Category Archives: Poetry

Health, Poetry, Writing

Good Morning

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(Poem 69 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/gEjF5X

Good morning leaves decaying in layers in our little yard forest. You have carpeted the ground beautifully with your life donation. Each of your sacrifices is appreciated, honored, and revered by many paws padding over your graves. Good morning birds singing to the gallery of the gods. You cheer the space where silence was lonely and fill the trees with invisible color. Good morning cool breeze gently swaying the boughs. Waving, nodding, welcoming all of us to your open-air cathedral, we are in awe of your generosity. Good morning ghost white sky. I suppose you don’t feel cornflower blue right now, and that is okay. You are lovely just as you are and have every right to express yourself however you like. Good morning big red barn with peeling paint. Your strength and shelter have protected many generations. You have been a foundation upon which lives were built. Good morning wood pile. What a lovely stack you’ve made of yourself, artistically skewed like an artisanal centerpiece for the yard.

@Home Studio – 69th poem of the year

Fiction, Poetry, Writing

Law & Order: SVU

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(Poem 68 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

https://images.app.goo.gl/1AQSkHQq8cYWGWkw5

Crimes against the most
vulnerable in society
often go unreported,
unsolved, left in the dark
where they were committed.
Shows about the people
who work tirelessly to
defend the weak and
catch the perpetrators
of evil provide comfort.
Each episode should probably
elicit fear, shed light on
terrors I never even thought
of before, keep me up at night,
but instead, something about
the procedural repetition of
violence, discovery,
investigation, interrogation,  
Stabler wrestles with demons,
Benson saves the day,
the criminal goes to jail,
and I can fall right to sleep.

@Home Studio – 68th poem of the year

Fiction, Poetry, Writing

Wicked

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(Poem 66 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/lpUHYo

Is it wicked to want love?
Some think so.
Perhaps they have never
known the power
that comes from hearts
that beat in
unison and lives that are
fated to be
intertwined like woven cords.

Is it wicked to demand respect?
Some say so.
Perhaps they have never
known the freedom
that comes from minds
open to truth
revealed by struggle and growth
after the fight
has been won and admiration earned.

Is it wicked to expect equality?
Some believe so.
Perhaps they have never
known the joy
that comes from souls
fired by flames
of cosmic boldness who know
the real story
is so much better than the lies.

@Home Studio after seeing Wicked on stage at Bass Concert Hall in Austin, Texas 3/16/24 (a Christmas give from my husband from this year) – 66th poem of the year

Wicked. Stephen Schwartz and Winnie Holzman, 2003, Bass Concert Hall, Austin, TX, 16 March, 2024.

Poetry, Writing

Life Is Hard

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(Poem 65 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

Kenji, Aiko, Beauty (Starting at 12 o’clock and going clockwise)

Life is hard for protectors
who must bark endlessly to
deter potential enemies.
Anything could be a threat-
that leaf fluttering menacingly
toward the fence line,
the plane flying over head,
even the car passing on the
street that can’t be seen,
only heard and understood
to pose a danger to all.
It is only right that well-earned
naps take place at regular
intervals throughout the day.
How else will they manage
to continue their missions,
patrol every inch of property,
smell every conceivable
danger before it could
possibly occur, and protect
the peace with dignity?
The cat just likes to nap for
no good reason; she has not
honorably earned her sleep,
nor has she contributed in
any way to the security of
her family beyond gazing
disinterestedly at the hard
workers as they tirelessly
performed their duties.
It is a thankless job with
only contentment as reward.

@Home Studio – 65th poem of the year

Poetry, Writing

Tempest in a Teacup

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(Poem 63 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/l7A9cK

There’s a tempest in my teacup
that I don’t know how to quell
despite attempts to cool the storm
and break the awful spell.

Sometimes I simply tarry awhile,
take time to make some toast;
eventually things settle down-
no more than an hour at most.

Believe me, I wish I knew a way
to keep things calm and still,
but once my tea begins to roar
no one can oppose its will.

Perhaps someday my tea will learn
to behave like a proper cup,
but until then I’ll gently stir,
wait for peace and drink up.

@Home Studio – 63rd poem of the year

Poetry, Writing

Balloon Garden

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(Poem 62 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com  https://gencraft.ai/p/DfUnKJ

There’s a pretty little garden
in a pretty little town
where a pretty little girl
puts balloon seeds in the ground.

She waits very patiently
sitting between the rows
and waters them one by one
waiting for them to grow.

When the bulbous little globes
begin to rise and swell
she sings to each and every one
in a voice clear as a bell.

Once they’ve reached maturity
the little girl waves her goodbyes
as she watches them float away
with tears in her eyes.

@Home Studio – 62nd poem of the year

Runner ups for the balloon garden photos to accompany my poem:

Health, Poetry, Writing

I Fell Today

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(Poem 61 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/7pYBlB

I fell today while walking Kenji
the short distance to the dog run.
I did not trip, stumble, collapse,
slip, stub my toe, nor faint dead away.
It was as though the earth moved
from beneath my feet and there
was nothing left to do but lie down-
the slow motion forward momentum
reminiscent of a tree felled by rot.

My shocked dog panicked, then
sprung into action and proceeded to
administer CPR square in the middle
of my back while head-butting me,
attempting to bring me to. Trouble is,
I was not in need of any of these
ministrations; my breathing was
startled, but sure, and adrenaline
ensured no loss of consciousness.

I’ve dreaded this day for over a
year; “Whatever you do, don’t fall,”
the surgeon’s only instructions
like telling a bird not to fly, a fish
not to swim, a dog not to give CPR
to its helpless person in need.
So, fall, I did, but break, I did not.
A little scraped, a lot bruised, but
no longer dreading the first fall.

@Home Studio – 61st poem of the year

Health, Poetry, Writing

Old Tin Can

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(Poem 60 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/VMtRBA

An old tin can has myriad uses.
It can hold almost anything
that might need holding.
Used bolts, nails, and hinges,
extra screws that might come
in handy someday or never.
Paper clips, tacks, coins, even
a drink once given a good rinse.
There’s no end to its sense of
purpose when put to task.
It can keep seed safe ‘till the
next planting time comes,
trap danger in the form of
stinging things that scurry,
send sound with nothing more
than cotton string pulled taut.
It can be stacked and rolled,
kicked down the road,
thrown, crushed, and buried,
endure flame, flood, and cold.
The thing of it is the absence
of any thing that makes it
so useful because it can be
filled, drained, cherished, forgotten.
Its essence is what many
spend their lives trying to
imitate, emptying of self
opening to the possibility
of receiving and being filled.
I ‘reckon it would be quite a
compliment to be compared
to an old tin can because you
could hold your head high
knowing someone recognized
your inherent worth.

@Home Studio – 60th poem of the year