(Poem 179 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Makin’ bacon
workin’ overtime.
So over
having none,
time to
play, dough
to spend,
breathing room,
lack of
lack, more
of plenty,
less of
less, unless
by choice,
space to
be alone
with creativity.
@Home Studio – 179th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Overtime photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 178 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Photographs taken by Charlotte Sullivan & Rebekah Marshall 6/10/24
I love the taste of
my watermelon sugar
straight from the green rind.
@Home Studio – 178th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Watermelon Sugar photos to accompany my poem:
(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:
(Poem 176 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Beyond the veil of the living
is the plain of the between,
where people linger after death
unable to be seen.
Only those who can’t let go
reside in this murky space,
but each lost soul has a story to tell
if someone can show them grace.
A Ghost Whisperer is sometimes summoned,
a spirit’s only hope,
communing with the voiceless ones
to help the living cope.
For usually, those who remain
feel burdened by an unexplained weight.
No sense can be made of their grief
or their loved ones’ undetermined fate.
If a satisfactory resolution
can be settled upon at last,
the ghost will finally release their hold
and accept that they have passed.
@Home Studio – 176th poem of the year (Inspired by the television show The Ghost Whisperer.)
Hewitt, Jennifer Love, Ghost Whisperer, Sander/Moses, CBS, 2005-2010.
Runner ups for the Ghost Whisperer photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 175 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
“At the level of the ego, we struggle to solve our problems. Spirit sees that struggle is the problem.” – The Way of the Wizard
AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/7XIJKd https://gencraft.ai/p/bhZDFJ
The madman who lived in a
hut deep in Camelot forest
was named Will for a reason.
He claimed to have no king,
despite Arthur ordering him
to come forth and explain.
According to his wife, grief
had walled him up after his
son died in a tragic accident.
The man named Will decided
to perish unless God himself
appeared and made plain
the reason for suffering.
Arthur sat all night speaking
with the man, who he felt
closer to than anyone else
in his kingdom, for he keenly
felt the suffering of his people
the poor, the sick, the burdened.
Arthur shared the wisdom
Merlin taught him, rather than
struggle against evil, realize
that it does not actually exist.
We create heaven and hell
with our own will, invent duality,
evil and good, light and shadow,
chase our tails to our own
detriment and create despair.
We must allow our will to be
free to choose to reject this
duality and permit unity to be
born in our hearts and minds,
rather than sealing ourselves
up in a hut deep in the woods
of grief where we await our deaths.
@Genuine Joe’s – 175th 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.123-128.
Runner ups for the Forest Hut photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 174 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Chickens, ducks, cousins, goats,
bunnies, memories, friends, and fun—
a morning spent at a petting zoo
laughing and learning in the sun.
Parents watch and take photographs,
encourage the children to be brave,
pet those babies and give them love;
try to make that little goat behave.
A kid’s a kid, whether goat or child,
ready for frolicking on a summer day.
Each is happy to be with the other,
nothing to do but run around and play.
@Genuine Joe’s – 174th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Petting Zoo photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 173 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Girls’ luncheon at Cilantro Grill is fabulous, filling,
a lovely time with mother, daughter, granddaughter,
grandmother, great-grandmother, great-granddaughter,
future sister-in-law, daughter-in-law, mother-in-law.
Kalua pork, grilled pineapple, garlic edamame,
butter shrimp, macaroni salad, spam musubi,
tom yum, Pad Thai, basil fried rice, yellow curry,
deep fried red snapper, drunken noodles, tom kha.
@Home Studio – 173rd poem of the year
(Poem 172 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
A princess in a fitted gown
floats into the room sparkling
like stars in a dark night sky.
She is the dream vision of
every little girl who imagines
herself someday gracefully
gliding down a cathedral aisle.
The sheer veil ripples elegantly,
falling like light snow in quiet
drifts on her brunette locks.
Gentle turns, angled glances
at her beauty in the mirror,
loveliness draped in silk and lace.
@Home Studio – 172nd poem of the year
Runner ups for the Wedding Dress Event photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 171 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/QTg9tw https://gencraft.ai/p/oBhyHg https://gencraft.ai/p/jQ3tpi
Watermelon, strawberries, red sugar Kool-Aid,
fried catfish, hot links, barbecue, red velvet cake,
hibiscus tea, cornbread, greens, black eye peas,
strawberry shortcake, deviled eggs, mac and cheese,
potato salad, baked beans, strawberry pie,
sweet tea, coleslaw, and anything you can fry.
Families spending time together, off work for the day,
children at the splash pad, squealing as they play,
parades and floats, marching bands, music on blast,
celebration of freedom, remembrance of the past,
honoring the ancestors, lifting up the next generation,
supporting black businesses, praying for the nation.
@Home Studio – 171st poem of the year
Runner ups for the Juneteenth photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 170 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Bless your heart, you simple soul;
not a thought going on up there.
No light on in that attic of yours, or
maybe the light’s on, but nobody’s home.
You mean well, but you can’t help
it that you’re not playing with a
full deck of cards. Poor thing fell out
of the family tree and hit every branch
on the way down. It’s not your fault
you’re not the sharpest tool in the shed;
you’ve lost your marbles, you’re
off your rocker, and your elevator’s stuck
between two floors. You’re thick as a post,
rowing with one oar, a pickle short of a barrel.
There might be a leak in your think tank,
one prop short of a plane, and I’m afraid you might
have a few loose screws. You’re a few peas
short of a casserole, two sandwiches
shy of a picnic, a drink short of a 6-pack,
and can’t think your way out of a paper bag.
It’s ok that you’re silly as a goose,
as smart as bait, and don’t have all
the dots on your dice. You may not be firing
on all 6 cylinders, possibly running
about a quart low. You’re a few fries
short of a Happy Meal, and your cheese might
have slipped off your cracker, but I love it
when you come around because if I stand
close enough to you I can hear the ocean.
@Home Studio – 170th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Bless Your Heart photos to accompany my poem:
rebekahjmarshall 