Tag Archives: death

Haunted House

(Poem 295 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

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

There once was a house
with a fence in the woods
where the children never dared to go.

They believed in a tale
full of spooky old ghosts
and wolves whose eyes would glow.

One Halloween Eve
in a game of Truth or Dare
some children ended up at the gate.

They were laughing so loud
that they did not even see
the ghost who would decide their fate.

She watched them push
one terrified little boy
to enter the yard and ring the bell.

The poor boy cried
as he walked to the porch
each step like a hollow death knell.

The ghost howled
which alerted the wolves
eager for a scrumptious evening meal.

The boy who was forced
to touch the haunted house
was the only child who survived the ordeal.

@Home Studio – 295th poem of the year

September 11th

***Trigger Warning/Content Warning – graphic violence, suicide, death, dying, world tragedies

(Poem 256 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

I was exercising on an
elliptical machine at the
local YMCA and watching
the television off and on.
Some new movie was
advertising, that I would
never see, where buildings
blow up and planes crash
and there is not enough
dialogue to satisfy me.
The longer the images
flashed on the screen,
the more real the footage
took shape as something
awful, a thing less from
Hollywood, and more
from a living nightmare.
New York, Twin Towers,
a second plane, a third
plane hit the Pentagon,
a fourth plane was headed
for the capital but went down
in a field in Pennsylvania.
The world was coming
apart at the seams, and I
had to get home to my
children to hold them.
When what looked like
debris, but turned out to
be people, began falling
from the windows, my
beliefs forever changed.
To hear people judge and
decry the actions of so
many facing certain death,
my heart leapt with those
who grasped what little
personal choice they had
left in their final moments,
and I wept as one by one,
some holding hands together,
they made the plunge to
the beyond like rockets
shooting to space in reverse.

Several images are seared into my brain. One is the image of the Falling Man, taken by Associated Press photographer Richard Drew, which looks as though the man has thrown himself as a spear at the earth, defiantly facing death on his own terms. “The picture went all around the world, and then disappeared, as if we willed it away. One of the most famous photographs in human history became an unmarked grave, and the man buried inside its frame—the Falling Man—became the Unknown Soldier in a war whose end we have not yet seen.” – by Tom Junod

@Home Studio – 256th poem of the year

Junod, Tom, “The Falling Man – An unforgettable story.” Esquire, 9 Sep. 2021, http://www.esquire.com/news-politics/a48031/the-falling-man-tom-junod/

Losing Beauty

(Poem 248 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

Beauty & Aiko in all their regal gorgeousness. They know they rule the kingdom.

To be without Beauty
feels plain and bare,
lacking in something.
A presence at once
regal and understated
has gone missing, and
in its place is an ache,
a pang, maybe a twinge
of listless longing for
some undefined touch
of elegance that is both
gracious and aloof,
familiar and unknowable.

@Home Studio – 248th poem of the year

Runner ups for the Losing Beauty photos to accompany my poem:

1. Beauty & Kage on guard duty.
2. Chika, Beauty, & Cotton Eyed Joe snuggling.
3. Beauty & Chika sharing my chair.
4. Beauty holding hands with Kenji.
5. The last picture I ever took of Beauty—Beauty & Aiko holding hands. 

Making the Call

(Poem 247 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/l27VBQ

Making the call to end a life
weighs heavily on the spirit,
even if the conclusion is an
act of mercy for the beloved
by relieving pain and suffering.
Only those who have spent
years with another in close
proximity, shared their lives
intimately, and were tasked
with taking the initiative to
usher in the end know the
reluctance with which the
decision is made and how
heavy the heart to speak the
truth that life has become a
burden rather than a blessing.

@Home Studio – 247th poem of the year

Runner ups for the Making the Call photos to accompany my poem:

COVID’s curse

(Poem 246 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/zxz2Lt

COVID’s curse is that it lingers,
hangs menacingly in the air, and
recapitulates its previous threats
with symptomatic diminishment.
Not as serious, less deadly, return
to work after only five days now,
means everyone shares the virus
and those concerned are viewed
as disproportionately cautious.
Do they remember the terror so
recently fresh to those whose
cats lost their owners and children
lost their grandmothers and we
lamented the death counts daily?
This time when my husband got
sick and I could not touch him
for a week, I still checked to make
sure he was breathing and sheltered
in place and social distanced,
though no one uses that language
these days anymore…so 2020 of me.
Perhaps it is the lack of the sense
of smell that was stolen from me
or the worsened sense of vision
that was purloined or the lessened
oxygenation ability that was pilfered
or possibly the energy I once had
to function all day that was looted
after my fourth run-in with the
offender who is nothing more than
an unwelcome, tiresome loiterer.

@Home Studio – 246th poem of the year

Runner ups for the COVID photos to accompany my poem:

Harry Potter 8

(Poem 245 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

When Harry dropped the resurrection
stone in the forest after conferring with
his lost loved ones, the imagery was
reminiscent of the Garden of Gethsemane
and the agonizing acceptance of death
as the only way to life for all of humanity.
To have the power to save yourself and
choose submission to pain and fear of
the unknown is a most noble sacrifice.

@Home Studio – 245th poem of the year (After watching it at home while Lydia & Charlotte watched it at Cinemark on 9/1/24 for Back to Hogwarts Week)

Yates, David. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows-Part 2. Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson, Rupert Grint, Warner Bros., 2011.

Brotherly Love – House of the Dragon

(Poem 183 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

The sacrificial lamb
for one man’s guilt
results in the death of
one soul split in two.

One name in twain,
bifurcated broken hearts
bent on split loyalties
divided by ideologies.

A dancing duet of
swords and pain,
a dyad in tandem
with lives of service.

This brotherly love
can only end in grief,
for the end of one
means the end of both.

@Home Studio – 183rd poem of the year (Spoiler Alert: after watching House of the Dragon Season 2 Episode 2; Erryk and Arryk.)

Condal, Ryan and George R. R. Martin, creators. House of the Dragon. HBO Entertainment and Warner Bros., 2024.

Runner ups for the Brotherly Love photos to accompany my poem:

Grieving Mother – House of the Dragon

(Poem 180 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/3PTiet  https://gencraft.ai/p/rcoJcL

The mother does what
any mother must do after
receiving the worst news
imaginable; she mounts
her dragon and flies as far
as she must for confirmation
with her own eyes that her
son has been taken from
this world in a vicious attack.
She must reckon with the
knowledge that all could
have been prevented by
her every step of the way,
so she has herself to blame
for her baby ending up in the
belly of the enemy’s beast.
A son for a son will become
the battle cry that brings
only blood to the realm.
Winter is truly coming.

@Home Studio – 180th poem of the year (after watching Season 2, Episode 1 of House of the Dragon)

Condal, Ryan and George R. R. Martin, creators. House of the Dragon. HBO Entertainment and Warner Bros., 2024.

Runner ups for the Grieving Mother photos to accompany my poem:

Ghost Whisperer

(Poem 176 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

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

Beyond the veil of the living
is the plain of the between,
where people linger after death
unable to be seen.

Only those who can’t let go
reside in this murky space,
but each lost soul has a story to tell
if someone can show them grace.

A Ghost Whisperer is sometimes summoned,
a spirit’s only hope,
communing with the voiceless ones
to help the living cope.

For usually, those who remain
feel burdened by an unexplained weight.
No sense can be made of their grief
or their loved ones’ undetermined fate.

If a satisfactory resolution
can be settled upon at last,
the ghost will finally release their hold
and accept that they have passed.

@Home Studio – 176th poem of the year (Inspired by the television show The Ghost Whisperer.)

Hewitt, Jennifer Love, Ghost Whisperer, Sander/Moses, CBS, 2005-2010.

Runner ups for the Ghost Whisperer photos to accompany my poem: