Tag Archives: love

Health, Poetry, Writing

Lesson 12 The Way of the Wizard

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(Poem 75 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

“Wisdom is alive and therefore always unpredictable.” -Deepak Chopra’s The Way of the Wizard    

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com  https://gencraft.ai/p/dVT3Jv

We must learn to contain
both chaos and order,
swirling atoms, firing neurons,
never ceasing electrical storms
matched only by coherent thought
and organized cellular function.
A rose in seed form looks the
same as a bean or a violet.
Only invisible twisted twin strands
delineate its inevitable destiny.
Yet, we worry about becoming,
spend struggle and effort to
assert our determined uniqueness.
Why not surrender to fate?
A rose by any other name
(and all that) is a universal truth.
When pressures push this way
and other, we try to impose order.
Yet, attempts at control run
counter to the grain of life.
Learn to accept the unpredictable,
make peace with entropy,
embrace all potentials, so the
opportune impulses can flood
like inspiration into life, and the
bud naturally unfold into a rose.

@Home Studio – 75th 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. 85-89.

Runner ups for the rose bud photos to accompany my poem:

Fiction, Poetry, Writing

Cheetah and Dahlia

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(Poem 74 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/FJuDC4

The epic battle between
cheetah and dahlia
lasted more than two moons.
No one knew who fate would
favor, though all took sides.
Spider and owl both fought
valiantly on the side of dahlia.
Scorpion and crow stood with
cheetah, as they do to this day.
Allegiances were forged,
lifelong friendships shattered;
the forest was never the same.
Some say dahlia attacked first,
jealous that cheetah was not
faithful, others say cheetah
was the original aggressor,
retaliation for a lost cub.
Whoever initiated matters not,
for the havoc and destruction
was total, the bloodshed dire.
Had serpent and beetle not
teamed up, all would have
been lost in the bloody mire.
As cheetah lay dying from
serpent’s bite, dahlia fell,
devastated by beetle’s hunger.
And to this day, there is
animosity among the animals,
where once there was union.
Such are the ways of love
and war; there are no victors.  

@Home Studio – 74th poem of the year

Runner ups for the cheetah flower photos to accompany my poem:

Poetry, Writing

Dragon Kitty

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(Poem 72 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

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

Some dragon kittens hatched
in a nest outside my window.
The mother displayed them proudly,
like she wanted to share with me
the satisfaction only one mother to
another can ever understand.
Her eyes glowed red with pride
when we locked gazes and
the silence was filled with our
shared love for our babies.

Runner ups for the dragon kitty photos to accompany my poem:

Health, Poetry, Writing

Good Morning

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(Poem 69 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/gEjF5X

Good morning leaves decaying in layers in our little yard forest. You have carpeted the ground beautifully with your life donation. Each of your sacrifices is appreciated, honored, and revered by many paws padding over your graves. Good morning birds singing to the gallery of the gods. You cheer the space where silence was lonely and fill the trees with invisible color. Good morning cool breeze gently swaying the boughs. Waving, nodding, welcoming all of us to your open-air cathedral, we are in awe of your generosity. Good morning ghost white sky. I suppose you don’t feel cornflower blue right now, and that is okay. You are lovely just as you are and have every right to express yourself however you like. Good morning big red barn with peeling paint. Your strength and shelter have protected many generations. You have been a foundation upon which lives were built. Good morning wood pile. What a lovely stack you’ve made of yourself, artistically skewed like an artisanal centerpiece for the yard.

@Home Studio – 69th poem of the year

Fiction, Poetry, Writing

Wicked

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(Poem 66 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

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

Is it wicked to want love?
Some think so.
Perhaps they have never
known the power
that comes from hearts
that beat in
unison and lives that are
fated to be
intertwined like woven cords.

Is it wicked to demand respect?
Some say so.
Perhaps they have never
known the freedom
that comes from minds
open to truth
revealed by struggle and growth
after the fight
has been won and admiration earned.

Is it wicked to expect equality?
Some believe so.
Perhaps they have never
known the joy
that comes from souls
fired by flames
of cosmic boldness who know
the real story
is so much better than the lies.

@Home Studio after seeing Wicked on stage at Bass Concert Hall in Austin, Texas 3/16/24 (a Christmas give from my husband from this year) – 66th poem of the year

Wicked. Stephen Schwartz and Winnie Holzman, 2003, Bass Concert Hall, Austin, TX, 16 March, 2024.

Poetry, Writing

Balloon Garden

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(Poem 62 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

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

There’s a pretty little garden
in a pretty little town
where a pretty little girl
puts balloon seeds in the ground.

She waits very patiently
sitting between the rows
and waters them one by one
waiting for them to grow.

When the bulbous little globes
begin to rise and swell
she sings to each and every one
in a voice clear as a bell.

Once they’ve reached maturity
the little girl waves her goodbyes
as she watches them float away
with tears in her eyes.

@Home Studio – 62nd poem of the year

Runner ups for the balloon garden photos to accompany my poem:

Health, Poetry, Writing

I Fell Today

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(Poem 61 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/7pYBlB

I fell today while walking Kenji
the short distance to the dog run.
I did not trip, stumble, collapse,
slip, stub my toe, nor faint dead away.
It was as though the earth moved
from beneath my feet and there
was nothing left to do but lie down-
the slow motion forward momentum
reminiscent of a tree felled by rot.

My shocked dog panicked, then
sprung into action and proceeded to
administer CPR square in the middle
of my back while head-butting me,
attempting to bring me to. Trouble is,
I was not in need of any of these
ministrations; my breathing was
startled, but sure, and adrenaline
ensured no loss of consciousness.

I’ve dreaded this day for over a
year; “Whatever you do, don’t fall,”
the surgeon’s only instructions
like telling a bird not to fly, a fish
not to swim, a dog not to give CPR
to its helpless person in need.
So, fall, I did, but break, I did not.
A little scraped, a lot bruised, but
no longer dreading the first fall.

@Home Studio – 61st poem of the year

Health, Poetry, Writing

Old Tin Can

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(Poem 60 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

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

An old tin can has myriad uses.
It can hold almost anything
that might need holding.
Used bolts, nails, and hinges,
extra screws that might come
in handy someday or never.
Paper clips, tacks, coins, even
a drink once given a good rinse.
There’s no end to its sense of
purpose when put to task.
It can keep seed safe ‘till the
next planting time comes,
trap danger in the form of
stinging things that scurry,
send sound with nothing more
than cotton string pulled taut.
It can be stacked and rolled,
kicked down the road,
thrown, crushed, and buried,
endure flame, flood, and cold.
The thing of it is the absence
of any thing that makes it
so useful because it can be
filled, drained, cherished, forgotten.
Its essence is what many
spend their lives trying to
imitate, emptying of self
opening to the possibility
of receiving and being filled.
I ‘reckon it would be quite a
compliment to be compared
to an old tin can because you
could hold your head high
knowing someone recognized
your inherent worth.

@Home Studio – 60th poem of the year

Fiction, Poetry, Writing

Westside

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(Poem 59 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

Amblin Entertainment, TSG Entertainment https://images.app.goo.gl/eA9j3QVXtgfPyrhx9

Seething anger
must be aimed
at an enemy,
or else.
If there is no
target, they risk
ricochet; with no
one else to hurt,
they have to feel
all the pain.

@Home Studio – 59th poem of the year (after watching the 2021 version of Westside Story with Debbie, Yulia, and Celinda)

Spielberg, Steven. Westside Story. Amblin Entertainment, TSG Entertainment, Dec. 10, 2021.

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Poetry, Writing

Grief is Hard

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(Poem 58 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

“This is hard,” you say,
and point to her portrait,
no more words required.
Tears begin to flow;
you don’t want to cry
and say so.

I tell you no one knows
what you are feeling.
None of us have had a
best friend for 70 years
and had to feel the pain
of losing her.

Then I escape to my
room to weep into
my husband’s arms,
crying even harder
because she can’t
hold you.

@Home Studio – 58th poem of the year