(Poem 50 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
I am a woman of integrity.
What you see is what you get—
the whole package wrapped up
in flaws, sewn together with
duct tape and staple-shaped
scars but built to endure adversity.
My O-rings maintain elasticity
no matter the cold they endure,
resilience practically my middle
name, so fire away and prepare
to launch; what could go wrong?
@Home Studio – 50th poem of the year
(Poem 49 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
I feel comfortable in my own skin
and when I’m not, like when the sky
is inside me and I am surrounding the
sun and moon, or when the ocean is me
and the wind is my lover holding open the
door to a terrace overlooking the most beautiful
view of wrinkled valleys and snow-white mountains
freckled with the tiniest starry pinpoints of perfection.
@Home Studio – 49th poem of the year
(Poem 47 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
I live in a climate that I love
with cool breezes reminding
me to wear a sweater while
sitting outside on my porch.
The seasons announce themselves
proudly with soft snowfalls,
flower festivals, sunshine,
and hillsides covered in amber.
No longer do I dread the
pain of a Texas summer
with solar flare-esque heat
and drought dry days of
endless monotony painted
dull brown and lifeless.
I wake up each morning
breathing in air free of
hayseed allergens and
cedar pollen intent on
murder and mayhem.
Only fresh scents of flowers
blooming in our garden
next to cilantro, green onion,
and mint call out to me.
And the evening fires
we light (because their
crackle is the perfect
juxtaposition to the crisp
night air) are the right
way to end the day
and toast the sweetness
of this blessed life.
Rebekah Marshall @ – 47th poem of the year
(Poem 46 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
I live in a village
with supportive women
surrounding me
and I am loved.
A miniature donkey
greets me like
a doting dog
begging for treats,
and a chicken
follows me everywhere
I go because she
loves sitting in my
lap while I write.
As a child, I never
longed for this life;
it just happened
when I was busy
doing the business
of being my best
self and nurturing
the guests who
show up in need
of a crust of bread
and a cool glass of
water on their
journey home.
@Home Studio – 46th poem of the year
(Poem 45 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
“You are your own alchemist, constantly transmuting dull, lifeless molecules into the living embodiment of yourself.” Deepak Chopra’s The Way of the Wizard
Constant flux and empty space
are the stuff of solidity of which
we are made and insist are real.
Whereas, the cloud of energy,
shadow and light, layers of love
around a timeless soul core are
supposedly fantasy imaginings.
Whose version of truth gains
most traction has less to do with
rightness and more to do with
convenience, since substantial
introspection is hard and surface
knowledge is easier to tolerate.
Turning yourself into gold is an
alchemy most are unwilling to
pursue, and would rather label
distasteful or nonsensical than
undertake an inconceivable quest.
@Home Studio – 45th 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.80-84.
Runner ups for the AI alchemy photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 44 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
I am living a vibrant spiritual life,
full of love and joy, peace and calm.
The paraphernalia of ritual surrounds
me in my cave of books and comfort.
An open door invites a breeze as
animals saunter in and out on a whim.
We check on each other through
thought and glance, caress and scent.
Fanciful shadows from candlelight
play with the eye of an owl who
nestles against his own moon.
Time slips through my hourglass,
but I don’t mind because this moment
is eternally engrained in the white sand.
@Home Studio – 44th poem of the year
Runner ups for the owl moon photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 43 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
I am at peace with myself and those I love.
No animosity hangs stale in the air,
nor anger brews and steeps in silence.
I have forgiven and released, at least for now,
resentments or regrets I may have nursed.
Prayers of blessing, for protection, of thanks
abound this morning as I start my day.
If I steer clear of them, this love I feel, so pure,
so genuine, might last until lunch time.
@Home Studio – 43rd poem of the year
Runner ups for the at peace with those I love photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 42 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
The opposite of inspired,
whatever is not soul-stirred,
you know the feeling when
you see a piece of art
that makes you stop and stare?
Or you hear a piece of music
that brings tears to your eyes?
That is not what I am feeling right now.
Or, you know the way catching a glimpse
of your crush across the way can make
your heart skip a beat?
Or how holding a baby or petting a cat
can soothe old hurts?
Nope, I’m not feeling those either,
of that, I am sure.
This is more akin to boredom
tinged with ennui,
maybe resignation
with a hint of melancholy
and a dash of malaise
thrown in for good measure.
@Genuine Joe’s – 42nd poem of the year
Runner ups for the melancholy red head photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 41 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
How many inner yous are holding you hostage?
Fragmented, conflicted, factions at war inside,
causing loneliness and friction in the soul.
Why must you be a jail keeper of your shadow-
selves, instead of a liberator through listening?
Your prisoners are tapping messages on the wall,
pleading with you to respond, show any sign,
become a part of the life-giving conversation.
The only way to defuse the bomb that is you
is to release old pain that has been stored
like dry dynamite waiting to be lit by anger,
to meet and greet these guests in your realm,
recognize their perspectives, and welcome them
to heal while safely residing at your table.
Release them from the dungeons where you
keep them bound and let them drag their
weary selves to the banquet room, their ragged
clothes falling away to be replaced by robes
of shimmering silk, velvet, and lace.
@Genuine Joe’s – 41st 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.71-79.
(Poem 40 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
You make me so angry.
Then you want to go on
with conversation as if nothing
has tilted my axis, forever
altering my perception of you.
I am not designed as others.
Once you lose my respect,
it is difficult to gain it back.
Refusal to explain when
confronted seems to be
your protective measure
to maintain privacy, dignity?
I am man, I owe nothing to
no one, hear me roar,
but to me it is weakness,
denying vulnerability,
insisting others accept
your reality without a hint
of clarification for those of
us whose realities include
other humans in community.
How strange to be a lone
commuter on this subway of
life without a care for
anyone else.
@Genuine Joe’s – 40th poem of the year
rebekahjmarshall 