(Poem 115 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
We had a meeting in the kitchen.
I cried and scrubbed the stove.
You told me to take better care of myself.
I scraped burnt cabbage and tomato sauce off a pan.
You left a cabinet open.
I cried some more.
You played with the wind chimes.
I said how much I miss our chats.
You comforted me.
@Home Studio – 115th poem of the year
(Poem 114 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
I bought some of that
pheromone perfume to
make my husband love me;
turns out, I don’t need it.
I’m the whole package and
seem to be his cup of tea.
Because my hips are as
wide as the Himalayas and
other assets ample, as well,
I need reminders that for
some men, an ample shape
can be pleasing as hell.
The culture I was raised in
prized a female form with
less meat on the bones;
that leaves a stain on the
heart that’s hard to shake—
dispatched to friend zones.
So, I’ll probably keep buying
the latest aphrodisiacs and
pretty things on TikTok shop,
even though my husband
thinks I’m beautiful and feels
no need to window shop.
@Home Studio – 114th poem of the year
Runner ups for the full-figured white girl photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 113 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
A black and white image slowly
forms in developing solution.
A woman emerges with unkempt
hair and the same gown she’s
been wearing for several days.
The dampness permeating her
garments and droplets beading
on her hair clue her in that she is
standing outside in the elements.
She was meant to be completing
a task, doing something important.
Awareness dawns that she has
not been well for a while now,
how long is undetermined, vague,
but the lifting fog begins to reveal
color, just hints of expression,
a reminder that there is life
beyond the slog of slow-motion
survival she has been swimming
through indefinitely unmoored.
The awakening is gradual, subtle,
and incremental, yet essential.
@Home Studio – 113th poem of the year
(Poem 112 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
A caterpillar is scooting along,
minding her own business,
munching on leaves and
feeling the cool breeze,
when she suddenly has a thought;
“What if I could fly away?”
All her life she’s crawled along,
inched on her belly,
viewed the world from below.
How does she even begin
to imagine the possibility of flight,
envision a different future
than the one she has always known?
A gentle gnawing that begins
in her belly and slowly creeps
its way incrementally to the tip of
consciousness tells her to
cocoon herself in safety,
wall herself away from the scary
change that will come if she
lets herself dream too big.
And there she remains,
turning in on herself,
visualizing a new way of being,
letting the idea of a new reality
wash through her like
rain and pain, and the strain
of the old self transforming
becomes nearly unbearable.
That is when the miracle happens…
new life unfurls,
wings stretch heavenward,
there is an impulse to leap,
to flap, to throw fear to the sky,
and become who she is meant to be.
Runner ups for the caterpillar lightbulb photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 111 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Don’t you wonder
what the animals do
when we aren’t watching
their every single move?
Do they drive our cars
and talk on our phones,
eat at our restaurants
or take out bank loans?
Maybe they wear clothes
and chew bubble gum,
carry around umbrellas
and play a snare drum.
Do they smoke cigarettes
and walk on the streets,
wear sleek looking hats
and sleep on soft sheets?
Perhaps they laugh at us
while telling lame jokes,
then pretend ignorance;
it’s all a big hoax.
Yes, the animals out there
are living double lives,
staring blankly at us,
giving each other high fives.
Runner ups for the magical animals photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 110 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Matilda was dealt an awful hand,
the most neglectful parents in all the land.
When finally caught by the powers that be,
she went to school, which filled her with glee.
Sad to say, the school was the worst,
run by a tyrant who believed kids were cursed.
Poor Matilda was viewed as an evil child,
so she made up stories that were truly wild.
A librarian was her biggest fan,
who encouraged her to take a stand.
Then her teacher Ms. Honey cheered her on,
and eventually all the threats were gone.
Now Matilda has a family and friends,
a happy school, and love that never ends.
She even has a house and a yard,
so she can continue her role as a bard.
@Home Studio – (after watching the musical Matilda with Debbie and Celinda) 110th poem of the year
Warchus, Matthew, director. Roald Dahl’s Matilda the Musical film. TriStar Pictures, 2022.
(Poem 109 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
My baby is a vampire,
adorable and sweet.
Teeth sharp as razors,
slice easily through meat.
He gets a little cranky
if he’s late for his nap,
which is very dangerous,
and can lead to a mishap.
So, I keep him on a schedule
with his snacks and sleep;
thanks to my diligence,
he rarely makes a peep.
He loves to snuggle,
but be careful of his bite,
and stay away from windows
due to harsh sunlight.
I’m not exactly sure
how this happened to my child,
but it might be because
his dad’s a little wild.
Whatever the case,
if you put my love to the test,
I’ll tell you loud and clear
that my baby is the best.
@Home Studio – 109th poem of the year
Runner ups for the vampire baby photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 108 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
This looks like a great painting to ride into on a gentle appaloosa.
She and I will trot along at a leisurely pace, past the old shack
and on down to the creek behind that far off stand of trees.
Occasional clouds of red clay dust might kick up behind us if we
decide to pick up our speed, so we keep it nice and easy instead.
The clouds gathering on the horizon threaten rain, but we welcome
the cover cooling the afternoon with a comfortable spring breeze.
The only sounds the sporadic scolding of birds when we ride too
close to their nests, and the creak of our saddle with each step.
We’ll turn around and head home when we reach the field of
wildflowers just out of sight around that far bend out yonder.
@Home Studio – 108th poem of the year
(Poem 107 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Aslan’s reign shall have no end;
from ocean to mountain,
the land will be prosperous.
Jew and Gentile, and everyone
else, will gather on the banks of
The Great River to gaze at the
beauty of the living stars who
dance and move as they please.
After looking into his eyes,
those who rejoice at seeing him
are welcomed into his world; no
one is forced to dwell in paradise.
Soup and pie, jellies and ices,
fruit and nuts, and endless tea—
magical beasts, giants, and dragons,
dwarves, centaurs, and unicorns alike
share in feasts of honey and cakes,
pomegranates and peaches in
many-colored sugar and cream.
Toffee trees with peppermint leaves
grow wild alongside lovely dryads.
The great eagle soars above
the rolling hills and never once
notices the mice or small birds
fluttering below, as there is no
more death, mourning, crying,
or pain, for the former things
have passed away, and all is peace.
@Home Studio – 107th poem of the year
Lewis, C. S. The Chronicles of Narnia Series. HarperCollins, 1950-1956.
Revelation 21:4, The Bible. King James Version, http://www.bible.com/bible/compare/REV.21.4
(Poem 106 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
“To the extent you know love, you become love.” – Deepak Chopra’s The Way of the Wizard
Love is a universal force,
not an attachment or
extension of the ego.
The opposite of possession
is an empty vessel ready
to be filled to the brim
with the energy of love
that is freely poured out
by the one who loves.
Rather than wait around
for an image of love to
reflect our own or hope
they repair our brokenness,
why not tap into the source
that can fill the void and
seal the cracks and make
us whole so we can learn
wholehearted true love?
Out beyond memory of
personal past filled with
shame or guilt, rejection
or resentment, lies the
“quiet experience of Being.”
True love is not a void of
lack papered over by
denial, but entering the
essence of self that is the
wellspring of love, the simple
silent home of the beloved.
@Home Studio – 106th poem of the year
Chopra, Deepak. The Way of the Wizard: Twenty Spiritual Lessons for Creating the Life You Want. New York, United States of America, Harmony Books, 1995, pp.102-108.
Runner ups for the Renaissance photos to accompany my poem:
rebekahjmarshall 