Tag Archives: Art

Poetry, Writing

Mama Ninja

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(Poem 281 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/zZe0f2

His mama was a ninja
who went by different names.
She rescued anyone in need,
without hope of gains.

His mama was a ninja,
good with knives and swords and fists,
but she also made the best katsu curry
and gave lovely handmade gifts.

His mama was a ninja
who could scale any wall
and dance across a roof peak
with no risk of a fall.

His mama was a ninja,
a fierce protector cloaked by night,
so he grew up to believe in justice
and always fight for what’s right.

@Home Studio – 281st poem of the year

Runner ups for the Mama Ninja photos to accompany my poem:

Poetry, Writing

Book Fairies

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(Poem 280 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/rqq9tW

My book fairies
come out at night
as all book fairies do,
but mine are pesky
little things
nuisances, that’s who.

They steal my things
like coins and rings
and put them who knows where.
They flit around
upsetting the dogs
and giving the cats a scare.

I know the night
is their time to roam
and I shouldn’t begrudge their fun,
but we’re trying to sleep.
We have work tomorrow,
and their revelry’s just begun.

Once in a while
they’ll do something nice
like leave a breakfast for me,
but even then,
they use books as plates
and put fish scales in my tea.

I wish them well,
health and long life
and all those other things,
but I need them to go
inhabit someone else’s shelves
with their constantly flapping wings.

@Home Studio – 280th poem of the year

Runner ups for the Fairies photos to accompany my poem:

Poetry, Writing

Taking Pictures of Flowers

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(Poem 279 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

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

She fell in love near dusk
walking a gravel path that crunched
beneath their feet as they wandered
in search of flowers to photograph.

She had been gifted a new old camera
that made her feel nostalgic for a past
life, and he was looking for any excuse
to be alone with her to confess his feelings.

She bent to frame a delicate Magnolia
and his breath caught at her beauty.
He told her his heart would only continue
to beat if she accepted his love as her own.

She turned to him with a serious expression
and snapped a photo of his pained look.
“I accept,” she said, then took another
photo of his transformed elated visage.

She has both faces framed on her desk
and looks at them when she grows weary
of darkness and difficulties, to remember
that she was once someone’s next heartbeat.

@Home Studio – 279th poem of the year

Runner ups for the Camera photos to accompany my poem:

Poetry, Writing

If This Was My Room

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(Poem 278 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/nd5OI4

If this
was my room,
I would never
do
anything
but nap
and watch
the weather
change her mind
and write silly
poems about
dappled light
and dancing clouds,
and daydream
after reading
old love letters
while listening
to “Bésame Mucho”
on Spanish guitar.

@Home Studio – 278th poem of the year

Poetry, Writing

Hole in the Ceiling

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(Poem 276 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/ue2v8M

There’s a hole
in the ceiling
that needs
to be fixed.

The leak
that caused the need
for the hole
has been repaired,
but the hole
remains.

I ponder that space
when the house
is quiet
and nothing else needs
my attention.

The naming of things
fascinates me,
and the fact that we have a word for the absence of something where another thing should be
gives me comfort.

It means
others have discovered
something missing
that needs to be there
and filled it with a name.

@Home Studio – 276th poem of the year

Runner ups for the Hole in the Ceiling photos to accompany my poem:

Poetry, Writing

Olive Green Yarn

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(Poem 273 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

(Hair stick art display)

I needed a way
to display
my hair sticks
decoratively,
so I measured
and sketched
a design Grandad
could build
with his hands
and his tools
and his can-do
attitude that turns
ideas into art,
like a barn
or a staircase,
a balance beam
or doll furniture,
or a simple
wooden frame
with olive green yarn
stretched taut
between raised metal tacks
and a shiny gold hook
holding fast at the top
to hang my idea
for all the world to see.

@Home Studio – 273rd poem of the year

Poetry

Ways I’ve Thrown Out My Back In My 50s

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(Poem 270 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/K6aM9w

Washing dishes (scrubbing a cookie sheet too hard.)
Rolling over in bed.
Holding up my cell phone to show my daughter a video.
Sitting up straight in my chair.
Bending over to pet Cotton Eyed Joe (my granddaughter’s cat.)
Typing.
Opening a Splenda packet; shaking it too vigorously.
Brushing my teeth.
Scooping a cup of dog food into the dog’s bowl.
Waving my Harry Potter wand.

@Home Studio – 270th poem of the year

Poetry, Writing

Plasma Blobs

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(Poem 269 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/OvDj2h

Plasma is rare
on earth,
though found
in abundance
everywhere else
in space.
And now scientists
are telling us
that these blobs
that are not solid,
liquid, or gas,
but another state:
communicate,
behave predatorially,
congregate,
interact with satellites,
get the zoomies,
race excitedly
toward thunderstorms,
form crystals—
corkscrew shaped
like DNA,
and may be inorganic
non-biological life
or pre-life,
and we’re supposed
to go on sipping our tea
and paying our bills.

@Home Studio – 269th poem of the year

Runner ups for the Plasma photos to accompany my poem:

Poetry, Writing

How Will We Know

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(Poem 268 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

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

Can agony
awaken possibility?
Is it painful
for the seed
to sprout,
or is the bursting out
more like relief?
Will something fresh
find its way through
the detritus
and despair,
and if so,
how will we know
when we can
hope again?

@Home Studio – 268th poem of the year