Tag Archives: mental health

In the Air

(Poem 259 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

My husband is in the air
as I write this. His body is
literally catapulting through
the sky at over 500 miles per
hour and we are all supposed
to act like that is a perfectly
normal thing for a human to
do on a random Sunday night.
I guess it is actually a Monday
afternoon in Japan because
he’s going so fast he’s skipping
most of a day into the future.
Is anything real on this strange
sphere we call home that spins
at 1,000 miles per hour while
circling the sun at 67,000 miles
per hour in our solar system
that is zipping 450,000 miles
per hour around the Milky Way?

@Home Studio – 259th poem of the year

A Beck 50

(Poem 258 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

(Photo from my Family Ladies Lunch for my 51st Birthday. This is the last photo I have of myself as a 50-year-old.)

My husband reminded me today that
it was my last day to be a Beck 50, and
I scolded him for coming up with such
a great line on the last day of my 50th year.
Why couldn’t he have thought of it sooner,
so I could have been using it all year long?
He only thought of it after remembering
that his cousin Cynthia was 50 Cent for
her 50th year of life, and I am disappointed
to have missed the opportunity to use
the pun because am the sort who would
have used and abused that moniker.

@Home Studio – 258th poem of the year

Friday the 13th

(Poem 257 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/05ijyi

My grandmother Mema’s father’s
father Grandpa Carroll was an extremely
superstitious man who came down
hard on anyone who walked under a
ladder or spilled salt without throwing
some over the shoulder or broke a
mirror without taking proper precautions.
Mema did not remember what the proper
precautions were, as she was a small
child when she got harshly scolded for
spinning a chair on one leg in the dining
room, and her father had to come to
her defense, reprimanding his own
father for spouting such nonsense.
He hated black cats, unlucky numbers,
stepping on cracks, the opening of
umbrellas in the house, speaking of
the dead, and she thinks he told her
about the need to keep an axe under
the bed when a woman is in labor
to protect her from evil spirits about.
She found his stories both horrifying
and confusing, since her parents
countered that they were not true.
As she grew, her only superstition
became the spells of prayer she
uttered without ceasing to protect
her loved ones, which I know saved
us all on a number of occasions.

@Home Studio – 257th poem of the year

September 11th

***Trigger Warning/Content Warning – graphic violence, suicide, death, dying, world tragedies

(Poem 256 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

I was exercising on an
elliptical machine at the
local YMCA and watching
the television off and on.
Some new movie was
advertising, that I would
never see, where buildings
blow up and planes crash
and there is not enough
dialogue to satisfy me.
The longer the images
flashed on the screen,
the more real the footage
took shape as something
awful, a thing less from
Hollywood, and more
from a living nightmare.
New York, Twin Towers,
a second plane, a third
plane hit the Pentagon,
a fourth plane was headed
for the capital but went down
in a field in Pennsylvania.
The world was coming
apart at the seams, and I
had to get home to my
children to hold them.
When what looked like
debris, but turned out to
be people, began falling
from the windows, my
beliefs forever changed.
To hear people judge and
decry the actions of so
many facing certain death,
my heart leapt with those
who grasped what little
personal choice they had
left in their final moments,
and I wept as one by one,
some holding hands together,
they made the plunge to
the beyond like rockets
shooting to space in reverse.

Several images are seared into my brain. One is the image of the Falling Man, taken by Associated Press photographer Richard Drew, which looks as though the man has thrown himself as a spear at the earth, defiantly facing death on his own terms. “The picture went all around the world, and then disappeared, as if we willed it away. One of the most famous photographs in human history became an unmarked grave, and the man buried inside its frame—the Falling Man—became the Unknown Soldier in a war whose end we have not yet seen.” – by Tom Junod

@Home Studio – 256th poem of the year

Junod, Tom, “The Falling Man – An unforgettable story.” Esquire, 9 Sep. 2021, http://www.esquire.com/news-politics/a48031/the-falling-man-tom-junod/

Skinny Liver

(Poem 255 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

The ultrasound test today
was unpleasant and long,
as the technician dug into
my rib cage to search for
my liver, pancreas, spleen,
kidneys, and gallbladder,
along with some arteries.
Apparently, they were hard
to find due to my habitus,
which is a medical way to
point out just how fat I am.
Fatty infiltration, adipose
fat, and overlying bowel gas
are just more ways of saying
I’m too fat and full of hot air.
Ef’ you and yo’ mama with
your skinny little perfect livers.

@Home Studio – 255th 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:

Are You the One

(Poem 253 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

Bandits and warriors,
dukes and commoners,
servants and generals,
guilds and entrepreneurs
all managing to thrive and
survive amidst less than
ideal circumstances.

Little does anyone suspect
that a bodyguard in male
garment could actually be
a woman equipped to
both protect and transport
with confidence and success.

Neither does anyone believe
that a modest, unassuming
girl, who is not the most
beautiful in the land, deserves
to be revered for her patience
and intelligent approach to life.

One is a business woman,
a free thinker, every bit as
capable as any man she
meets, a martial artist, a
wife, a loving granddaughter,
a faithful supporter of those
who care for the needs of
the people—Princess.

The other is an undervalued
girl who is mistreated by
her family, disrespected
by her sisters, seen as a
pawn by her father, but
who loves fiercely, holds
fast to kindness and hope,
and persists by the side of
the emperor with a gentle
unmatched grace that lifts
her to her rightful place
with honor—Empress.

@Home Studio – 253rd poem of the year (After watching the Chinese Drama Are You the One)

Liu Guo Nan, Cong Xiao, Are You the One. Wang Chu Ran, Zhang Wan Yi, Jaywalk Media, 12 Aug. 2024.

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:

Our Blooming Youth

(Poem 251 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

“Confucius told his disciple Tsze-kung that three things are needed for government: Weapons, food, and trust. If a ruler can’t hold on to all three, he should give up the weapons first, and the food next. Trust should be guarded to the end: without trust we cannot stand.” – Baroness Onora O’Neill

Ghosts casting curses, hiding
behind every false smile of those
who claim to be loyal, will poison
trust and hope until all faith dies.

The only way to prove innocence
is to leap into the arms of fear,
give yourself permission to endeavor,
and outsmart evil with persistence.

The truth will win out when you
refuse to give in to the superstition
that strives to steal your joy with
lies that discriminate and demean.

Only by lifting up the oppressed
who cry out for mercy and plead
to be vindicated by righteousness,
can you free yourself from the curse.

@Home Studio – 251st poem of the year (After watching the Korean drama Our Blooming Youth.)

Lee Jong-jae, Our Blooming Youth. Park Hyung-sik, Jeon So-nee, Story & Pictures Media, 6 Feb.—11 Apr. 2023.

O’Neill, Baroness Onora, “Without Trust We Cannot Stand (Excerpts from the Reith Lectures, 2002)” University of Cambridge, Trust & Technology Initiative, http://www.trusttech.cam.ac.uk/perspectives/technology-humanity-society-democracy/without-trust-we-cannot-stand

The Red Sleeve

(Poem 250 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

In times long ago in the
Joseon era, all the maidens
who belonged to the King
wore red cuffs on their sleeves.

To be raised in the palace or
brought in by virtue of family
connections, proof of talent,
or as a favor, meant honor.

It was a privilege to empty the
bedpans of royalty, endure the
abuse of the upper class, serve
the needs of those of higher rank.

And if chosen as a concubine,
she should feel grateful that
her body, her mind, her virtue,
and her life will never be her own.

@Home Studio – 250th poem of the year (After watching the Korean drama The Red Sleeve.)

Jung Ji-in, The Red Sleeve. Lee Jun-ho, Lee Se-young, Kang Hoon, WeMad, Npio Entertainment, 12 Nov. 2021—1 Jan. 2022.