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(Poem 117 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

Who’s to blame for the uprising?
Seeking a guilty verdict for the
ancestor most likely to be the
culprit does little to unenslave
the victims now suffering atrocities.
Wouldn’t the better course of action
be to remake society into a place
of peace and mutual collaboration?
That would be too logical and
require setting aside revenge and
greed, animosity, and hatred,
require communicating, being
vulnerable and open to change,
require accepting the other and
making allowances and space
for differences that require both
understanding and patience.
It would mean providing for those
who can’t provide for themselves,
showing compassion to those who
are weaker, and making room for
those whose ideologies collide.
Be the perpetrator of peace for
the benefit of all, and inflict undying
hope on generations to come.
@Home Studio – 117th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Planet of the Apes photos to accompany my poem:










(Poem 116 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

70 is the new 50.
Bike, climb, hike, romance;
the world is your oyster,
the sky the limit.
You can smell the roses
and shoot for the moon,
throw your hat in the ring
and take the bull by the horns.
So, bite the bullet,
but don’t break a leg
because the ball’s in your court,
and it’s time to sing your own praises.
You make your own destiny,
for nothing is set in stone.
Since all bets are off,
pull out all the stops,
make a castle in the sky,
and do everything on your bucket list.
@Home Studio – 116th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Granny Fun photos to accompany my poem:





(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:




