Tag Archives: poem

Poetry, Writing

Ninja Opossum

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(Poem 151 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/xAJK2w

My opossum Joey Koey
is a secret ninja at night.
He goes on special missions
guided only by moonlight.

When we’re all asleep,
safe resting in our beds,
he’s off saving the world;
we’re scratching our heads.

How does he get out of
his kennel all on his own?
How does he get the jobs?
Does he talk on my phone?

Who out there needs saving
by an adorable marsupial?
His ministrations are sincere;
he’s persistent and dutiful.

I’m sure he has his reasons
for sneaking around and all,
for using his claws and tail
to make sure he doesn’t fall.

I have to trust he knows what
he’s doing and will be alright,
while I sleep safe and sound in
my bed and he’s out all night.

@Home Studio – 151st poem of the year

Runner ups for the Ninja Opossum photos to accompany my poem:

Poetry, Writing

Lesson 17 The Way of the Wizard

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(Poem 149 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

“Clues that fall out of the sky are messages from spirit, but you must be alert to catch them.” – Merlin, The Way of the Wizard    

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/E8whwy

The laws of nature
answer to no man.
Striking a match creates a flame.
Lightning fells a tree.
The sun entices the earth to pirouette.
We are all caught in complex
webs of cause and effect,
a butterfly effect
of chaos unfolding
smoothly.
Synchronicities,
narrow escapes,
answered prayers,
divine coincidences,
lucky accidents,
the knowing of intuition—
all are clues you’ve
left so you’ll recognize
yourself through the
disguise of the material.
We must respect the mystery,
but pursue it ruthlessly
if we hope to find what
we don’t even know we seek.

@Home Studio – 149th poem of the year

Chopra, Deepak. The Way of the Wizard: Twenty Spiritual Lessons for Creating the Life You Want. New York, United States of America, Harmony Books, 1995, pp.116-122.

Runner ups for the divine coincidence photos to accompany my poem:

Poetry, Writing

Little Miss Muffet

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(Poem 144 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/91qgAd

Little Miss Muffet
sat on a tuffet,
eating her curds and whey;
along came a spider,
who sat down beside her,
and frightened Miss Muffet away.

The very next day
she came out to play,
determined to overcome fear;
the spider returned,
and Miss Muffet learned,
to say hello with cheer.

Now that she’s older,
Miss Muffet is bolder,
and nothing affects her outlook;
she stays outside,
takes everything in stride,
and continues reading her book.

@Home Studio – 144th poem of the year

Poetry, Writing

Lesson 16 The Way of the Wizard

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(Poem 143 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

“The straight lines of time are actually threads of a web extending to infinity.” – Deepak Chopra’s The Way of the Wizard    

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

No matter where I go,
there I am, at the center
of my universe, with
every vector of possibility
extending outward to
infinity and beyond.
When I can settle and
still the turmoil of my
soul, I can see the heavens
in my own being.
I know the sun does
not truly rise in the sky,
nor is the horizon the
edge of the world, yet
I live as though I believe
the earth is flat and this
is all there is to my being.
It is a lie that the past
creates the present and
the present creates the
future, when memories
of the future can inform
the present and change
my very perception of
the past I thought I knew.
I can live tomorrow’s
dream today if only I
choose to look beyond
the veil and accept that
I am a wizard, rather than
a human bound by fate.
I am the relationship
between nowhere and
now here because I have
localized eternity to this
point in time and choose
to focus on this present.

@Home Studio – 143rd poem of the year

Chopra, Deepak. The Way of the Wizard: Twenty Spiritual Lessons for Creating the Life You Want. New York, United States of America, Harmony Books, 1995, pp.109-115.

Runner ups for the Eternity photos to accompany my poem:

Health, Poetry, Writing

Contentment

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(Poem 96 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/JXk1Un

Contentment is pajamas
and a fan blowing straight
on my bare shoulders,
flickering candlelight,
endless streaming of my
favorite shows as long as
I feel like watching them,
sweet tea, lines of poetry,
a chapter of a good novel,
a cool spring breeze that
rustles the tranquil curtains,
salt and pepper kettle chips,
the clickity clack of my
keyboard when my fingers
know what they want to type,
my husband hobbying a
few feet away from me,
the dogs playing outside,
the cats sleeping nearby,
my kids and grandkids off
doing their own things,
and the complete absence
of pain or discomfort.

@Home Studio – 96th poem of the year

Runner ups for the Contentment photos to accompany my poem:

Poetry, Writing

AI and Hands

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(Poem 81 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/fWy0Ra

AI is puzzled by human hands.
They are used for grasping
objects and gesturing,
typing on keyboards and
petting animals, holding
teacups aloft and shielding
the eyes to protect from
bright sunlight, but mostly
they hang strangely from
the end of human arms
without purpose or form.
How many fingers is anyone’s
guess; where one hand ends
and another begins cannot
be determined by the
greatest minds in computing.
All the hands touching
one’s face must be the way
to show comfort to another.
Perhaps a hand should sprout
from an ankle, to better
touch the earth’s surface with.
And don’t even get AI started
on the fingernails; we’ll be
here all day trying to figure out
the what and where of those,
never mind the why…

@Home Studio – 81st poem of the year

Runner ups for the AI hands photos to accompany my poem:

Poetry, Writing

Sunrise in a Jar

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(Poem 80 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

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

I once caught sunrise in a jar
and was tempted to keep it,
put it on my bookshelf next to
an Asian vase and a picture of
a peacock I got off Marketplace.
I held that jar, warm as a cup
of tea, and felt the hum of
life dawning between my palms.
Regret at trapping such a being
immediately overwhelmed me,
and I unscrewed the lid lefty-
loosie until nothing hindered
egress, yet sunrise remained
in the jar as though appreciative
of a pause; so, we sat together
a little longer, sunrise and me.
Though brief, the moment was
poignant, and I am ashamed to
admit I sometimes wish I had
kept the lid screwed on tight.

@Home Studio – 80th poem of the year

Poetry, Writing

I am a woman of integrity

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(Poem 50 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

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

I am a woman of integrity.
What you see is what you get—
the whole package wrapped up
in flaws, sewn together with
duct tape and staple-shaped
scars but built to endure adversity.
My O-rings maintain elasticity
no matter the cold they endure,
resilience practically my middle
name, so fire away and prepare
to launch; what could go wrong?

@Home Studio – 50th poem of the year

Health, Poetry, Writing

I live in a climate that I love

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(Poem 47 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com  https://gencraft.ai/p/OiaqP6

I live in a climate that I love
with cool breezes reminding
me to wear a sweater while
sitting outside on my porch.
The seasons announce themselves
proudly with soft snowfalls,
flower festivals, sunshine,
and hillsides covered in amber.
No longer do I dread the
pain of a Texas summer
with solar flare-esque heat
and drought dry days of
endless monotony painted
dull brown and lifeless.
I wake up each morning
breathing in air free of
hayseed allergens and
cedar pollen intent on
murder and mayhem.
Only fresh scents of flowers
blooming in our garden
next to cilantro, green onion,
and mint call out to me.
And the evening fires
we light (because their
crackle is the perfect
juxtaposition to the crisp
night air) are the right
way to end the day
and toast the sweetness
of this blessed life.

Rebekah Marshall @ – 47th poem of the year