Tag Archives: peace

Jimmy Carter

(Poem 357 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

A righteous man puts others before himself,
serves his community with humility and grace,
and is faithful to his vows, both to God and man.

Born on a farm, no running water, no electricity,
salt of the earth, family man, believer in human rights,
treating people with dignity, and freedom of religion.

He was the first president to talk about climate change,
an environmentalist at heart, a lover of the earth, supported
renewable energy by putting solar panels on the White House.

He signed legislation to manage hazardous waste,
protected over 100 million acres of Alaskan land,
and more than doubled the National Park System.

He passed the Ethics in Government Act to protect
whistle-blowers, established FEMA, and was part
of some of the first emergency planning in America.

He created the Departments of Education and Energy,
and established full diplomatic relations with China,
which created the basis for our world economic system.

He championed human rights around the world and was
the first president to focus on these issues and appoint
a woman as Assistant Secretary of State for Human Rights.

Mr. President Jimmy Carter is the first president I remember,
his serious face talking about important things on our black
and white television on every single channel, interrupting.

That’s how different it was back then; when the president
spoke, everyone stopped what they were doing to listen.
I was enamored of this kind man with gentle eyes.

I knew nothing of politics, nothing of the burdens adults endured,
but I knew that this sincere man was doing what he could
to make the world a better place with every ounce of his soul.

Rest in peace, Sir; your debt to the world has been paid
with every house you helped build, person you lifted up,
oppressor you held accountable, and kindness you shared.

@Home Studio – 357th poem of the year

Runner ups for the Jimmy Carter photos to accompany my poem:

4am

(Poem 222 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

 AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/nh6lZj

What is it about 4am
that makes magic drip
onto the page like wax?
The air feels different
when the dogs and sun
still sleep; the dew is
yet to blanket itself
across morning’s back.
There in the stillness of
the pre-dawn quiet,
thoughts have latitude,
and words permit them-
selves both whimsy and
wonder without too much
introspection or gravity.  
It is refreshing to be
acquainted with the
other side of night that
does not lay souls down
for fear they must be kept
but celebrates once again
the uprising of the spirit.

@Home Studio – 222nd poem of the year

Turtle House

(Poem 212 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/BsWO3A https://gencraft.ai/p/FYxwx0

Auspicious stone turtles
stand guard, gargoyles of
destiny, good fortune baked
into their shells, assuring the
dwelling longstanding fortune.
The turtles in the pond
fight for bits of mushy carrot,
stale bread, and greens,
unaware of the larger battle
being fought in the sky pond
by Grummans and Warhawks.
The people swim and love,
dream and hope, serve an
emperor or a president who
demands unwavering loyalty,
and wonder when peace will
fill the turtle house again.

@Home Studio – 212th poem of the year (After reading The Turtle House by Amanda Churchill.)

Churchill, Amanda. The Turtle House. Harper Collins, 2024.

Runner ups for the Turtle House 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:

My Husband Gifted me a Forest

(Poem 136 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

Photograph taken by David Marshall 5/7/24

My husband gifted me a forest
and a clearing of pale blue sky.
I keep it nestled in my cell phone
to comfort me any time I cry.

He knows I love tall evergreens
and can hide there in the woods,
take refuge from the scary world,
forget all the coulds and shoulds.

When the leaves begin to rustle
and whisper their daytime thoughts,
they ease my troublesome worries
and smooth out all my gnarled knots.  

The few seconds of rest I find
in this tranquil space of peace
soothe my soul, calm my nerves,
and help my anxieties cease.  

@Home Studio – 136th poem of the year



This Looks Like a Great Painting to Ride Into

(Poem 108 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

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

This looks like a great painting to ride into on a gentle appaloosa.
She and I will trot along at a leisurely pace, past the old shack
and on down to the creek behind that far off stand of trees.
Occasional clouds of red clay dust might kick up behind us if we
decide to pick up our speed, so we keep it nice and easy instead.
The clouds gathering on the horizon threaten rain, but we welcome
the cover cooling the afternoon with a comfortable spring breeze.
The only sounds the sporadic scolding of birds when we ride too
close to their nests, and the creak of our saddle with each step.
We’ll turn around and head home when we reach the field of
wildflowers just out of sight around that far bend out yonder.

@Home Studio – 108th poem of the year