SUNDAY ANNOUNCEMENTS WILL POST TOMORROW…

“Computers are mixed blessings,” she says while gritting her teeth.🤨

Sigh! 🤷‍♀️ Am doing this on my cell, but can’t seem to manage the length and complexity of Sunday Announcements using my iPhone, though I’m tickled with myself for managing the photos. 👏👍👌

“After all ….tomorrow’s another day” … maybe a good day to think about new equipment. 🤔 Now that would be fun.

Thanks for hanging with me.

Jamie

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Baruch, the Baker – a poem … and your Wednesday Writing Prompt



BARUCH, THE BAKER

Your heart is smarter, my Baruch,
then your head,
which is smart indeed –
and your hands and gnarly fingers
are smarter still.
They fashion bread from
cream-colored flours,
silky to the touch.
Kneading the dough
patiently, patiently
letting it rise
while I sleep –
safe, in my bed.

Up at six a.m. we walk sleepily
down a lavender-gray street,
an apricot sun peeking at us
and, rising higher in the sky,
it seemingly follows us to you.

Cheer-filled arrival with greetings
and smiles from dear Baruch and
warm sugar smells, yeasty scents
and the sight of golden loaves,
some voluptuous rounds and
others, sturdy rectangulars.
You have baked cinnamon rolls,
a child’s delight, pies and
sticky buns too…and cookies!

“We’ll take a French bread” my Mom says
pointing to a crispy brown baguette.
“And a raisin bread.”
She adds …
“We’ll need that sliced.”

I watch your hands flit gracefully
like butterflies in a green valley
stopping here and then there
to pull fragrant loaves from display
and slicing them, neatly packaging,
then reaching down over the counter
you hand me a little bag of rugelach.

As I look up, reaching for your gift
I stop breathing, arrested by
a wisp of blue on your forearm.
I am studious, a reader, dear Baruch,
I know what that tattoo means …
Looking down, with a whisper I choke
“Thank you, Baruch!”
swallowing that lump of sadness,
trying not to show my tears.
What right have I to tears?
But then you, dear Baruch, come
bounding round the counter
with warm hugs and soft tissues,
as though I was the one hurt.
From that day forever more,
I saw you only in long sleeves.

At lunchtime, I demanded –
“Mom, tell me about Baruch.”
And she does.
I am pensive over our meal,
canned marinara and slices of
of your baguette.
Dear Baruch, with each salty bite
I eat your tears and
the blood of your daughter.
Nights she stares at me from that
sepia photo by your register.

Baruch, did she, like me, assume
a grown-up life
of school and jobs,
marriage and children?
And you! You must have assumed
the tender comfort of
her love in your old age.
Do you hold the vision of her
young and happy in your
brave, kindly old heart?
Does your ear still play back
her childish laughter,
the sound of her voice
begging for a story?
Do your warm brown eyes still hold
her smile in remembrance?
When you see little girls like me,
does your anguish grow?

Dear Baruch, our dear Baruch
how will you set your child free
from that faraway land and
cold, unmarked mass grave?

© 2008, poem, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved; photograph of a holocaust survivor displaying his arm tattoo courtesy of Frankie Fouganthin under CC BY-SA 2.0 license

WEDNESDAY WRITING PROMPT

 “The first time it was reported that our friends were being butchered there was a cry of horror. Then a hundred were butchered. But when a thousand were butchered and there was no end to the butchery, a blanket of silence spread.
When evil-doing comes like falling rain, nobody calls out ‘stop!’

“When crimes begin to pile up they become invisible. When sufferings become unendurable the cries are no longer heard. The cries, too, fall like rain in summer.”
Bertolt Brecht, Selected Poems

Some folks say they don’t believe there was a Jewish Holocaust and some young people are unaware that it happened. Some folks say “never again,” but there are 24 or more genocides, including Gaza, that are happening even as I write this post, even as you read it. Some Americans fail to recognize or don’t want to acknowledge that this country was partly built on a foundation of death. Even the Bible is weighted with stories of genocide.

Tell us about your own pain, perceptions and perhaps resolutions born of this knowledge. Write of your awakening to this reality as a child, your adult perceptions or, perhaps depending on where you live, your first-hand experience.

All poetry shared by you will be posted here next Tuesday. The deadline is Monday evening, May 22 at 8 pm PDT.  If you share a poem for the first time, please send a brief bio and photo to thepoetbyday@gmail.com.  These will be used to introduce new participants to readers. Thank you!

Chief Settle (public domain photograph)

“My people are few. They resemble the scattering trees of a storm-swept plain…There was a time when our people covered the land as the waves of a wind-ruffled sea cover its shell-paved floor, but that time long since passed away with the greatness of tribes that are now but a mournful memory.”  Chief Seattle, The Chief Seattle’s Speech


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THE BeZINE, Call for Submissions for June, September and December

The BeZine logo design and copyright by Terri Stewart.



The BeZine is published quarterly on the fifteenth of March, June, September and December. Please read our Intro and Mission Statement and at least one back issue of The BeZine before submitting work for consideration. Each issue is theme based.

Please be mindful that our core team (The Bardo Group Beguines), guest contributors and readers represent the world’s diversity. Nonviolence, respect and inclusion are core values.

All work must be submitted in English and properly edited for publication. Submissions in other languages are fine but only if they are accompanied by an English translation.

Please send submissions to bardogroup@gmail.com and put “submission” in the subject line.  If you were referred by one of our core team, please put their name in the subject line along with “submission.” Please include a brief bio not a curriculum vitae. If you have published the work submitted on your own website, blog, YouTube channel or other online venue you may send a link.

PLEASE NOTE: We apply the same standards with regard to content, quality, submission guidelines and reading policy that all high-caliber literary magazines do with the exception that we will consider work that is already published. The copyright, however, must be yours.

DEADLINE: The 10th of the month prior to the publication date, but for the June issue it is extended through May 20th. You still have some time.

Artwork by The Bardo Group Beguines team-member, © Corina Ravenscraft (Dragon’s Dreams) for The BeZine, 100,000 Poets (and Others) for Change, 2018.

Themes each year are consistent with the concerns of the global movement cofounded by Michael Rosenberg and Terri Carrion, 100,000 Poets (and others) for Change:

  • March, Peace;
  • June, Sustainability;
  • September, Social Justice

… and for December the shared value of The Bardo Group Beguines:

  • a life of the spirit.
.
On the fourth Saturday in September , we’ll hold our traditional 100,000 Poets (and other artists and friends) virtual event. Michael Dickel will be our master of ceremonies. Details in future announcements.
.

COPYRIGHT: You retain your copyright for work published in The BeZine. If you are doing multiple submissions, please let us know that you have submitted the work to other publications and advise us when and if the work is accepted elsewhere. From our perspective this does not preclude publication in The BeZine but we need to know if another publisher has contracted for first-time or exclusive rights.

We regret that we are unable to offer payment or editorial feedback. However, while we don’t offer payment we also don’t charge submission or reading fees or subscription fees. This effort is entirely volunteer run, a gift of love.

Some issues will include a subtheme and for June it is Domestic and Gendered abuse.  As of today (May 15, 2018) I have sufficient materal from women and would be interested in reviewing the work of other genders.)

All creative arts that lend themselves to online publication are acceptable for consideration: visual arts, literature and poetry, and music and film (video).

FICTION/NONFICTION/ESSAY: Should you have anything to submit for consideration that is over 1,000 words, please forward a brief one-paragraph summary description for preliminary evaluation.

POETRY: If you are submitting poetry, please don’t bomb us with work. Restrict your submissions to three at a time every three months. Be selective. Send your best.

VIDEO: One video at a time.

PHOTOGRAPHS and ILLUSTRATIONS: If you include these with your poems and features, then you must include the source with url and licensing information. We do not accept work that is not properly – respectfully – credited.

READING SCHEDULE: At the time of this writing, the reading schedule is variable but a regular schedule is forthcoming and will be announced.

Send your work for the zine to us at the bardogroup@gmail.com.

NEW THIS YEAR: We’ll submit nominations for The Pushcart Prize, probably in October. The BeZine welcomes – encourages – work from the world community, but The Pushcart Prize is only open to citizens of the United States.

We look forward to hearing from you.  Thank you!

Be the peace.
Jamie Dedes, Founding and Managing Editor

Update: May 15, 2018


CONNECT WITH US

The BeZine: Be Inspired, Be Creative, Be Peace, Be (the subscription feature is below and to your left.)

Daily Spiritual Practice: Beguine Again, a community of Like-Minded People

Facebook, The Bardo Group Beguines

Twitter, The Bardo Group Beguines

“Summer Storm” … and other responses to the last Wednesday Writing Prompt

c Jamie Dedes



Here we are! Tuesday again and this is a fave day for many readers who so enjoy the variety of responses to each week’s prompt.  Today we welcome the poetry of Gary W. Bowers, Paul Brookes, Marta Pombo Sallés, Frank McMahan, and Sonja Benskin Mesher in response to the last writing writing prompt, May 9, Autumn Promises, which was to write about a favorite season. Why is it a fave?  How does it move your heart or inspire your thoughts?  So, enjoy these and do join us for the next Wednesday Writing Prompt – tomorrow.

You’ll notice that I always include a link to each poet’s blog or website to facilitate getting to know new to you poets. That’s what this exercise is primarily about. So do connect.  If there’s no site, you can probably link-up on Facebook.

All are welcome to join us for Wednesday Writing Prompts, no matter the status of career: novice, emerging or pro.  Come, be a part of our poetry community.

Please note: Folks have sent me emails for Wednesday Writing Prompt with their photo and bio, which I don’t post unless there is a reason to do so… That is, you won’t see your photo and bio go up unless you share a poem on Wednesday in response to the prompt … and it’s your first time participating. It’s by way of intro to everyone. Thank you for your interest. I look forward to your future a participation.

Thanks to those who contributed today’s delights and to all who take the time to read their work and travel on to visit their blogs or websites. Bravo!


the longhot

in 1990 the Valley
of the Sun served up
a 122 degree day
on the 26th of june

then
i was a long distance runner
of the mind
that i could not miss a day
i had to run
at least a mile
every
single
day and so
i ran in the predawn
and it was already pushing a hundred
and fifteen minutes was all i had
but it scratched the itch
but not enough
so after sundown a friend of mine and i
ran again
briefly
he was soon wiped
but i was full
of essence of beenthere
and extract of donethat
and was oddly energized
when he asked if we could stop
and when we drew in heated air
i felt like a furnace being stoked

years later i was on a golf course
in july
had the course practically to myself
but for one or two twosomes
riding in carts
while i walked and carried my bag
at the twelfth hole
on the fairway
a worried ranger told me
i didn’t “look so good, partner
why don’t you sit down for a while?”
“nah, i’m ok,” i replied
plastering on a grin
i didn’t feel
because my focus was derailed
“you shouldn’t do this by yourself”
“i’m drinkin a lotta water
i’m ok thanks”
and i touched that with asperity
and he left
more worried than ever

but he need not have been
this was my sweat lodge
this was my forge
this was the longhot and my home

it makes cold water taste sublime
it cleanses it cures
it defines

© 2018, Gary W. Bowers (One with Clay)


A Heady Burnt

fragrance
means autumn’s
soft footfalls can be heard.

Sun’s blaze warms my back
as I cut dry grass, autumn
breaks out a rumble overhead

© 2018, Paul Brookes  (The Wombwell Rainbow, Inspiration, History, Imagination)

Sweetness So

late in the season,

I ask the tree,
“Please can I take some

of your fruit?”,
the easy pleasure

my hand reaches out,
amongst the almost naked,

gnarled limbs,
my fingers round

the full luscious belly
of a hard green pear,

and gently twist to snap
the umbilical cord,

and place it in the basket.
And say “Thankyou.”

On the ground gnawed
and sucked broken skins

rest on mown grass,
sweetness oozes into cold air.

Soon the aroma of apple
and pear crumble inhabits

the fresh rooms of our house,
the heat in the pastry,

the knife’s blade cuts
a portion.

“Blow on the spoon, love.
I need to know

if the pears are soft enough.”
says my wife as she ushers

bubbling fruit and crumble
to my quivering tongue.

© 2018, Paul Brookes  (The Wombwell Rainbow, Inspiration, History, Imagination)

Summer Storm

Gusted leaf shadow
your black dog lope.

Lightning your deadly smile,
what the thunder said your voice.

your hailstone land is popping popcorn.
skin a short, sharp shower.

left me to dry out in heat
of no goodbyes or see you laters

© Paul Brookes  (The Wombwell Rainbow, Inspiration, History, Imagination)


FEVER

When I am hot and fevered, bring
me from a cold, clear spring, water
in earthenware pitchers. Lave
my limbs indulgently. Let
the drops on my brow fall softly.
Carry me then on a litter,
in cotton covered, smooth and cool,
to the shingle shore where the
breeze, the merest breeze can glide,slow
across the contours of my skin,
sloughing away this burning. Let
the tide’s murmuring bring a slow
descent through slumber into sleep,
weightless, dream-less, floating.

I shall grow hot again.

© 2018, Frank McMahan


The Autumns of Our Lives

The autumns of our lives
Unfold in harsh winters
Still nature turns the page
In the book of seasons
That trembles now and then
With echoes of climate change.

A new spring reminds us
There’s hope to carry on.
Past glories and stories
Can never be erased.
Once the seeds are planted
Smiles begin to flourish.

One autumn father died,
Another we voted.
What seemed impossible
Under such repression
Became a hero’s act
For our democracy.

Wishes held in fingers
Jolly voices strangled
By repressive police.
Our hearts froze with fear.
Yet we’re no criminals,
We just wanted to vote.

That autumn was half-won
With promise unfulfilled.
All masks were now fallen
And everything had changed.
In most uncertainty
Untrodden way to go.

Monster decay with clay
Planted so many fears.
Imprisonments began
Freedom of speech attacked
Democracy at stake
Our claim remains awake.

That was just one more fall
In the book of seasons
Where revolutions find
Their own written pages.
Ours will have its place
Within nonviolent fight.

© 2018, Marta Pombo Sallés (Moments)


on spring

who knows which hour it starts,
which minute, rhyme or reason.
breaking of rules,        our hearts
open.                         split a season.

on spring,                 slight chance,
light            or prayers can change.
sons      move in a prouder stance,
yet others rage.

black bird sings   early
the same bird calls late.
sense that nearby
one year came straight.
spring slides. the
moon draws tides.

© 2018, Sonja Benskin Mesher (sonja-benskin-mesher.net; Sonja Benskin Mesher, RCA paintings; sonja-benskin-mesher.co.uk; Sonjia’s daily blog (WordPress) is HERE.)

.after the brigands inn.

will you report the fire?
no i stopped to admire.

i had seen the stack before, the logs
laid neatly, all was ready then,

now your flames attract me, to
talk of lambs and springtimes.

it is from the storm , tinder dry,
too hot to stand by,
i can feel it from here.

on my return all was ash and steaming,

© 2018, Sonja Benskin Mesher (sonja-benskin-mesher.net; Sonja Benskin Mesher, RCA paintings; sonja-benskin-mesher.co.uk; Sonjia’s daily blog (WordPress) is HERE.)


Tiptoes of Spring ~

I have found flowers
I have found flowers,
And the cool winds feel softer
Dry leaves are lifted
Waves are visible in the grass
And I know
That Nature with her sensitive ear
Hears the tender touches of, the velvet
tiptoes of Spring-

Evergreens sway to welcome, in
Murmuring whispers of youthful sprouts
Rippling away invisible woes , and I find
More flowers as loneliness fades away-

Comfort engulfs the soul and spirit as
The mind drifts away to memories
When families were together to stay-

All seasons were loved December or May
And now I find flowers but not the family
All seasons seem the same ,as joyful memory
In summer heat cool raindrops or autumnal
Falls, touches my soul, inspires the spirit-

To create fresh flowers of poetry.

© 2018, poem and photographs, Anjum Wasim Dar (Poetic Oceans)


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