(Poem 288 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
when I find myself
in times of trouble
I’m drawn to the river
to reflect and recover
where the glowing orbs
catch my fears
and float them away
with my wasted tears
only then can I return
to my daily routine
less burdened by doubt
less afraid of the unseen
for I know the orbs
will always be there
to absorb every worry
and receive every prayer
@Home Studio – 288th poem of the year
(Poem 287 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
“O brawling love! O loving hate!
O anything of nothing first create!
O heavy lightness, serious vanity!
Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health!
Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!
This love feel I, that feel no love in this.” -Romeo, Romeo and Juliet, William Shakespeare
We contain multitudes:
eloquent silence
good grief
poor health
loyal opposition
loud whisper
sad smile
sweet sorrow
unbiased opinion
seriously funny
random order
open secret
minor miracle
only choice
definite maybe
deceptively honest
clearly misunderstood
civil war
bittersweet
alone together
genuine imitation
impossible solution
intense apathy
living dead
silent scream
same difference
friendly takeover
even odds
cruel kindness
conspicuous absence
cheerful pessimist
loving hate
@Home Studio – 287th poem of the year
Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616. Romeo and Juliet, 1597. Oxford :published for the Malone Society by Oxford University Press, 2000.
Runner ups for the Happy Sad photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 286 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Cloaked in black
wings dark as space
his righteous sword
an instrument of grace
Shrouded in white
wings bright as a star
her evil weapon
upon innocence mar
What blood he shed
tore in two his heart
for his dream was peace
and for all a fresh start
What lives she took
brought her great glee
for she yearned for war
and none to be free
He decided at last
that she must be killed
and he met her for battle
in a white snowy field
She was eager to fight
this foe she hated
only then could her bloodlust
truly be sated
But when Evil appeared
in her glory and might
his heart melted inside
and he had no desire to fight
She was stunned by his beauty
enthralled by his power
and for a brief moment
lost her will to devour
He put down his sword
and offered his hand
explaining that love
undermined what he planned
She, too, lowered her sword
caught off guard by his gaze
and fell in love with Good
for the rest of her days
@Home Studio – 286th poem of the year
(Poem 285 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Why the face
my fri end?
Things could be worse
in the e nd.
Your head
could ex plode,
your left foot
become a to ad.
Your chin
could fall o ff,
or your ear
catch a cou gh.
Your nose
could multi ply,
or a mushroom
sprout from your th igh.
Your teeth
could grow f ur
and your elbow
begin to p urr.
I guess what
I’m trying to s ay
in my own
weird w ay,
is be thankful,
not ber eft,
you’ve got it good,
W T F!?!
@Home Studio – 285th poem of the year
Runner ups for the WTF photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 284 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Just as deities make
people out of clay,
people fashion deities.
The many limbs and heads,
monstrous features,
horns and wings,
and fear-inducing
parts are what evoke
a sense of wonder
and awe, I suppose.
If I were to create
my own deity,
she would be a kindly
old woman with gentle
eyes and a hearty laugh,
who bakes bread,
tends to her garden,
wears an apron,
and pats my hand
while we sip tea.
@Home Studio – 284th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Dieties photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 283 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
“Then Yahweh Elohim formed humans from the dust of the ground and breathed into the nostrils the breath of life; and humans became living beings.” Genesis 2:7
The Mongolian god
Ulgen created the first man
from clay floating on the water.
The Bornean bird spirits
Ara and Irik used clay
and the sound of their voices.
In Ijaw tradition,
Woyengi fashioned humans
from earth
that fell from the sky.
Wonder Woman was sculpted
from clay by Hippolyta.
The goddess Aruru
created humans out of clay
according to the Epic of Gilgamesh.
And in the Korean Seng-gut,
humans are made from red clay.
The Chinese Nüwa
molded figures
from the yellow earth.
Vietnamese tales describe
Ngọc Hoàng and the Twelve Bà mụ
making people from clay.
The Qur’an, Torah, and Christian Bible
say Yahweh and his angels
fashioned humans from dust
in their image.
@Home Studio – 283rd poem of the year
Bible Hub. Lexicon, Genesis 2:7, https://biblehub.com/lexicon/genesis/2-7.htm
Runner ups for the Clay Man photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 282 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
Her celestial body
is draped
in gossamer galaxies
and lacy luminosities
with flecks of infinite
cosmic dust
and gauzy strands
of nebulae birthing
baby stars.
Her swaying form
catapults asteroids
across the billowy
folds of organza
and satin,
hurtling dark matter
across crests
of supernovae,
bespeckling interstellar silk.
@Home Studio – 282nd poem of the year
(Poem 281 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
His mama was a ninja
who went by different names.
She rescued anyone in need,
without hope of gains.
His mama was a ninja,
good with knives and swords and fists,
but she also made the best katsu curry
and gave lovely handmade gifts.
His mama was a ninja
who could scale any wall
and dance across a roof peak
with no risk of a fall.
His mama was a ninja,
a fierce protector cloaked by night,
so he grew up to believe in justice
and always fight for what’s right.
@Home Studio – 281st poem of the year
Runner ups for the Mama Ninja photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 280 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
My book fairies
come out at night
as all book fairies do,
but mine are pesky
little things
nuisances, that’s who.
They steal my things
like coins and rings
and put them who knows where.
They flit around
upsetting the dogs
and giving the cats a scare.
I know the night
is their time to roam
and I shouldn’t begrudge their fun,
but we’re trying to sleep.
We have work tomorrow,
and their revelry’s just begun.
Once in a while
they’ll do something nice
like leave a breakfast for me,
but even then,
they use books as plates
and put fish scales in my tea.
I wish them well,
health and long life
and all those other things,
but I need them to go
inhabit someone else’s shelves
with their constantly flapping wings.
@Home Studio – 280th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Fairies photos to accompany my poem:
(Poem 279 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
She fell in love near dusk
walking a gravel path that crunched
beneath their feet as they wandered
in search of flowers to photograph.
She had been gifted a new old camera
that made her feel nostalgic for a past
life, and he was looking for any excuse
to be alone with her to confess his feelings.
She bent to frame a delicate Magnolia
and his breath caught at her beauty.
He told her his heart would only continue
to beat if she accepted his love as her own.
She turned to him with a serious expression
and snapped a photo of his pained look.
“I accept,” she said, then took another
photo of his transformed elated visage.
She has both faces framed on her desk
and looks at them when she grows weary
of darkness and difficulties, to remember
that she was once someone’s next heartbeat.
@Home Studio – 279th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Camera photos to accompany my poem:
rebekahjmarshall 