patches. Black text on top. Page 2 of poem, continued: "Life ponderers snuggle on couches with tea, rhyming between ouches in hope of combating the grouches (When one life’s narrow, it often means it’s more fun the wilder notions one nurses Of lives on the other side of screens) Crazy-eyed urban wanderers in love with geometry of the streets and the loose sky free their verses to Bsky at crossings (When city canyons restrict the scenes Of nature’s song for these of cutpurses, The poet imagines more in-betweens) Pastoral verses form diaries of healthy air and seeing nature’s play. Retirees take ships, trains or just the bus, thinking as the aisles sway of deeper things than groceries Echognomics" Image of same highway from page 2, only pinked out. Page 3, concluding text of poem. (There is worth in remembering one’s greens, But a poet in far more thought usually immerses) A pilot, plane on cruise control Busies himself with the struggle of sestinas as dashboard alarms go off And attendants rush around in panic And air control on the radio scolding he said, “hush, let me get this done--” He would not pause until a tricky line was done then absentmindedly fiddled the cruise control And bashed the ears ofthe flight crew with scolding Over interrupting him at his afternoon sestina.. …. ENVOI And so they were done, these fateful sestinas The plane always under control, no reason to panic So spite legal scolding, from fines he was let off. (Of lives on the other side of screens The poet imagines more in-betweens) Echognomics
January 27, 2026 at 10:43 PM
echognomics.bsky.social
Mustangs clip pastures
their breath steaming on dead grass
warming the hoarfrost.

#haikufeels #clip #dailyhaikuprompt #pasture
(this photo of mustangs was taken on a warm fall day, so you'll have to imagine the chill a little.)
Photo of three mustangs-- red roan, dappled buckskin and bay grazing on a prairie ridge. Live and dead grass, thistle, sage, and a rock are visible on the slope below.
January 27, 2026 at 11:25 AM
echognomics.bsky.social
This one is a wild chimera of prompts.
Credit roll: #VSSFantasy #wolpertinger #vss365 #wane
#WeirdMicro #macabre_beauty #GrimScribe #annotated_dread #DawnChorus #memory_purge #WIPSnips #storm #OurPoetryX #blanketed #FoxProse #provocative_pursuits
Also some micropoetry prompts.
Pale text on a graduated background of tree trunks, from purple to yellow-tan. "The Husbandry of WolperTingers All my memory purges cannot unburden the chimeric wolpertinger’s macabre beauty, mainly macabre in the annotated dread of the provocative pursuits of forest species coining bizarre spawn in a sexual storm made pheasantly manifest in taxidermy, from the hoarfrost of the antlered hare’s face waning into a squirrel’s body blanketed by wings that were meant to whir in the dawn, not churn stomachs in a grotesque fusion. Other species, feline, vulpine, or else may feature ere the taxidermist’s whimsy is put to pasture. Each wolpertinger is special, no two alike, much as a wagging pound mutt often is-- yet of the two I know which I’ve rather have. EchoGnomics"
January 27, 2026 at 8:04 AM
echognomics.bsky.social
Prompts credits: #GLOW Comedy, Memorial Library, candle, nonstop #VSSFantasy #Expanse #Crossing
I find it hard to cold-cock humor into a piece about something as grave as the idea of candles in memorial libraries, the sanctums of study. Still, I gave it the ol' college try!
White text on a ghostly marbled grey-black background. "The Haunted Library Rumpole Memorial Library once was a great expanse of books, bells, and candles, where ghostly vandals frisked, pranked, and created loud, nonstop scandals. Wanting to leave nothing to chance, the head librarian did witchcraft learn, teaching all patrons who did yearn how to exorcise hard and harder until they felt the burn. Yet the holier in esperance the library became, The more folks fell in gibberish-speaking trance seeing an astral transhumance of tiny specters in dance: Severe threats to bibliothecarial sanctum. Wilder stories spread and deans became concerned. A professor more fully analytical of the paranormal finally traced the trouble to the candles’ formal use for ritual crossings, not demonic evictions, Much book-hurling drama with raised fingers to lips-- for “tace is latin for candle” ensued behind the scenes, and the tenured head librarian was busted to a mere page. Yet when these rye-wicked candles were yanked from lectors and the ghosts finally went, all patrons became objectors begging for more magical midnight study-seances, to revisit the fun of medieval psychedelic frictions. Echognomic"
January 27, 2026 at 6:56 AM
echognomics.bsky.social
"A Certifiable Psychic goes WILD"

Fluffy silliness with multiple fathers. #PromptCombo
Prompts credit roll: #Emoetry #Justified #inkmine #naked
#acrosticJanuary #wild #WildWalkPrompt #birch
Black text on light aqua background. A Certifiable Psychic goes WILD World’s a justified migraine: Individual minds long ago Lost their wild charm Due to their naked nastiness. What do squirrels think? Gee. “I’m a happy nut-lover, Life’s a birch-- Darned dogs! Flee!” What did Dave think? I can tell you: “Life’s too happy for these Darned tree rodents.” Who do I mean by Dave? Idiotic squirrel, Lucky versifier, or Darned dog? Figure it out, y’all. Echognomics
January 27, 2026 at 5:41 AM
echognomics.bsky.social
#MPPrompt "write something you were not supposed to hear"
The rough draft challenged me with a refrain, which needed a more #Emoetry #Justified form, but what?
Special thanks to @jenthorne.bsky.social for reminding me how some of the best #villanelles are accidental; that made things coalesce.
Text on a greyed background of water ripples. Poem. "The Semantics of the Audible I have no idea what anyone was meant to hear. The keenest ear kicks meaning up to the brain. Of sounds the most silent ear is no great seer. Eerie noises in the darkness create a growing fear justified or not, until fully deemed safe to disdain I have no idea what anyone was meant to hear. How tricky to lipread the growls of tiger or bear Even when their stances threaten approaching pain. Of sounds the most silent ear is no great seer. Were we meant to hear cricket’s chirps as cheer Or are we mere eavesdroppers in their domain? I have no idea what anyone was meant to hear. Mingling and laughing in most alert social gear Noise challenges folks to decipher chatter’s reign Of sounds the most silent ear is no great seer. As applied to the world’s random soundsphere Meaning creates a queer philosophical strain. I have no idea what anyone was meant to hear. Of sounds the most silent ear is no great seer. EchoGnomics"
January 27, 2026 at 5:03 AM
echognomics.bsky.social
Prompt credit roll:
#Foxprose #provocative pursuits #2wordprompt taste shallow
#WIPsnips #commit
#DailyHaikuprompts #Charcoal Kingfisher
#DawnChorus #necrotic revival
#GrimScribe #Cryptic notation
#WeirdMicro #painted saints
#wake
Font credit roll: Grenze, Copperplate Black 32 BC, Magnolia Script.
Text on a nearly white background of water showing concentric ripples. "SKETCHY WRIT ON A WALL Below, in painted saints’ wake we found a cryptic notation written in charcoal promising a necrotic revival if we would commit to taste the kingfisher, so we did. Many major fines later for fishy songbird roasts from our provocative pursuits of kingfishers as delicacies, we finally became un-shallow enough to pore over a dictionary. We realized the ruse: our own avian massacres were the foretold necrotic revivals." Echognomics
January 26, 2026 at 7:16 AM
echognomics.bsky.social
👉 "Satin Suites"

Prompts credit roll: #WeirdMicro #Grotesque Gallery
#GrimScribe #Clinical rendering
#FoxProse #satin suite murmurs
#GLOW fantasy, fabric factory, wagon, earsplitting
White text on golden fabric background. "Satin Suites By the magic tapestry factory Satin suite murmurs emanated from a wagon full of elvish fabrics Woven into a grotesque gallery of various races’ anatomies in clinical rendering destined for the royal tower where physicians and torturers trained side by side, one to heal, one to peel. None ever asked how they felt about this arrangement. They refused the same doors or times of study, yet if earsplitting screams came from patient or prisoner none knew which was which. EchoGnomics"
January 25, 2026 at 11:22 PM
echognomics.bsky.social
👉"Post-compositional Missives"
Prompts Credit Roll:
#WeirdMicro #evocative prose
#GrimScribe #unrelenting irony
#DawnChorus #Grand Reopening #postscript debut
#FoxProse #dead-drop love note
#OurPoetryX #moving forward/ #touch ‘em all
#WIPSnips #Notice
Poem overlaid on image of orange oak leaves on a branch. Each column can be read as its own poem, or the whole read as a whole. "Post-compositional Missives I notice evocative prose in this dead-drop love note from tree to earth a fine postscript debut inscribed in the grooves of vein the eloquence of drying stomata of moving forward grand reopening of branches not unrelenting irony parts moving in a fixed whole a pure season of love which touches ‘em all reconfiguration EchoGnomics
January 25, 2026 at 10:45 PM
echognomics.bsky.social
#MPPrompt Poesy a poem using months as adjectives.
I flowed over the character limit by April or thereabouts, alas.
Text on a gradual blue-yellow background. "Monthlong Meronyms January jaundice is pale; February fever rather rosy, March malaise rather mad, April aprications rather foolish. May meanderings rather polemic, June judders rather wedding-like, July jubilance rather explosive, August augury a flight of fancy. September sepia tones overly scarlet, October occlusions of lawns spooky November nectars overflowing December decorations cheerful, Annual annulments intercalary. Echognomics"
January 24, 2026 at 5:48 PM
echognomics.bsky.social
TW: silly rhymes regarding tinkly matters
Prompt credit: #Foxprose #intellect_draws_us and #cedar_fence_romance
Image of two hearts, one with a yellow puddle, divided by a thick line showing on a wood panel background. Poem: "Cedar Fence Romances One misjudged foray and regretted glance at my neighbor’s broad, unzipped stance outside his steadily-watered manse and quickly a cedar fence romance built right where intellect draws us to fully understand Robert Frost’s clause that highly solid fences without gaps make good neighbors indeed, just as blind to freed open-air tinkles as they should be without lapse. EchoGnomics"
January 24, 2026 at 2:32 PM
echognomics.bsky.social
👉"Cera-Mics at Nightclub Honeypots"
Prompt credit roll: #Vssmagic #flag
#GLOWprompt: Spy Genre, nightclub, clay pot, seed.

Special inspiration thanks to the bawdy bard, @daveashleypoet.bsky.social for letting us espy his wild-bread English madrigals.
Background is glittery lights blurred against darkness. Poem: "Cera-Mics at Nightclub Honeypots The seeds impasted on clay pots were bugs flagging scandal to create a gleaming prize of blackmailed folks as worthy dupes of spies. As drunk clubbers swapped damp kissing hugs to make their hazy passage to drizzly skies, The seeds impasted on clay pots were bugs Flagging scandal to create a gleaming prize. Laughing dealers passed out potent drugs as to ply wills and loosen tongues from lies While the powerful spilled their drinks and guise The seeds impasted on clay pots were bugs flagging scandal to create a gleaming prize of blackmailed folks as worthy dupes of spies." EchoGnomics
January 24, 2026 at 1:01 PM
echognomics.bsky.social
👉 TWO SPOOKY HAIKUS (prompts in image.)
Background is either obsidian marble, or spirits in the dark. TEXT: TWO SPOOKY HAIKUS CURIOSITY Nosy boys bowed down to examine the bridge’s gap And trolls’ bows took them. #GLOW prompt *horror, bridge etc. SOULLESS AFTERLIFE Gravewarm revenants come online in troll-bot guise to reap the living. #horrorprompt #afterlife #haikuhorrorprompt #gravewarm EchoGnomics
January 23, 2026 at 11:58 PM
echognomics.bsky.social
👉"What Breakup, Ma'am?"
Prompts credits roll:
#Emoetry #festive
#WildWalkPrompt #Cliff
#GLOW prompt: drama, tanning, truck, bitter.
Image: neon pinkish sci-fi cartoon of woman on tanning bed on a graduated tan background. Poem: "WHAT BREAKUP, MA’AM? “None of that truck,” said Cliff, grabbing his towel modestly. “Just the tan, ma’am.” She, bitter at the festive occasion and called ma’am by her engaged ex, Set the bed to “surface of the sun.” Cliffhanger spoiler: He, called away just in time to a fire threatening tiny kittens at a shelter, lived. The tanning bed did not survive. And she? Fired, and henceforth never darkened another man again. EchoGnomics"
January 23, 2026 at 3:59 AM
echognomics.bsky.social
👉 Industrial Dreams
Prompts credit roll:
Weekly prompts: #Battleborn #quixotic. #cassiopean #neatly
#DawnChorus #factory_resurrection
#FoxProse #swell_of_the_island
#vss365 #unmoor
Background: grayed-out blue and red brick wall. Foreground: poem "Industrial Dreams In the factory resurrection like clockwork the quixotic unmoored the swell of the island Refusing to be neatly packaged as grinning quaint kooks, exclusive tourist attractions. Instead like clouds of bees they swarmed the decrepit, the befouled rats’ nests of bricks,seeing renewal ahead neatly seizing life in their hands. The best of them, asbestos took, and mycotoxins the weakest. EchoGnomics"
January 23, 2026 at 2:01 AM