(Poem 12 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
There once was a girl from Cedar Park
who dreamt of finding love with all her heart,
but no one around
wanted to be found,
so instead she focused on being smart.
@Home Studio – 12th poem of the year
Runner ups for the AI girl getting smart photos to accompany my poem:
There once was a girl from Cedar Park
who was terribly afraid of the dark.
She remained concerned
until she learned
whistling turned her into Joan of Arc
@Home Studio – 11th poem of the year
Runner ups for the AI Joan of Arc Rebekah photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 10 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
There once was a girl from Cedar Park
who hopped on a horse on a lark.
The Shetland was mad,
so the girl was soon clad
in dirt, bruises, and bark.
@Home Studio – 10th poem of the year
Runner ups for the AI girl and horse photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 9 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
My demon
was once a believer
whose heart was broken
by killing
his love.
Could any soul
survive such cruelty
in the name of
Confucius?
Kong Qui would be
offended by
blood blasphemy.
The teacher who
teaches humanity,
filial piety,
righteousness and ritual
as four pillars
of morality
would never condone
violence as a means
to an end.
Is God a homeless
gambler betting on
peoples’ fates for fun?
No wonder love
turns to hate
and there’s always
hell to pay.
@Home Studio – 9th poem of the year; written while watching (and inspired by) My Demon episode 12 “The Savior of Destruction”, one of my current Korean shows.
(Poem 8 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
(AI Generated images I prompted on Gencraft.com)
The new year arrived without
much ado while I slept.
Then the proverbial fan spluttered.
Five hours later, I drove my
husband home from the emergency room
a little doped up, but thankful
for temporary relief from a kidney stone.
Two days later I propped up his ass
so he wouldn’t fall off the porch
after a root canal and more meds
than his delicate constitution
could withstand on a weekday.
We’re only a few days in to 2024,
but it needs to slow its roll,
pace itself, it’s doing too much.
@Home Studio – 8th poem of the year
(Some more images playing around with AI…one of my favorite is this dragon representing 2024 doing WAY TOO MUCH!)
(And this poor little guy in the bottom left about to get eaten by 2024…)
(Here are some more because I was having trouble coming up with an image to represent what I wanted. We’ve got bleak city streets, Dickensonian dental surgery, and the after Christmas blues in this collage.)
(Poem 7 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
My new candle wick trimmer
is golden, as shiny as the flame
buoyed by their snip snips.
I am pleased as punch with my purchase.
The Walgreens aisle at Christmas
is ablaze with glitter and foil.
Ornamental green and red wrapped
stocking stuffers lure procrastinators,
easy marks in the capitalism game.
And I know I’ve been had, but
decide to play along because
no one fills my stocking if I don’t.
And I buy into the TikTok trend that
I deserve a little of what I want this season…
I wonder if the rebel platform
was paid off by Walgreens
to tell me to think for myself
so I would also want to take home
a candle snuffer, new journal,
giant carabiner the size of my hand,
and chocolate-covered cherries.
@Home Studio – 7th poem of the year
(Poem 6 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
I don’t know how
to write about the real
things that keep me up
at night because
I’ve forgotten what they are.
My mind is as empty as
a lazy metaphor,
my brain smooth silk,
my soul a settled morning pond.
I’m afraid enlightenment
might make me a worse poet.
Do sages fear writer’s block,
Or do they eschew the arts?
Will newfound peace
change my focus such that
my words will suffer?
Have I found the worry stone
to hold in my palm tonight?
Well, looky there, proof
I’m still on the mortal plane,
but I’m getting closer
to the obliteration of self
and who knows what that means…
@Home Studio – 6th poem of the year
(Poem 5 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Candles lit
Cleared space
Tea at the ready
Blank page
Dogs asleep
at my feet
Husband in a
snuggie so
the air can be
comfortable
for the furnace
that is me
Perfect evening
to sit and write
Melt my soul
back to the night
Quiet peace
Edge of dream
Twinkle lights
add softness
Husband’s touch
subtle as a battle cry
but welcome
and enough
Nice to share
a relaxing day
alone together
Our secret foreplay
And when he
switches the laundry
my heart melts
a little bit more
softening edges
I forget are rough,
angry and wounded
in need of love
@Home Studio – 5th poem of the year
(Poem 4 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Well, hello there little bird.
Care for a bit of bread?
You’ve been eyeing it
quite obviously for the last
few minutes. Don’t play coy now.
Come closer if you expect
me to share. A good look at you
the price of the treat
sprinkled with sugar and
cinnamon like the
feathers on your breast.
Your yellow eye stares
at me as you steal a piece
and side step a hop or two
to safety. You better hurry.
That larger blackbird
thinks the rest is for him,
his giant claw stomping,
claiming it for his own,
his beak ripping to bits
the delicate layers you
so gently speared with grace.
@Genuine Joe’s mid-day – 4th poem of the year
(Poem 3 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
The first time salting
my window sills, I waited
until everyone in the house
was asleep.
No one could question
the protective measures
taken on their behalf
nor doubt their
efficacy.
Burning sage for the first time
took place behind closed doors,
any scent detected probably
thought to be a strange new
candle, since those are
understood.
My rock collection
continues to grow,
new shades of polished
gems and crystals join
dinosaur excrement and
fossilized wood,
each has its place.
@Genuine Joe’s mid-day – 3rd poem of the year
rebekahjmarshall 