(Poem 265 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
My man
is in Japan
learning what he can
from teachers who understand
that the world is vast, and dreams are grand
for those who are willing to stretch and expand
both body and spirit by making a personal demand
that pliability and fortitude exist when things unplanned
knock us off center, we discover that we are able to withstand
most of life’s assaults with a calm heart, a quiet mind, and an open hand.
@Home Studio – 265th poem of the year
(Poem 195 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Man or Bear, easy choice,
especially when my Bear
gives hugs and kisses and
is always happy to see me.
We’re the best of friends;
we understand each other.
Our weekly seal our bond,
my protector, my bodyguard.
She reminds me to use the
restroom when I need to,
to take care of myself and
simply enjoy time together.
@Home Studio – 195th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Bear photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 190 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/Sa2iIv https://gencraft.ai/p/WKPxbw https://gencraft.ai/p/pOcgWm
The uterus is a universe
of endometrial enchantment,
a whispering womb,
a reproductive realm,
a cervical sanctuary,
and the cradle of life;
the hormonal harmony
in that pelvic paradise
creates menstrual magic
from the ovarian orbit
and fallopian fantasy that
results in a cycle symphony
…until it becomes something else…
a pelvic painscape
due to hormonal havoc
that creates womb woes
due to cervical crisis,
ovaries who are outraged,
frustrated fallopian tubes,
endometrial eruptions,
menstrual mayhem,
cycles of chaos,
a fertility fiasco,
and the reproductive riot
that brings only destruction.
@Home Studio – 190th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Uterus photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 189 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
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:
(Poem 187 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
You doin’ ok?
the barista asks someone looking at the menu
You’ve got to be hot because I’m hot
my husband says to me
Unidentifiable ethnic-sounding earth music plays
over the speakers chanting comforting spells
A soprano’s laugh bubbles up above all the other sounds
I’m fine
a tenor responds to someone who asks
My husband whispers or raps or sings to himself
perhaps he is reading out loud, it could be any of the above
because he is rarely silent for long
You’ve lost one of your lenses
a woman says to the elderly man she cares for
I know, he says
does she think he is unaware that he can only half-see?
freeway
I was trying to draw you
spiral
London Fog
to be clear
I think we all know
it’s a reservoir
keep going, Dude
really hammer it home
when I’m on stage
I’m not racist or homophobic
not on purpose
there is a monster
how cute
Chai
Hello
A blender and cups being bussed are the percussive elements that were missing.
Tea-Jasmine
Someone knocks loudly on the restroom door
one-two-three-four in quick succession
and a phone whistles
it just got real
@Genuine Joe’s – 187th poem of the year
Runner ups for the coffee shop photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 186 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
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
(Poem 184 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/rUA3Kt https://gencraft.ai/p/k2G0lW https://gencraft.ai/p/UdPZrD
My mother’s voice was
a bit exasperated at the
absence of anyone home.
I did not hear the door
behind her as she left,
but hurried to let her know
I was there and say hello.
I opened the front door;
she was already in her car
but she turned off the engine
when she saw me and
decided to come back in,
or so I thought…
In her reality, she just
arrived, had not yet stepped
foot in the house, had felt
no annoyance at the absence
of anyone and made no sound.
What future echo did I hear
that never even happened?
@Genuine Joe’s – 184th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Echoes photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 169 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
The conundrum of laundry is constant
with eight people in the house every day.
Someone will forget to clean the dryer vent,
and for that a lecture will come my way.
Some use scents to make their clothing smell nice,
while others prefer unscented and pure.
Three different soaps add up to quite a price,
but it is worth it for peace, I am sure.
Sometimes a person forgets to unload
their washer or dryer causing dismay,
as others in line now find their turn slowed
and possibly pushed to another day.
Eventually, all laundry gets done;
clean clothes is the victory we have won.
@Home Studio – 169th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Laundry photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 167 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Maybe a turtle is in a turtle shell
much the way mice are in fur coats,
eels wear slick high-sheen leather,
and monsters live in skins of goats.
Stubborn dinosaurs wear emu feathers,
and goddess cats are draped in fluff.
Humans must don these hot meat suits,
while armadillos carry armor that’s rough.
Porcupines live inside costumes with spears
to protect like whales with the thickest skin.
It makes me wonder if the being we see
could be different from the soul within.
@Home Studio – 167th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Turtle photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 166 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
I found a bag of iced
Christmas pretzels
with sprinkles in the
back of the pantry.
Seeing as it is June,
they are a bit past
their prime freshness.
Craving a sweet but
unwilling to make a
treat from scratch,
I decided to give one
a taste, just a tiny
tentative baby nibble.
Huh…not bad…fresh
like a time capsule
of Christmas past.
@Home Studio – 166th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Christmas Pretzels photos to accompany my poem:
rebekahjmarshall 