All images created by Rebekah Marshall’s prompts using AI on Gencraft.com website.
Under the Weather
Tag Archives: recovery
Pretty Kitty
(Poem 100 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Pretty Kitty is angry;
he’s climbed a tree
where he will remain
until half past three.
His caretaker Debbie
took him to the vet
and betrayed his trust—
the worst treason yet.
He was poked and prodded,
examined and weighed,
all sorts of indignities—
might as well get spayed.
He though they were friends,
confidants at least,
until this afternoon
when he was treated like a beast.
He feels a little sorry
for calling her every name in the book,
when in a fit of anger
he hissed and shook.
He’ll probably apologize
at a later time,
but for now if she wants him
she’ll have to climb.
His feelings have been wounded,
and she really hurt his pride;
it’s all her fault that
he had to run and hide.
He might come down later
since it looks like rain,
but any of her attempts
at a truce will be in vain.
He has no intention
of forgiving her this soon.
She’ll have to wait until tomorrow
for him to answer her tune.
Pretty Kitty, where are you?
Will it take him long?
Here he comes to be consoled;
he can’t resist her song.
@Home Studio – (True story about Debbie and her cat) 100th poem of the year
Runner ups for the pretty kitty photos to accompany my poem:
Eclipse
(Poem 99 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
I saw your corona with my own eyes
and I was smitten with the overwhelming
knowledge that you have power over my
very existence because your presence
ensures that I can flourish and prosper.
Without you, I cannot live.
Without you, my world would be destroyed.
Without you, there would be nothing to be
bedazzled by and no home to inhabit.
Without you, there would be no me.
@Home Studio – 99th poem of the year
Runner ups for the eye eclipse photos to accompany my poem:
Out of Medicine
(Poem 98 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
I’ve been out of my medicine
for two days straight and now
feel like warm crap in a bucket.
I must make myself drive to the
pharmacy while feeling like this
to pick up more meds, take
those meds, stay afloat until
bedtime, try to fall asleep, and
hope to feel better tomorrow.
The cycle of pain, illness, meds,
improvement, spiral down again,
two steps forward, three steps
back, the good times mostly
outweighing the rough ones, but
people should be gentle to each
other because no one really
knows the suffering each endures
each day while managing to
appear normal, go to work,
clean the house, prepare the
meals, take care of the animals,
make it to all the appointments,
and keep things functioning.
@Home Studio – 98th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Not feeling well photos to accompany my poem:
Joey Koey
(Poem 97 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
The dogs alerted me to an intruder they
captured in the backyard this morning.
One of my dogs grabbed the joey when
I went to pick him up, but then released
him on command and seemed perplexed
that I wasn’t pleased with their efforts.
His tiny body fit in the palm of my hand;
it seemed rigor mortis had already set in.
Then I realized he was still slightly warm,
and was that a slight heartbeat I felt?
That smart baby opossum was playing
possum, and it probably saved his life.
There I went down a rabbit hole on the
internet, or should I say opossum hole?
What do they drink, eat, need, and how
do I begin to care for a pouchless baby?
Darkness, quiet, snacks, warmth, soft
towels, and a secure cardboard box.
The dogs are very confused as to why
I’m caring for the enemy, but keep
sniffing the odd creature curiously.
@Home Studio – 97th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Opossum photos to accompany my poem:
Contentment
(Poem 96 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Contentment is pajamas
and a fan blowing straight
on my bare shoulders,
flickering candlelight,
endless streaming of my
favorite shows as long as
I feel like watching them,
sweet tea, lines of poetry,
a chapter of a good novel,
a cool spring breeze that
rustles the tranquil curtains,
salt and pepper kettle chips,
the clickity clack of my
keyboard when my fingers
know what they want to type,
my husband hobbying a
few feet away from me,
the dogs playing outside,
the cats sleeping nearby,
my kids and grandkids off
doing their own things,
and the complete absence
of pain or discomfort.
@Home Studio – 96th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Contentment photos to accompany my poem:
Nap #8,943
(Poem 95 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
I just woke up from
nap number 8,943.
My grandson was
supposed to wake
me up when my
alarm went off on
my phone he was
borrowing to play
his video games.
He did not do his
job, and I slept until
fully rested for once.
I had so much energy
that I was able to
clean out the cupboard
under the stairs and
organize the wrapping
paper and vacuum
the floor and sort the
donations and more.
I think I’m ready for
nap number 8,944.
@Home Studio – 95th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Sleep photos to accompany my poem:
Southern Sweet Tea
(Poem 94 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
There’s nothing more refreshing
than a cold glass of sweet iced
tea when a body’s hot as blazes.
My Mema insisted on unsweet,
so we had to agree to disagree.
Once, when I was up in Detroit,
someone offered to make me a
glass and poured powder into
liquid; it was instant, they said.
I had never heard of such an
innovation and was baffled by
the dehydrated concoction.
Well, how do you make it? they
asked, and were equally perplexed
by my method of brewing a pot
of tea, only to pour it over ice.
The strange culture clash was
more unsettling than yous guys
instead of y’all, playing football
in the snow, drinking milk out of
bags, and eating ketchup chips.
At least Mema and I agreed on
the starting point for our tea
with a fresh tea bag, a boiling
pot of water, and a few minutes
of conversation while you wait
for it to steep. No need to rush.
Take your time. Sit a spell.
@Home Studio – 94th poem of the year
Lesson 14 The Way of the Wizard
(Poem 93 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Pain is not truth;
it is simply what we must endure to find truth.
This body we are experiencing is an embroidered flower,
merely representative,
beautiful,
but artificial,
not the full living embodiment of the flower.
Thoughts are guests checking in and out of our quaint inn,
just as this form is temporary,
a visitor who will travel on.
We take death so personally,
spend a lifetime preventing loss,
projecting fear from our own ignorance,
denying our own place in the circle.
It is only possible to lose what is not real.
Even if we think we’ve lost everything,
what remains is what is real.
@Home Studio – 93rd 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. 96-101.
Runner ups for the circle of life photos to accompany my poem:
Pet Photo Op
(Poem 92 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Kenji was a gentleman,
ready to cooperate for the
camera, looking debonair.
Aiko said, no thank you,
but endured with a put-
upon dejected expression.
Kage was an expert at
striking a pose, seemed
familiar with formal attire.
Beauty was immediately
disgruntled and vexed,
gave me one brief chance.
I didn’t dare warn Chika,
simply snuck a photo before
she could even react.
The boys definitely won
the day with their
professional behavior.
The girls were divas whose
attitudes left little to be
desired, as expected.
@Home Studio – 92nd poem of the year
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