Tag Archives: recovery

Poetry, Writing

Cougar

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(Poem 181 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/VlE1pf  https://gencraft.ai/p/51XcWB

According to society,
a woman of a certain
age should guard her
propriety and seek only
suitors who are older.
If she happens to find
herself drawn to a man
of younger persuasion,
she is depicted by those
who have opinions as a
wild hunter who laid
in wait to pounce on
some unsuspecting
man-child and forced
him to mind his manners.
When the roles are
reversed, there is little
batting of eyes because
double standards always
seem to benefit those
who sit on the biggest
thrones in the patriarchy.

@Home Studio – 181st poem of the year (after watching The Idea of You.)

The Idea of You, Showalter,Michael, Amazon Prime Video, 16 March, 2024, Hathaway, Anne.

Runner ups for the Cougar photos to accompany my poem:

Poetry, Writing

Grieving Mother – House of the Dragon

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(Poem 180 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/3PTiet  https://gencraft.ai/p/rcoJcL

The mother does what
any mother must do after
receiving the worst news
imaginable; she mounts
her dragon and flies as far
as she must for confirmation
with her own eyes that her
son has been taken from
this world in a vicious attack.
She must reckon with the
knowledge that all could
have been prevented by
her every step of the way,
so she has herself to blame
for her baby ending up in the
belly of the enemy’s beast.
A son for a son will become
the battle cry that brings
only blood to the realm.
Winter is truly coming.

@Home Studio – 180th poem of the year (after watching Season 2, Episode 1 of House of the Dragon)

Condal, Ryan and George R. R. Martin, creators. House of the Dragon. HBO Entertainment and Warner Bros., 2024.

Runner ups for the Grieving Mother photos to accompany my poem:

Poetry, Writing

Overtime

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(Poem 179 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/9ypUMC

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:

Poetry, Writing

Watermelon Sugar

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(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:

Poetry, Writing

Aches and Pains

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(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:

Poetry, Writing

Ghost Whisperer

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(Poem 176 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

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

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:

Poetry, Writing

Lesson 18 The Way of the Wizard

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(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:

Poetry, Writing

Petting Zoo

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(Poem 174 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

Photographs taken by Erica Smith 6/22/24.

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:

Poetry, Writing

Juneteenth

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(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:

Poetry, Writing

Bless Your Heart

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(Poem 170 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

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

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: