(Poem 154 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
The darkening sky
has balled up her fists,
begun to glower,
and let her rage roil.
The sudden assault
when she unleashes
a torrent is surprising
for its violent beauty.
@Home Studio – 154th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Sudden Storm photos to accompany my poem:
(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
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:
(Poem 148 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
When Jennifer gets hangry,
people better watch out.
She’s usually quite docile,
but whoo can she shout.
The slightest little noise
can make her head explode.
If a breeze blows too strong,
she starts croaking like a toad.
Once she reaches that point,
there’s nothing you can do,
except pass her a plate of nachos,
a hamburger, a taco, or two.
@Home Studio – 148th poem of the year
(Poem 147 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Frank is very philosophical,
though I doubt he would agree.
His views on life are complex,
but his conscience remains free.
I usually enjoy our conversations,
though I don’t always understand.
His mind works in counterpoints;
his theories can be quite grand.
I think he wants justice to exist,
but he knows that’s a stretch.
It bothers him that evil prevails,
yet he feels pity for the wretch.
His spirit is buoyed by hopefulness,
though his mind is a critic at heart.
Frankly, I’ve never met anyone else
who I can say is half as smart.
@Home Studio – 147th poem of the year
(Poem 146 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
What a happy little monster
this fellow turned out to be,
full of giggles and laughter,
buzzing around like a bee.
Each of his ample pockets
is stuffed full of lumpy rocks.
He also collects keys that no
longer can find their locks.
He makes friends with critters
whether they can talk or not;
no being is too big, too small,
too cold, or ever too hot.
Just as a joke he tried once
to make an angry, scary face,
but he couldn’t hold it together
and grinned in uppercase.
@Home Studio – 146th poem of the year
(Poem 145 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
There’s a lonely monster I know by the name of Stan.
He wanders the desert to avoid the face of man.
We ran into one another once on a camping trip.
I was with a tour group until I gave them the slip.
I came across Stan warming by a lovely little fire.
I assured him I wasn’t scared; he called me a liar.
With his eyes downcast, he told me about his past.
Then I told him about mine, though he never asked.
We agreed we were both the biggest lost cases,
not good with people and ashamed of our faces.
I remember the stars were quite beautiful that night.
Then Stan stood and stretched to his full height.
I was shocked and speechless, to say the least.
He was a hulking form, a most magnificent beast.
I apologized for staring, and he chuckled a bit
and declared me his long-lost mutual hypocrite.
See, together we each judged ourselves the worst,
as though from birth we both had been cursed,
though he had told me to give myself a break,
and I had preached that he deserved a fair shake.
When I eventually said I had to rejoin my group,
he patted my head, though he had to stoop.
We agreed to meet at this same spot once a year
to sit around the fire and drink some beer.
I’ve never told anyone of this once-a-year plan,
but I visit a lonely monster by the name of Stan.
@Home Studio – 145th poem of the year
(Poem 144 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
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
(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
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:
(Poem 142 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
My grandson graduated from pre-K
and I was moved, not by his adorable
singing and dancing and attempt at
the gestures to match his teacher,
but by the tears flowing down his
mother’s cheeks while watching her
sweet boy performing his heart out.
When I see her love for her children,
I am transported to similar moments
in our past when I watched her or
her brother with the pride only a
mother can contain, so full of love
and joy and fear and anticipation
that nothing else exists beyond the
perfection of their little contribution.
@Home Studio – 142nd poem of the year
(Poem 141 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
One minute she’s harvesting
seeds from dried flowers she
plucked from her own garden,
the next she’s trying on new
nails she got on sale from her
latest favorite glamour website.
She flits around handling
five children clamoring like
baby birds for her food and
her praise because nothing
is better than Erica approval.
Through it all she’s telling stories,
sharing the latest gossip, and
exclaiming such things as
I can’t,
ain’t nobody got time for that,
go lay down,
I got time today,
who are you talkin’ to,
not on my watch,
I can hear you, you know,
the call is coming from inside the house,
get somebody else to do it,
boy, bye,
they’re all broken.
And we laugh and cry and
sip tea and share our lives.
@Home Studio – 141st poem of the year
rebekahjmarshall 