All images created by Rebekah Marshall’s prompts using AI on Gencraft.com website.
God
Tag Archives: love
Pretty Kitty
(Poem 100 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Pretty Kitty is angry;
he’s climbed a tree
where he will remain
until half past three.
His caretaker Debbie
took him to the vet
and betrayed his trust—
the worst treason yet.
He was poked and prodded,
examined and weighed,
all sorts of indignities—
might as well get spayed.
He though they were friends,
confidants at least,
until this afternoon
when he was treated like a beast.
He feels a little sorry
for calling her every name in the book,
when in a fit of anger
he hissed and shook.
He’ll probably apologize
at a later time,
but for now if she wants him
she’ll have to climb.
His feelings have been wounded,
and she really hurt his pride;
it’s all her fault that
he had to run and hide.
He might come down later
since it looks like rain,
but any of her attempts
at a truce will be in vain.
He has no intention
of forgiving her this soon.
She’ll have to wait until tomorrow
for him to answer her tune.
Pretty Kitty, where are you?
Will it take him long?
Here he comes to be consoled;
he can’t resist her song.
@Home Studio – (True story about Debbie and her cat) 100th poem of the year
Runner ups for the pretty kitty photos to accompany my poem:
Eclipse
(Poem 99 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
I saw your corona with my own eyes
and I was smitten with the overwhelming
knowledge that you have power over my
very existence because your presence
ensures that I can flourish and prosper.
Without you, I cannot live.
Without you, my world would be destroyed.
Without you, there would be nothing to be
bedazzled by and no home to inhabit.
Without you, there would be no me.
@Home Studio – 99th poem of the year
Runner ups for the eye eclipse photos to accompany my poem:
Joey Koey
(Poem 97 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
The dogs alerted me to an intruder they
captured in the backyard this morning.
One of my dogs grabbed the joey when
I went to pick him up, but then released
him on command and seemed perplexed
that I wasn’t pleased with their efforts.
His tiny body fit in the palm of my hand;
it seemed rigor mortis had already set in.
Then I realized he was still slightly warm,
and was that a slight heartbeat I felt?
That smart baby opossum was playing
possum, and it probably saved his life.
There I went down a rabbit hole on the
internet, or should I say opossum hole?
What do they drink, eat, need, and how
do I begin to care for a pouchless baby?
Darkness, quiet, snacks, warmth, soft
towels, and a secure cardboard box.
The dogs are very confused as to why
I’m caring for the enemy, but keep
sniffing the odd creature curiously.
@Home Studio – 97th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Opossum photos to accompany my poem:
Contentment
(Poem 96 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Contentment is pajamas
and a fan blowing straight
on my bare shoulders,
flickering candlelight,
endless streaming of my
favorite shows as long as
I feel like watching them,
sweet tea, lines of poetry,
a chapter of a good novel,
a cool spring breeze that
rustles the tranquil curtains,
salt and pepper kettle chips,
the clickity clack of my
keyboard when my fingers
know what they want to type,
my husband hobbying a
few feet away from me,
the dogs playing outside,
the cats sleeping nearby,
my kids and grandkids off
doing their own things,
and the complete absence
of pain or discomfort.
@Home Studio – 96th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Contentment photos to accompany my poem:
Southern Sweet Tea
(Poem 94 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
There’s nothing more refreshing
than a cold glass of sweet iced
tea when a body’s hot as blazes.
My Mema insisted on unsweet,
so we had to agree to disagree.
Once, when I was up in Detroit,
someone offered to make me a
glass and poured powder into
liquid; it was instant, they said.
I had never heard of such an
innovation and was baffled by
the dehydrated concoction.
Well, how do you make it? they
asked, and were equally perplexed
by my method of brewing a pot
of tea, only to pour it over ice.
The strange culture clash was
more unsettling than yous guys
instead of y’all, playing football
in the snow, drinking milk out of
bags, and eating ketchup chips.
At least Mema and I agreed on
the starting point for our tea
with a fresh tea bag, a boiling
pot of water, and a few minutes
of conversation while you wait
for it to steep. No need to rush.
Take your time. Sit a spell.
@Home Studio – 94th poem of the year
Lesson 14 The Way of the Wizard
(Poem 93 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
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:
Pet Photo Op
(Poem 92 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Kenji was a gentleman,
ready to cooperate for the
camera, looking debonair.
Aiko said, no thank you,
but endured with a put-
upon dejected expression.
Kage was an expert at
striking a pose, seemed
familiar with formal attire.
Beauty was immediately
disgruntled and vexed,
gave me one brief chance.
I didn’t dare warn Chika,
simply snuck a photo before
she could even react.
The boys definitely won
the day with their
professional behavior.
The girls were divas whose
attitudes left little to be
desired, as expected.
@Home Studio – 92nd poem of the year
Easter Bunny
(Poem 91 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
English pagans gave us the name of the celebration Easter from their goddess Eostre.
Germans gave us the egg-laying bunny, the cutest addition, in my opinion.
Jews gave us the lamb and the traditions of Passover to intertwine.
Christians gave us The Lamb to make it all about.
The Easter lilies, we took from Japan, sometime after WWI.
An Ottoman Sultan’s sweet tooth may have brought future jellybeans in the form of Turkish delight.
A Russian invented Peeps in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania.
New Yorkers started the Easter Parade, strolling down Fifth Avenue in their spring fashions after church.
In Malta, they carry Mary through the streets.
In Ireland, they eat a special breakfast.
In Spain, they celebrate for an entire week.
In Italy, they eat bread shaped like a dove.
In the Vatican, the Pope gives a blessing.
In Australia, Easter Bilbies are all the rage.
In The United Kingdom, you must have hot cross buns.
In my house, it’s a Cadbury Cream Egg.
All over the world, through time and place, may your Easter be blessed by family and good fortune.
@Home Studio – 91st poem of the year
Runner ups for the AI hands photos to accompany my poem:
Lesson 13 The Way of the Wizard
(Poem 90 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
“God made this world, so it must be interesting enough to keep His attention. If you find things growing tired or stale or predictable, perhaps it is you who have lost the capacity to be interested.” Merlin-Deepak Chopra’s The Way of the Wizard
This shadow world we grope through in darkness
must be illuminated inwardly to see the real.
Once we know something to be true and bind the
experience with the label of words, the trap has sprung.
Reality is the trembling of a delicate bird we have
caught, its heart thumping in our hands like a
quivering reed, who will perish if we hold it too long.
To go beyond the frontier of the known, we must
“forget everything and anticipate nothing.”
Only then will we pierce the boundary of perception
that challenges our familiarity with our limitations,
reveal spaces enmeshed in our everyday awareness
that are nuances, textures, aromas of beyond.
The unknown will beckon us from our shadow prisons,
and we will fly away, release by our own hands.
@Home Studio – 90th 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. 90-95.
rebekahjmarshall 