Tag Archives: creativity

Poetry, Writing

Lawnmower Grandad

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(Poem 104 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

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

The lawn must be mowed,
and no one else does it right.
From the porch to the road,
keep the column lines tight.

Outline the driveway on the edge;
hold the steering wheel straight.
Get right up close to the hedge,
and be sure to mow near the gate.

Over time you’ll finish the job,
even if you take little nap breaks.
Use the steering wheel knob
to avoid too many muscle aches.

Someday you’ll have to do the task
of keeping this yard looking neat.
If you can do it without having to ask
for help I’ll know my job’s complete.

@Home Studio – 104th poem of the year

Runner ups for the lawnmower Grandad photos to accompany my poem:

Poetry, Writing

Floofy Jack

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(Poem 102 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/d1AA4q

Floofy Jack is a big teddy bear
who happens to have a lot of hair.
He’s huge and fluffy and stinky, too;
thanks to his height, he has the best view.

Once in a while he’ll come to town
and walk down the street, each step on the ground
shaking the buildings, one mighty paw
is sure to make onlookers stare in awe.

They know the gentle giant will leave
after taking a stroll and a moment to grieve
at the place where the little girl rescued him
and gave his claws their very first trim.

The story is legend across the land—
how the girl saved the giant with her tiny hand.
With pets and treats and laughter and love,
she helped him become as gentle as a dove.

She proved to everyone near and far
that size doesn’t matter; it’s how kind you are.
She named Floofy Jack and called him her friend
and was his companion until the end.

When she passed away, he cried for a week;
his tears created a new fishing creek.
And that’s how the town was finally named
Bear Creek, thanks to the girl and the giant she tamed.

@Home Studio – 102nd 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