(Poem 178 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Photographs taken by Charlotte Sullivan & Rebekah Marshall 6/10/24
I love the taste of
my watermelon sugar
straight from the green rind.
@Home Studio – 178th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Watermelon Sugar photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 170 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Bless your heart, you simple soul;
not a thought going on up there.
No light on in that attic of yours, or
maybe the light’s on, but nobody’s home.
You mean well, but you can’t help
it that you’re not playing with a
full deck of cards. Poor thing fell out
of the family tree and hit every branch
on the way down. It’s not your fault
you’re not the sharpest tool in the shed;
you’ve lost your marbles, you’re
off your rocker, and your elevator’s stuck
between two floors. You’re thick as a post,
rowing with one oar, a pickle short of a barrel.
There might be a leak in your think tank,
one prop short of a plane, and I’m afraid you might
have a few loose screws. You’re a few peas
short of a casserole, two sandwiches
shy of a picnic, a drink short of a 6-pack,
and can’t think your way out of a paper bag.
It’s ok that you’re silly as a goose,
as smart as bait, and don’t have all
the dots on your dice. You may not be firing
on all 6 cylinders, possibly running
about a quart low. You’re a few fries
short of a Happy Meal, and your cheese might
have slipped off your cracker, but I love it
when you come around because if I stand
close enough to you I can hear the ocean.
@Home Studio – 170th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Bless Your Heart photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 169 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
The conundrum of laundry is constant
with eight people in the house every day.
Someone will forget to clean the dryer vent,
and for that a lecture will come my way.
Some use scents to make their clothing smell nice,
while others prefer unscented and pure.
Three different soaps add up to quite a price,
but it is worth it for peace, I am sure.
Sometimes a person forgets to unload
their washer or dryer causing dismay,
as others in line now find their turn slowed
and possibly pushed to another day.
Eventually, all laundry gets done;
clean clothes is the victory we have won.
@Home Studio – 169th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Laundry photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 168 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/pnxfq2 https://gencraft.ai/p/oNLuGd https://gencraft.ai/p/TJyDtD
Four hunters arrive,
traversing a post-
apocalyptic scene
in feudal Japan.
Their stealth persists
until an enemy Oni
raises an alarm and
the hunters become
the hunted once again.
Each battle, skirmish,
and moment of hand-
to-hand combat brings
them closer to the
arrival of the boss,
a demon monster,
one of many unleashed
by The Cataclysm.
All that waits to be
seen, is who will be
the last one standing.
@Home Studio – 168th poem of the year (after playing with David, Lydia, and Charlotte)
Runner ups for the Hametsu photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 166 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
I found a bag of iced
Christmas pretzels
with sprinkles in the
back of the pantry.
Seeing as it is June,
they are a bit past
their prime freshness.
Craving a sweet but
unwilling to make a
treat from scratch,
I decided to give one
a taste, just a tiny
tentative baby nibble.
Huh…not bad…fresh
like a time capsule
of Christmas past.
@Home Studio – 166th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Christmas Pretzels photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 165 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
My cats have a piano.
They let me play it
once in a while when
I get the notion, but
mostly they sleep and
purr, and stretch on the
multiple flat surfaces
purely built for perching.
@Home Studio – 165th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Cat Piano photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 164 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
I am so sorry, sweet Kura,
for being a bad steward.
I am treading water and
barely staying afloat.
Between trying to keep
people, dogs, cats, plants,
and an opossum alive,
none can really thrive,
certainly not me and,
obviously, not you.
I am guilty of neglect,
and you deserve better.
I already spoke with your
former caretaker, and she
has agreed to nurse you
back to health, I only
hope it is not too late.
@Home Studio on 6/18/24 @ 10:37pm – 164th poem of the year
(Poem 163 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
@Home Studio – 163rd poem of the year (See below for poem in easier to read format)
I’m not much for flying flags of any kind.
Raised a conscientious objector
in a niche religion in the Bible Belt South, I
was taught my allegiance belonged only to
God. No pledges to countries, states, or other
designations were acceptable, and certainly no
banners representing such entities need adorn
my person, home or belongings. Yet, I’ve always
felt a swell of emotion when the National Anthem
is sung, people covering their hearts in reverence.
In recent years, I’ve learned of the Pan-African flag
that many in the black communities are adopting
to show allegiance to their roots, and the Juneteenth
flag representing when more Americans than ever
were finally rescued from enslavement. I live in Texas,
where many seem more loyal to the state flag than any
other, a people of the lone star who would once again
be fine with setting up their own country if it means
liberals stop messing in their business. I was an
adult when I realized the United States flag is an
ever-changing configuration of stars as states
are added to the union. When Flag Day was
made a federal holiday, there were only 13.
This country has grown to 50, and will
probably expand more in my lifetime.
(Poem 161 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Charlotte and I, and Sarah and Duck
like to have tea together now and then.
We especially like it when we get visits
from Donkey, Scarf Lady, Bag, and Bug.
We gossip about Scooter Boy and the
Ribbon Sisters sitting with Umbrella.
We keep an eye on The Shallots to see
if they have grown, say hello to Plate
Girl, and wave happily to Hat Lady.
If it’s an especially lovely day, we might
see Bread Man, hear a squawk from
Flamingo, or chat with Leftover Wool.
And through it all, we sip our tea and
sigh, while whispering as many right
proper British-isms as we can muster.
@Home Studio – 161st poem of the year (after watching Sarah & Duck with Charlotte.)
Harris, Sarah Gomes, and O’Sullivan, Tim, Sarah & Duck, Karrot Animation, 18 February, 2013.
All images created by Rebekah Marshall’s prompts using AI on Gencraft.com website.
rebekahjmarshall 