(Poem 347 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
The great North American
Gator Bird can be found
in the swamps and marshlands
in the Louisiana bayous
along the Mississippi
and the Okefenokee in Georgia.
They eat other birds, snakes,
turtles, fish, racoons, opossums,
deer, and the occasional stray human.
@Home Studio – 347th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Gator Bird photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 346 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Robot was programmed
to play fetch with dog.
Dog, unaware that it was code,
built a friendship with Robot.
Dog was taught to always
reciprocate kindness with kisses.
Robot, unaware that it was trained,
grew to love the unruly Dog.
Together, they went on walks,
and Robot gave Dog pets.
Dog waited for Robot to charge;
Robot waited for Dog to wake.
Neither judged the other for
not being what they were not.
Robot and Dog were the best
friends a machine and dog could be.
@Home Studio – 346th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Robot and Dog photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 345 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
I was reading a Mary Oliver
poem, as I tend to do
and the theme was birdsong,
as her poems tend to be,
and I was transported—
looking out the open window
of my grandson’s room
when he lived with me
as a baby,
our routine as simple
as one, two, three,
me holding him
him looking at me,
waiting for my imitation
of the bird call of the morning.
I was quite impressed
with my mimicry,
as was he.
The bird would sing to us
and we would respond.
If I took too long,
my grandson would grunt
to hurry me up.
A proper reply must
be whistled off, woman.
I’d forgotten that I learned
three different bird calls
during our shelter-in-place
COVID season,
probably the accomplishment
I’m secretly most proud of,
even though I also got
my Master’s degree,
fostered my grandchildren,
taught remotely,
rescued an elderly cat,
and survived.
But those morning
conversations between
the birds, my grandson,
and me—
@Home Studio – 345th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Bird Calls photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 344 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
I knitted my dino a sweater.
It took 3,459 balls of yarn.
I worked spring, summer and fall
because it’s cold in his barn.
I wanted it ready by Christmas,
so I worked all night and day.
Now he’s wearing his giant sweater
and can enjoy the snow and play.
@Home Studio – 344th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Dino Sweater photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 343 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
A reflection is merely
a light wave echo,
rebound optical rays,
boomerang spectral particles—
how fitting
that Narcissus was cursed
to fall in love
with the likeness
of himself,
a mere copy.
Had he truly
known how to love,
he might have been kind
to poor Echo,
that sad nymph
of the woods
and spared both their lives.
@Home Studio – 343rd poem of the year
Runner ups for the Reflection photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 342 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Magic hair
sends waves
through the cosmos,
a journey from
root to tip
and beyond,
then ricochets
back to the heart
of the goddess
from whence it came,
the answer
to infinite energy.
@Home Studio – 342nd poem of the year
Runner ups for the Magic Hair photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 341 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Gifts and necessities
fill every inch of the car
blending possessions
one step in the process
that is part and parcel of
two lives becoming one
from Texas to Canada
Michigan in between
mother’s heart rests easy
when she sees her boy
turned man open the car
door for his wife
and drive away
to start his new life
@Home Studio – 341st poem of the year
Runner ups for the Car Jenga photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 340 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
https://images.app.goo.gl/BA4nMzC4RVPPvq8M7 https://images.app.goo.gl/8hjt24a2SLX8EcVs5
Texans and Canadians
joined
for one last meal
at Jardín Corona
finding a common bond
over Mexican food,
a bit ironic
that the Canadians present
are the only of us
who have ever lived
in Mexico
and spoken
Spanish
as a way of life before,
but we tried our best
to order authentically—
shared chips and salsa,
chile con queso, guacamole,
then our favorites—
carne asada, flautas,
mole poblano, enchiladas
with verde sauce, quesadillas,
beef tacos, pollo tequila
pechuga encebollada
pollo endiablado,
steak, carne guisada,
with sides of rice,
charro beans,
and of course,
tortillas.
Our families are now
tied together
by marriage,
so it’s a good thing we
can at least all agree
on good food.
@Home Studio – 340th poem of the year
(Poem 339 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
(Julian playing piano.)
Julian thinks he has blood burp,
the kind where blood comes out
of your body. We’re not sure if he
needs to go to the hospital, or if he
simply needs a glass of water.
He said he burped like 1,000 times.
He almost burped google plex.
Do you know what google plex means?
It means past infinity.
He’s busy playing the piano,
and such beautiful music makes
him wax contemplative.
Try to guess that song, he says.
Happy Birthday, I throw out on a whim.
NO! It’s something that says uuuuhhhh.
He’s learning to sound out words
in Kindergarten and likes to point out
the starting sounds of words to show
how smart he is, like the color red –
rrrrr, rrrrr, come on, guess it, he says.
rrrrr, eeeee, dddd, red. R, E, D. Red.
Back to uuuuuhhhh.
The name of his melancholic song.
He is very offended that I can’t figure it out.
Turns out, it’s Up from the movie.
I think that is the saddest sounding
song he can think of, and he wants
to play something soulful.
Now he’s banging in such a way that all the cats
have run outside.
He says the loud banging is from
the movie, too. It’s the part where there’s singing.
He’s done playing the piano.
Now he has my Wonder Woman sword
and is practicing stabbing me
in a variety of different ways.
Through the underarm is his favorite
because it comes out the other side
and looks really realistic.
Hey, wanna arm wrestle?
he asks conspiratorially.
I’m not sure how normal our relationship is.
This probably isn’t how most people imagine
grandmothers and grandsons spend their time.
But I don’t want to miss a second of it.
What do you want for Christmas? I ask.
Without missing a beat,
Cristiano Ronaldo cologne from Amazon.
Cologne? For a 6-year-old? Are you sure?
He nods.
What if it arrives and it’s stinky?
It won’t be. Ronaldo always smells
better than everybody all the time.
My bad. I learn something every day.
@Home Studio – 339th poem of the year
More Silly Julian:
(Poem 338 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
“Going to the chapel
and you’re gonna get married.”
Today’s the day you say your vows,
agree to disagree for many years to come.
Family and friends look on with joy and tears,
so thankful to have gained a daughter or a son.
Our hearts are full as we celebrate your sweet union,
hopeful that this is the beginning of a lifetime of love.
@Home Studio – 338th poem of the year
More Wedding Day photos to accompany my poem:
Julian as ring bearer security. Mackenzie and Charlotte as flower girls.
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