Tag Archives: parenting

Where Has She Gone?

(Poem 202 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

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

Oh, where has she gone, Ava dear, Ava dear?
Oh, where has she gone, your sweet mother?
She has left me here alone with the dog and her bone.
Will she come home, or leave me with my brothers?

Oh, where has she gone, Caleb dear, Caleb dear?
Oh, where has she gone, your sweet mother?
She has left me here all day with the cat and games to play.
Will she come home to me, my sister, and my brother?

Oh, where has she gone, Jacob dear, Jacob dear?
Oh, where has she gone, your sweet mother?
She has left me here to starve, so a turkey I must carve.
Will she come home to me, my sister, and my brother?

Oh, where has she gone, Sissy dear, Sissy dear?
Oh, where has she gone, your sweet mother?
She has left me here with them; my prospects are grim.
Will she come home to me, and those others?

Oh, where has she gone, Bear dear, Bear dear?
Oh, where has she gone, your sweet mother?
She has left me here with Lou; now I think I have the flu.
Will she come home, please, so I can recover?

@Home Studio – 202nd poem of the year

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

Brainstorm

(Poem 201 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/yq5fQF

Electrical misfirings initiate
honeycomb spirals of lightning
that cascade matrix-like through
the catacombs of the mind
disturbing the precarious balance
that is control of limbs, thought,
time, consciousness, and memory.
Two halves of one whole exchange
forked bolts resulting in prostrate
paroxysms of convulsant chaos.
Abject terror seizes the onlooker
whose own backfiring mainframe
cracks from the life-altering reality
that tranquility can be upset in a
split second by invisible storms
hidden deep within a beloved.

@Home Studio – 201st poem of the year (After my grandson’s seizure.)

Runner ups for the Brainstorm photos to accompany my poem:

Family Tree

(Poem 198 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

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

This family tree has deep roots
and strong rings over a hundred
years old that support 16 great
branches, only one set of twins.
Winnie is the beautiful bough from
which my little shoot springs forth.
Barney, Red, Jewel, Myrtle, Tip, Sis,
R. G., Sicker, Grady, P. W., Annie,
Ralph, Alice, twins Abbie & Toby.
So many families have been born
from that soil, sprouted buds and
fresh vibrant leaves, grown sweet
fruit to nourish many generations.

@Home Studio – 198th poem of the year

Runner ups for the Family Tree photos to accompany my poem:

Impossible Peace  House of the Dragon

(Poem 197 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

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

The Hatfields and McCoys-like family feud
that was the Brackens and Blackwoods
paled in comparison to the bodies used
for fodder by those fighting for the throne.
The Dance of Dragons has begun in earnest,
despite the unspoken awareness by all that
bloodshed of kin by kin is a most appalling
form of violence to the gods of their ancestors.
While the men gnash their teeth, and their
dragons chomp at the bit, the women kneel
before alters of stone lighting candles and
whisper of impossible peace, the intent of
kings, and the wishes for undoing wrongs.

@Home Studio – 197th poem of the year (after watching House of the Dragon Season 2 Episode 3.)

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

Runner ups for the Queen Prayers photos to accompany my poem:

Bloody Mary

(Poem 189 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

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

Catoptromancy
Dark room
Single candle
Running water
Spin 3 times
Look in the mirror
Ghostly corpse
Chanting her name
Bloody Mary
Bloody Mary
Bloody Mary

 @Home Studio – 189th poem of the year

Runner ups for the Bloody Mary photos to accompany my poem:

Playing in the Creek

(Poem 188 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

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

I remember the sound of cicadas
as we found frogs in the mud on the
banks of the creek we weren’t really
supposed to be playing in because
my father was certain we were going
to somehow drown in the three feet
of water that trickled and pooled
and invited us siren-like to the middle.
I remember pretending to like fishing
because my older cousin Tim was
collecting worms, and I wanted him
to think I was mature for a little girl
and not squeamish at all about the
wriggling, squirming, slippery, slimy
bits that had to be impaled tip to tail.
I remember the grown-ups always
sitting around sipping sweet tea in
the most boring looking way and
doing nothing but talking and eating
and occasionally laughing or yelling
at one of us to shut the door or quit
coming in and out, and I was certain
I would never want to sit around like
them and be boring when I grew up.

@Home Studio – 188th poem of the year

Runner ups for the Creek photos to accompany my poem:

Fireworks

(Poem 186 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

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

Fireworks make my daughter’s emotions swell,
a lump in the throat, eyes fill, heart tight, why?
The beauty of communal celebration, delicate
power on display, explosion of color against a
black background, the artist’s palette consisting
of aluminum and titanium for bright white stars,
copper for the luminous blue, barium for green,  
strontium and lithium salts for red, sodium yellow,
calcium orange, the light like a warning, reaching
our eyes a bit before the slower sound can assault
our ears, rattle our chests, and make us nostalgic
for our own births and deaths…the short answer—
she resonates with the message the fireworks
attempt to share, the poetry of imitating the stars.

@Genuine Joe’s – 186th poem of the year



Mother Daughter Breakfast

(Poem 185 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/t3yLr2

We sit at the barstools and watch
you cook, just like the old days.
Sisters, swinging feet, sipping
tea and coffee, eating Round Rock
donuts, and waiting for a feast.
You’ve made biscuits and gravy,
eggs and bacon, with your honeys
on display in the center of the table.
We chat and laugh and catch up
on the gossip we might have missed.
Hurry, come look, slowly and quietly,
tip toe to the back door, shhhhhhh,
you say, our curiosity peaked.
Just a hot summer Wednesday,
nothing special on the agenda,
but nice, all the same because who
knows how many more hot summer
Wednesdays we get together to eat
our mother’s biscuits and gravy
and stare at a giant baby vulture
fresh from his nursery getting a
drink of water on the back porch.

@Geuine Joe’s – 185th poem of the year

https://images.app.goo.gl/MDNFfvcERDTXzYqWA This is not the actual vulture on my mother’s back porch, but hers looks a bit like this. (There are actually 2 that have hatched this year and are doing well. A vulture couple lays their eggs under her house every year.)

Puffs

(Poem 182 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

No one has ever felt as
beautiful as a little girl
with fresh-made puffs.

Her frilly pale pink dress
with shiny shoes and high-
on-the-head earmuffs

are absolutely perfect
for a family wedding she
must attend in a while.

Her little brother in shirt
and vest gets to carry rings
as the bearer down the aisle,

but you can’t tell her a thing;
she’s not in the party but  
might as well be the bride,

for the joy she feels looking
like the belle of the ball makes
her little soul swell with pride.

@Home Studio – 182nd 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: