(Poem 343 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
A reflection is merely
a light wave echo,
rebound optical rays,
boomerang spectral particles—
how fitting
that Narcissus was cursed
to fall in love
with the likeness
of himself,
a mere copy.
Had he truly
known how to love,
he might have been kind
to poor Echo,
that sad nymph
of the woods
and spared both their lives.
@Home Studio – 343rd poem of the year
Runner ups for the Reflection photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 342 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Magic hair
sends waves
through the cosmos,
a journey from
root to tip
and beyond,
then ricochets
back to the heart
of the goddess
from whence it came,
the answer
to infinite energy.
@Home Studio – 342nd poem of the year
Runner ups for the Magic Hair photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 341 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Gifts and necessities
fill every inch of the car
blending possessions
one step in the process
that is part and parcel of
two lives becoming one
from Texas to Canada
Michigan in between
mother’s heart rests easy
when she sees her boy
turned man open the car
door for his wife
and drive away
to start his new life
@Home Studio – 341st poem of the year
Runner ups for the Car Jenga photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 340 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
https://images.app.goo.gl/BA4nMzC4RVPPvq8M7 https://images.app.goo.gl/8hjt24a2SLX8EcVs5
Texans and Canadians
joined
for one last meal
at Jardín Corona
finding a common bond
over Mexican food,
a bit ironic
that the Canadians present
are the only of us
who have ever lived
in Mexico
and spoken
Spanish
as a way of life before,
but we tried our best
to order authentically—
shared chips and salsa,
chile con queso, guacamole,
then our favorites—
carne asada, flautas,
mole poblano, enchiladas
with verde sauce, quesadillas,
beef tacos, pollo tequila
pechuga encebollada
pollo endiablado,
steak, carne guisada,
with sides of rice,
charro beans,
and of course,
tortillas.
Our families are now
tied together
by marriage,
so it’s a good thing we
can at least all agree
on good food.
@Home Studio – 340th poem of the year
(Poem 339 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
(Julian playing piano.)
Julian thinks he has blood burp,
the kind where blood comes out
of your body. We’re not sure if he
needs to go to the hospital, or if he
simply needs a glass of water.
He said he burped like 1,000 times.
He almost burped google plex.
Do you know what google plex means?
It means past infinity.
He’s busy playing the piano,
and such beautiful music makes
him wax contemplative.
Try to guess that song, he says.
Happy Birthday, I throw out on a whim.
NO! It’s something that says uuuuhhhh.
He’s learning to sound out words
in Kindergarten and likes to point out
the starting sounds of words to show
how smart he is, like the color red –
rrrrr, rrrrr, come on, guess it, he says.
rrrrr, eeeee, dddd, red. R, E, D. Red.
Back to uuuuuhhhh.
The name of his melancholic song.
He is very offended that I can’t figure it out.
Turns out, it’s Up from the movie.
I think that is the saddest sounding
song he can think of, and he wants
to play something soulful.
Now he’s banging in such a way that all the cats
have run outside.
He says the loud banging is from
the movie, too. It’s the part where there’s singing.
He’s done playing the piano.
Now he has my Wonder Woman sword
and is practicing stabbing me
in a variety of different ways.
Through the underarm is his favorite
because it comes out the other side
and looks really realistic.
Hey, wanna arm wrestle?
he asks conspiratorially.
I’m not sure how normal our relationship is.
This probably isn’t how most people imagine
grandmothers and grandsons spend their time.
But I don’t want to miss a second of it.
What do you want for Christmas? I ask.
Without missing a beat,
Cristiano Ronaldo cologne from Amazon.
Cologne? For a 6-year-old? Are you sure?
He nods.
What if it arrives and it’s stinky?
It won’t be. Ronaldo always smells
better than everybody all the time.
My bad. I learn something every day.
@Home Studio – 339th poem of the year
More Silly Julian:
(Poem 338 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
“Going to the chapel
and you’re gonna get married.”
Today’s the day you say your vows,
agree to disagree for many years to come.
Family and friends look on with joy and tears,
so thankful to have gained a daughter or a son.
Our hearts are full as we celebrate your sweet union,
hopeful that this is the beginning of a lifetime of love.
@Home Studio – 338th poem of the year
More Wedding Day photos to accompany my poem:
Julian as ring bearer security. Mackenzie and Charlotte as flower girls.
(Poem 337 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
No one else will do it right.
Without the blueprints,
plans or mental designs
needed to create the vision,
there is no way well-meaning
helpers can really do much.
But once the framework’s
been built and the key
elements are in place,
then others can step up
to add decorative touches.
Of course, their work
will need to be double-
checked because everything
needs to be beautiful
and perfect for the reception.
No one else will do it right.
@Home Studio – 337th poem of the year
The end result:
(Poem 336 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Every mother wants
the best for her baby,
pins hopes for prosperity
on the unborn future,
and wishes a better life
for her offspring
than she was afforded.
Though it hurts to imagine,
she knows the child
will have to learn lessons
that will cause pain
and will face enemies
who hope to do them harm.
And it thrills her to think
about the elated joy
her son or daughter
will experience when
moments of success
become victories,
and bubble up into
celebration.
@Home Studio – 336th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Pregnant Villains photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 335 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
There’s a little Japanese village
where lanterns light up paths
that wind between neighbors’
dwellings, and rain falls
at just the right time of day,
when everyone’s ready for naps.
There’s miso soup on the stove
and soba noodles in the fridge,
tonkatsu or grilled fish for dinner,
and okayu porridge for anyone
feeling a little under the weather.
@Home Studio – 335th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Japanese Village photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 334 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
When one door closes,
the outside is kept out,
which gives the traveler
a chance to look inward.
It is then that another
door swings wide open
revealing universal secrets
free to anyone asking
without words, looking
without eyes, finding
without even seeking.
@Home Studio – 334th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Doors photos to accompany my poem:
rebekahjmarshall 