Tag Archives: fear

Poetry, Writing

Hafiz – Poem 13

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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 13:

Once, this was a city of friends

     In a land of kind people –

What happened to the love

     & where are the compassionate leaders

Some thoughts:

Hafiz seems to be remembering nostalgically the collective culture of his homeland during a gentler time. It sounds like it was a lovely time of peace and people who felt like they belonged in community. Maybe the inhabitants even took pride in how friendly and welcoming they were. Now things have changed. He is writing in a time that feels discouraging, unkind, less of a collective support system. The love is gone. Compassion is absent in leadership. They are not protecting the vulnerable, demonstrating care, or displaying accountability. People probably feel isolated, afraid to speak their truth, and unsure who to trust.

My Poem 13:

What moral drift
has left us alone
with our thoughts,
afraid to speak,
tender to the touch?

Murals have faded.
Warmth only a memory
bereft of substance.
Lack of accountability
creates fear, erodes trust.

Is kindness optional?
Does human dignity
disappear because politics
plays ugly games
with ethical dilemmas?

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

Poetry, Writing

Hafiz – Poem 12

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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 12:

I behold hundreds of thousands of flowers

     Yet no bird sings –

     Where have the birds all gone

& what happened to the nightingales

Some thoughts:

The absence of birdsong is unnatural. Seeing the beauty of outside, surrounded by flowers, soaking in the loveliness…and suddenly an uncomfortable sensation prickles the hair at the nape of the neck. We are coded genetically or ancestrally or instinctively to sense danger when the birds fall silent. And when do birds disappear (or at least hide in their nests)? When predators make the environment unsafe, unnatural events are taking place, or acts of God are about to be unleashed. I also read that birds sometimes decrease their presence and/or singing when they recognize that they are being watched. It is probably because the watching equates to potential predation, but it makes me wonder if increased surveillance in the form of cameras and other recording equipment interrupts their lifestyles.

Nightingales are some of the most singingest singers of the bird kingdom. They can make over 1,000 different sounds and males desperate to find a mate have been observed singing through an entire night. Their songs can reach 90 decibels and some know up to 260 different songs they can sing. In many literary contexts, nightingales represent the lover, the poet, the truth-teller, the one who sings no matter what. If even they have been silenced, we should be concerned. Hafiz may be speaking literally about human encroachment on nature with structural advancements and technological progress. But he could also be speaking metaphorically about oppression and the result of silencing freedom of speech. It is a false beauty that demands absolute obeisance.  

My Poem 12:

Sing for those in hiding,
doors barred by fear of discovery.
Sing for those who are crying
for their loved ones pulled away.

Sing for those out marching
to speak up for the ones who can’t.
Sing for those just starting
to realize the sickening truths.

Sing for those who’ve been taken,
whose futures are perilously unknown.
Sing for those who will not awaken
because their lives were stolen.

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

Essays, Writing

🌕 My Friend, Fear:

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

Fear walks with me, not ahead of me — it is the shiver that proves I’m expanding, the hush before my next leap, the echo that reminds me I’m alive and rewriting the rules I was taught to obey.

💬 Why This Resonates for Me:

  • “Fear walks with me, not ahead of me”
    ➤ I’m learning to hold fear as a companion, not a leader — I’m still in control.
  • “The shiver that proves I’m expanding”
    ➤ Honors that fear is a signal of growth, not failure. I’m not broken — I’m stretching.
  • “The hush before my next leap”
    ➤ Speaks to my propensity to reflect deeply before making bold moves — and that those silences are sacred, not stuck.
  • “The echo that reminds me I’m alive and rewriting the rules I was taught to obey”
    ➤ This is about healing financial trauma, breaking inherited scarcity mindsets, and forging my own path — with fire and grace.

(I am doing the writing exercises in the back of the book You are a Badass at Making Money by Jen Sincero, and this topic was about fear. I am also learning to trade futures, so the art is related to the charts we use to make the trades.)

Poetry, Writing

Tornado Girl

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(Poem 328 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/18xmpI https://gencraft.ai/p/f9l3uc https://gencraft.ai/p/uAWdon

When stuff stirs sideways and begins to knot up
in that twisting way, my heart starts to beat
like thunder, hail pounding in my head
to the rhythm of chaotic swirling
pain that builds and swells
with groaning as I eat
houses and cars,
ripping peace
to slivered
shreds
.

@Home Studio – 328th poem of the year

Runner ups for the Tornado Girl photos to accompany my poem:

Poetry, Writing

Missing Foundations

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(Poem 294 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

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

How do we recover
when foundations
go missing?
The certainty with which
we spoke of reality,
as though stable forces
controlled destiny,
becomes tenuous.
Others blather on with
their platitudes
and absolute truisms,
while we nod along,
attempting to maintain
a neutral expression.
The walls that once
protected us
are long gone.

@Home Studio – 294th poem of the year

Poetry, Writing

Cave of Fears

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(Poem 292 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

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

There is a cave
in the land of lost time
where forgotten dreams die.

If one ventures near
the mouth of the cave
a sense of apathy
and despair descends.
If someone musters
the courage to enter,
they’ll be greeted by a cold
chill and a sense
that someone is watching
from the darkest recesses.

Are those outlines of skulls
tucked along the edges
of the cave floor?
And what are the veins
of liquid seeping
from cracks in the walls?
The mind will see the worst
when fear begins to creep
deep into the suffering soul,
for no one is drawn
into the cave unless
they are overcome by pain.

Though time does not exist
inside the cavernous vault,
it can feel like decades
spent wandering through
corridors of damp labyrinthian
passageways and tunnels.
Each bend and fissure
holds new anticipation
of terror, certain death
by sinkhole, falling
into an abyss, never
to be found.
Cries of dread echo
from the underworld,
but nothing materializes.
In the eerie gloom,
hope is obscured,
a claustrophobic panic
envelopes the heart
of even the most intrepid.

And then one day,
after struggling through
a crawlway, the visitor
is faced with a sump.
The only way out is through,
but submerging the self
requires a strength of will
nearly impossible to imagine.
If the lost one dissolves
their doubt and dives,
they will emerge
into a glorious chamber,
a sanctuary of sparkling
stalactites and stalagmites,
and brilliant light
streaming in from an opening.

The confused explorer
begins the remembering
of the world they forgot
and climbs the limestone
ledges until surfacing,
stunned and blinking
at the blinding sky.

Unsure how or when,
they realize that all fear
dissipated somewhere
along the way, or perhaps
it was collected by the cave.

@Home Studio – 292nd poem of the year

Poetry, Writing

Brainstorm

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(Poem 201 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/yq5fQF

Electrical misfirings initiate
honeycomb spirals of lightning
that cascade matrix-like through
the catacombs of the mind
disturbing the precarious balance
that is control of limbs, thought,
time, consciousness, and memory.
Two halves of one whole exchange
forked bolts resulting in prostrate
paroxysms of convulsant chaos.
Abject terror seizes the onlooker
whose own backfiring mainframe
cracks from the life-altering reality
that tranquility can be upset in a
split second by invisible storms
hidden deep within a beloved.

@Home Studio – 201st poem of the year (After my grandson’s seizure.)

Runner ups for the Brainstorm photos to accompany my poem:

Poetry, Writing

Bloody Mary

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(Poem 189 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

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

Catoptromancy
Dark room
Single candle
Running water
Spin 3 times
Look in the mirror
Ghostly corpse
Chanting her name
Bloody Mary
Bloody Mary
Bloody Mary

 @Home Studio – 189th poem of the year

Runner ups for the Bloody Mary photos to accompany my poem:

Poetry, Writing

Little Miss Muffet

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(Poem 144 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/91qgAd

Little Miss Muffet
sat on a tuffet,
eating her curds and whey;
along came a spider,
who sat down beside her,
and frightened Miss Muffet away.

The very next day
she came out to play,
determined to overcome fear;
the spider returned,
and Miss Muffet learned,
to say hello with cheer.

Now that she’s older,
Miss Muffet is bolder,
and nothing affects her outlook;
she stays outside,
takes everything in stride,
and continues reading her book.

@Home Studio – 144th poem of the year

Health, Poetry, Writing

Lesson 14 The Way of the Wizard

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(Poem 93 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

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

Pain is not truth;
it is simply what we must endure to find truth.
This body we are experiencing is an embroidered flower,
merely representative,
beautiful,
but artificial,
not the full living embodiment of the flower.
Thoughts are guests checking in and out of our quaint inn,
just as this form is temporary,
a visitor who will travel on.
We take death so personally,
spend a lifetime preventing loss,
projecting fear from our own ignorance,
denying our own place in the circle.
It is only possible to lose what is not real.
Even if we think we’ve lost everything,
what remains is what is real.

@Home Studio – 93rd poem of the year

Chopra, Deepak. The Way of the Wizard: Twenty Spiritual Lessons for Creating the Life You Want. New York, United States of America, Harmony Books, 1995, pp. 96-101.

Runner ups for the circle of life photos to accompany my poem: