Tag Archives: pain

The Gulf of Mexico

AI Generated images prompted on Gencraft.com by Rebekah Marshall.

My first time in the ocean today, I got knocked down. I was trying to get to waist deep but did not have the strength to stand against her playful nudges. She seemed surprised and almost irritated that her friendly gesture toppled me and sent several really hard slaps to push me further toward shore.

Maybe she was trying to help, trying to get me back to safety, saying, “This one’s too delicate to be out here. She won’t last a minute.”

What she didn’t know is that I’m too weak to stand up once knocked down in her waves. I must get deeper to be more buoyant to be able to stand, especially with no balance and ever-increasing frequency of waves. Trying to crawl further out to sea became impossible. She made it impossible.

“You don’t understand, tiny human. I am dangerous. Go back to your dry land!”

We were not communicating in the same languages. Mine became unstoppable laughter, hers, ever-strengthening waves bent on pushing me to shore.

Somewhere about here my husband grew concerned. He wasn’t sure if I was communing with nature or in trouble and came closer from his comfortable beach chair to see.

“Thumbs up?” he questioned.

I shook my head no and waved for him to come rescue me. I couldn’t stop laughing as he began the slow trek my way, the gulf all the more insistent I exit the way I came.

I could stand or steady myself. I could not do both. So, with his presence, I stood, then grabbed his hand to help with balance, his stable strength what I needed to walk back to shore.

It was lovely. Not scary. Not painful, beyond the usual discomfort of being upright with joint pain. I went back to watching and listening from my shaded chair, exactly where I belong. This is how the ocean and I commune best. We sing to one another and just enjoy each other’s presence. Everyone is happier with that arrangement, especially my husband.

Addendum: I went back in twice more. He had to rescue me the 2nd time, as well. But the 3rd time, I made it to waist deep and back on my own two feet and felt so very, very pleased with myself.

A Good Doctor

(Poem 355 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

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

I didn’t expect to be heard,
for him to sit across from me
and create space for all my woes—
the back, the knees, the hips,
the medications, the liver problems,
the dreams of being a dancer again
someday if only the pain would permit…
nor expect him to examine
my movement, strength, balance,
coordination, and flexibility.

He was thorough and kind,
asked about my living situation,
support system, emotional health,
career, hobbies, and activity levels.

He made suggestions,
asked my opinion,
answered my questions,
and then we made a plan—
together.

@Home Studio – 355th poem of the year

Ways I’ve Thrown Out My Back In My 50s

(Poem 270 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/K6aM9w

Washing dishes (scrubbing a cookie sheet too hard.)
Rolling over in bed.
Holding up my cell phone to show my daughter a video.
Sitting up straight in my chair.
Bending over to pet Cotton Eyed Joe (my granddaughter’s cat.)
Typing.
Opening a Splenda packet; shaking it too vigorously.
Brushing my teeth.
Scooping a cup of dog food into the dog’s bowl.
Waving my Harry Potter wand.

@Home Studio – 270th poem of the year

Grieving Mother – House of the Dragon

(Poem 180 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/3PTiet  https://gencraft.ai/p/rcoJcL

The mother does what
any mother must do after
receiving the worst news
imaginable; she mounts
her dragon and flies as far
as she must for confirmation
with her own eyes that her
son has been taken from
this world in a vicious attack.
She must reckon with the
knowledge that all could
have been prevented by
her every step of the way,
so she has herself to blame
for her baby ending up in the
belly of the enemy’s beast.
A son for a son will become
the battle cry that brings
only blood to the realm.
Winter is truly coming.

@Home Studio – 180th poem of the year (after watching Season 2, Episode 1 of House of the Dragon)

Condal, Ryan and George R. R. Martin, creators. House of the Dragon. HBO Entertainment and Warner Bros., 2024.

Runner ups for the Grieving Mother photos to accompany my poem:

Aches and Pains

(Poem 177 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/03OiGx  https://gencraft.ai/p/G96GID    https://gencraft.ai/p/BbJsEh

Aches and pains
pains and aches
knees and hips
whatever it takes
hard to bend
walking is tough
getting off the
floor is enough
trying to focus
on a word
when agony strikes
is quite absurd
take deep breaths
slow your heart
please pace yourself
if you’re smart
not enough spoons
too many knives
push too hard
here come hives  
snap pop crack
click rattle break
every slight movement
injury at stake
I would like
to cocoon here
or float in
space a year
to maybe be
from gravity free
that is now
my earnest plea

@Home Studio – 177th poem of the year

Runner ups for the Aches and Pains photos to accompany my poem:

Prescription Refills

(Poem 128 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/mFTsj4

One, two, three…maybe four
prescriptions need to be filled
because I grow old and less
able to take pride in health
and vigor like I used to, as though
I somehow earned the youthful
ease with which my joints bent,
and my muscles contracted
instantly, and every sinew
responded to my whim with
instant graceful movement;
those people who complained
of aches and stiffness were
somehow at fault for their
functional inadequacies and
I did not recognize my future
reflection in their eyes because
that woman’s lined face was
contorted with pain.

@Greg’s house – 128th poem of the year

Out of Medicine

(Poem 98 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/AbjuE2

I’ve been out of my medicine
for two days straight and now
feel like warm crap in a bucket.
I must make myself drive to the
pharmacy while feeling like this
to pick up more meds, take
those meds, stay afloat until
bedtime, try to fall asleep, and
hope to feel better tomorrow.
The cycle of pain, illness, meds,
improvement, spiral down again,
two steps forward, three steps
back, the good times mostly
outweighing the rough ones, but
people should be gentle to each
other because no one really
knows the suffering each endures
each day while managing to
appear normal, go to work,
clean the house, prepare the
meals, take care of the animals,
make it to all the appointments,
and keep things functioning.

@Home Studio – 98th poem of the year

Runner ups for the Not feeling well photos to accompany my poem:

Grief is Hard

(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

Strong Suffering

(Poem 16 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

“When we insulate ourselves from the possibility of harm, we also deprive ourselves of the beauty that our brokenness can display.” -Jay Wolf in Suffer Strong

Strong suffering
bears little resemblance
to gritting of teeth,
white-knuckled grip,
muffled cries to spare
sensibilities ill-suited to pain.

No, strong suffering
is the unfurling of a
closed heart to her lover,
a ripening of self,
splitting apart of shell
to reveal the vulnerable
underbelly of fear.

Strong suffering
does not batten
down the hatches and
bolt the doors
against all possible
atrocities, real or imagined.

No, she flings open
the shutters to welcome
the wind and invites
the intruders to break
bread at her table,
her only intention
to pay attention.

@Home Studio after finishing the book Suffer Strong by Katherine and Jay Wolf – 16th poem of the year

Wolf, Katherine and Jay, Suffer Strong – How to Survive Anything by
  Redefining Everything, Zondervan, Michigan, 2020.

The New Year

(Poem 8 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

(AI Generated images I prompted on Gencraft.com)

The new year arrived without
much ado while I slept.
Then the proverbial fan spluttered.
Five hours later, I drove my
husband home from the emergency room
a little doped up, but thankful
for temporary relief from a kidney stone.
Two days later I propped up his ass
so he wouldn’t fall off the porch
after a root canal and more meds
than his delicate constitution
could withstand on a weekday.
We’re only a few days in to 2024,
but it needs to slow its roll,
pace itself, it’s doing too much.

@Home Studio – 8th poem of the year

(Some more images playing around with AI…one of my favorite is this dragon representing 2024 doing WAY TOO MUCH!)

(And this poor little guy in the bottom left about to get eaten by 2024…)

(Here are some more because I was having trouble coming up with an image to represent what I wanted. We’ve got bleak city streets, Dickensonian dental surgery, and the after Christmas blues in this collage.)