Tag Archives: dreams

Hafiz – Poem 39

All images created by Rebekah Marshall’s prompts using AI on Gencraft.com website.

I am reading Hafiz’s Little Book of Life, poetry by Hafiz-e Shirazi. He is challenging me to become more comfortable with ambiguity. I will share his poem and some of my thoughts on his poem (sometimes with the help of experts when the concepts are too hard for me), followed by a poem and some art inspired by his poem.

Hafiz’s Poem 39:

Forgive the warring of the 72 nations
Not having seen the truth
They’ve gone down the road of fantasy

Some thoughts:

This poem took a little digging to learn about the number 72 in mystical Sufism and other Islamic cultural contexts. Apparently, it was a known phrase representing division or splits that people would have recognized as symbolic, rather than literal. The idea of 72 sects or religious groups became shorthand for fragmentation of what was once unified in hadith literature and early Islamic traditions. For Hafiz to mention 72 nations was to at once tap into phrasing his audience would recognize as representative of all the human groups of the world.

What is even more interesting to me is that he is not condemning all these nations for their shortsightedness but asking for their forgiveness. “They know not what they do.” They are caught in “the illusion” rather than recognizing the truth of peace and harmony. All the nations of the earth come from the same source. We all return to the same source after death. Why not live united in kindness, shared humanity, and communal peace during our short time in this reality? Such a question we could pose to the 197 nations in existence on our planet right now.

My Poem 39:

Can you truly not see
the shimmering promise
of a peaceful tomorrow?

The glow of city lights lies just over the horizon
where nation shall not rise up against nation.

This morass of darkness and despair
is not the truth you seek in your waiting
but merely an illusory nonsensical hellscape.

Continue to put one foot
in front of the other until you reach
the promised land of unity and peace,
where bees drip honey into mouths
open only to speak kind words,
and dams nurse calves languidly,
without fear of being separated by war.

Flowers are grown along every path purely
for making friendship wreaths and decorative
garlands to be given away free of cost or consequence
because nothing is required nor demanded of citizens
in this place beyond breath and awareness and love.

Hafiz. Hafiz’s Little Book of Life. Translated by Erfan Mojib and Gary Gach, Hampton Roads Publishing, 2023.

Sleepswim

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/Ka7CjK

Seagrass meadows sway
in the gentle tide.
Filmy tendrils of feather
algae drift dreamily.

Intricate sea fans filter
the currents with webbed
lacelike celestial branches.
Manta ray glides lazily by.

Squid pulsates with a blush
of color, surprised to see me
walking among the undersea
forest of staghorn coral.

Kelp strand loops sweetly
around my hand, as if to say,
hello, old friend, good to see you,
as reef shark slips by slowly.

I wonder if fish sleepswim
in our dusty world of bright air
the way I sleepwalk naturally
in their fluid shadowy habitat.

Rebekah Marshall @Home Studio

If This Was My Room

(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

Painted Skin

(Poem 254 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/GQuc0J

Jenni married an Indian man,
painted her white skin brown,
and adopted a Hindi accent.
She wore a simple cotton sari
as though it was a ball gown
and dispensed sage advice
with smooth tilts of the head,
as though born in Mumbai.

@Home Studio – 254th poem of the year (After a dream I had about a white friend of mine completely appropriating Indian culture.)

Runner ups for the Indian Jenni photos to accompany my poem:

Whales in the Sky

(Poem 252 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

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

Last night I saw a giant humpback
whale swimming in the sky, diving
deep through the air water to the
ocean floor land where I stood in
awe of its graceful power that both
terrified me and kept me rooted in
place admiring its beauty and grace.

@Home Studio – 252nd poem of the year

Runner ups for the Whales in the Sky photos to accompany my poem:

Mary Poppins

(Poem 157 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

Spit, spot, do your chores;
make the room look spiffy.
Once you’ve done your very best,
we’ll have some tea in a jiffy.

If you fancy a story before bed,
be sure you’ve brushed your teeth.
Don’t be dodgy or skip the molars;
then wipe your mouth beneath.

While you sleep, remember the rule,
no dream creatures allowed at home—
whichever magical lovelies you meet,
be they fairy, sprite, pixie, or gnome.

In the morning, before school,
I’ll make you some toast and beans.
Then off you go to learn your lessons
about all the kings and queens.

@Home Studio – 157th poem of the year (after watching Mary Poppins Returns with Debbie, Julia, Paula, and Celinda.)

Marshall, Rob. Mary Poppins Returns. Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures, 2018.

Caterpillar’s Bright Idea

(Poem 112 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/Jbf6Mz

A caterpillar is scooting along,
minding her own business,
munching on leaves and
feeling the cool breeze,
when she suddenly has a thought;
“What if I could fly away?”
All her life she’s crawled along,
inched on her belly,
viewed the world from below.
How does she even begin
to imagine the possibility of flight,
envision a different future
than the one she has always known?
A gentle gnawing that begins
in her belly and slowly creeps
its way incrementally to the tip of
consciousness tells her to
cocoon herself in safety,
wall herself away from the scary
change that will come if she
lets herself dream too big.
And there she remains,
turning in on herself,
visualizing a new way of being,
letting the idea of a new reality
wash through her like
rain and pain, and the strain
of the old self transforming
becomes nearly unbearable.
That is when the miracle happens…
new life unfurls,
wings stretch heavenward,
there is an impulse to leap,
to flap, to throw fear to the sky,
and become who she is meant to be.

Runner ups for the caterpillar lightbulb photos to accompany my poem:

Pondering Woman

(Poem 82 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

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

Shall I build a spire atop my roof
and invite the townspeople to a
grand ball with a string quartet?
Or shall I plant a rose garden
hedged in by topiaries and pebble
paths bordered by flower beds?
Or shall I plan a high tea with
clotted cream, scones, and jam,
cucumber sandwiches all around?
If it’s a rainy day, should I pass
the time by taking an afternoon
lover and lounge on satin cushions?
If I’m feeling melancholy, shall I
read a book of poems by candlelight
and cry luxuriously at the romance?
Once I pay bills and file my taxes,
get my oil changed and check the mail,
grocery shop and gas up the car,
shall I start on my new to do list?
Yes, I think I shall.

@Home Studio – 82nd poem of the year

Sleep is My Favorite Activity

(Poem 73 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/GCc85W

Sleep is my favorite activity.
I think it always has been.
It’s just a little harder now
to reach the perfect bliss.
When I was young and firm,
sleep came easy, just dripped
like candle wax on my pillow.
Now I need my cpap machine,
a supersonic fan on blast,
the right kind of darkness
that blocks out memory,
the right kind of quiet
that sets the stage for dreams,
the perfect temperature set,
all my pillows plumped just so,
my grounding sheets tucked,
and my husband by my side.

@Home Studio – 73rd poem of the year