(Poem 311 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Tie your wishes
to the wishing tree
let their petitions
flutter in the breeze
and float soundlessly
to the rhythm of
prayerful yearning
for as the branches
bend and sway
the longing of hearts
curl and dance
eager to fulfill
your every desire.
@Home Studio on 11/7/24 @ 10:40pm – 311th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Wishing Tree photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 257 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
My grandmother Mema’s father’s
father Grandpa Carroll was an extremely
superstitious man who came down
hard on anyone who walked under a
ladder or spilled salt without throwing
some over the shoulder or broke a
mirror without taking proper precautions.
Mema did not remember what the proper
precautions were, as she was a small
child when she got harshly scolded for
spinning a chair on one leg in the dining
room, and her father had to come to
her defense, reprimanding his own
father for spouting such nonsense.
He hated black cats, unlucky numbers,
stepping on cracks, the opening of
umbrellas in the house, speaking of
the dead, and she thinks he told her
about the need to keep an axe under
the bed when a woman is in labor
to protect her from evil spirits about.
She found his stories both horrifying
and confusing, since her parents
countered that they were not true.
As she grew, her only superstition
became the spells of prayer she
uttered without ceasing to protect
her loved ones, which I know saved
us all on a number of occasions.
@Home Studio – 257th poem of the year
(Poem 197 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
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:
(To the mediocre musician. On the guitar. A Psalm of Rebekah.)
(Poem 38 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
May the Lord listen to your prayers;
may you feel blessed to be alive.
May you never have to wait too long
for packages you ordered to arrive.
May your coffee stay hot ‘til the last drop,
and your Wi-fi connection be strong.
May your wait-times be short when you’re on hold
and your days off feel pleasantly long.
May the dogs come when you call
and never escape through the fence.
May your children behave out in public
and your dishes be easy to rinse.
May your bills get paid on time in full
and your credit score be high.
May you look at the person you’re in love with
and never wonder why.
May your shows renew and stream with ease;
may no spoilers give away the end.
May you have the best time filming yourself,
taking part in the latest trend.
May the book you’re reading have a sequel,
and you win the game you play.
May your friends all want to come to your gig,
and you have a lovely day.
For simple are the joys that comfort our hearts
when chaos is all around.
And plenty of thanks is our if we notice
the blessings that abound.
(Inspired by reading the Psalms of the Bible) – 38th poem of the year
Mahogany suede-scented candle
lifts my prayers heavenward
petitions spit like sparks out
to the beyond where golden stars
balance on black silk with shiny
pearl strings of galaxies in a coil
teakwood, oil, flame, light
magic cradled in Japanese pottery
hands pressed clay together
in meditative knowing aligning
time, place, now, never
where all the answers sit
comfortably together unbothered
by the questions.
rebekahjmarshall 