hero of the practicalities, a poem … and your Wednesday Writing Prompt


What can I tell you?
She loved the guy …
She even loved the
scent of whiskey and cigarettes
She took note of the clues
warning of devises and vices
that she’d never acquired
She didn’t care
He was charming

Coupled in delicate balance
A yin and yang of extremes
An odd marriage of differences,
fog being the common denominator ~
though his drink didn’t mix well with her
off-in-the-clouds-somewhere being
The accountant of just-the-facts ma’am
and the writer of improbable dreams
She was a trial

The bear who liked to escape to the woods,
nonetheless some comfort, a decent person
A hero of the practicalities
A maker of omelets and fixer of things
A reader, a gardener ~ An Angry Man

Anger . . .
. . . read pain
but you probably knew that ~
a pain that waltzed with Jack Daniels,
lent itself to long diatribes and
Pilsner-inspired pontifications
It skied through the veins
Built road-blocks to his heart ~
and in the end . . .
in the end
in the end
the pain did him in
…..That lost man
That well-meaning, decent
distant, funny, lost man

© 2013, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved


WEDNESDAY WRITING PROMPT

Marriage and other relationships can be difficult, beautiful or mixed. Tell us about that. If you feel comfortable, leave your work or a link to it in the comments section. All poems shared on theme will be published in next Tuesday’s poetry collection. You have until Monday night, 8:30 p.m. PST to respond.


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18 thoughts on “hero of the practicalities, a poem … and your Wednesday Writing Prompt

  1. Delivery

    The dark and fire
    of the linotype and the roar
    of the press were safe for her,
    more than the house, plastic-
    covered from lampshades to floors.

    At home, nothing was ever finished,
    mute dishes dirtied themselves,
    yolks broke in the skillet,
    shirts weighted the end
    of the ironing board.

    She had nothing to prove
    to men who thought they owned
    the secrets of melted lead.
    She knew the language of em and en;
    she could read upside-down.

    At home, my father’s mood
    could tip the day,
    luminous floors becoming
    ominous, two silent children
    eating her mistakes.

    Work meant
    achievement, putting words
    to lead, to ink, to bed.
    Newspapers of two small towns
    passed through her hands
    from formation
    in cooled lead slugs
    to inky rollers, to birth
    off the end of the press,
    delivery.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Marriage of two minds

    Mind-reading in marriage is somewhat unpredictable. The other day, we were sitting in front of the TV, and I wanted my husband to get me some dessert. It took me at least 2 minutes of focused thought before he said, “shall we have some ice cream?” Yet, a few days later, while he was three miles away at the grocery store, I thought, “I wish I had some chocolate,” and when he came home, he handed me a bar of milk chocolate. Mind-reading seems to work best with food, but even after 20 years, it’s not infallible. I would have preferred dark chocolate.
    Because we each grew up speaking a different language, mind-reading comes in handy when our vocabulary fails us. It’s quite normal for our dinner conversation to go something like this: “can you pass the…” “donde está el…” “next time we go to the tienda, hay que comprar…”
    This is not to say that we think alike. In fact, the list of things on which we disagree is much longer than those on which we agree. This may be confusing for people who think that in marriage “two become one.” I’ve often been horrified by people’s assumptions that one of us can express the opinion of both. Especially if that opinion isn’t mine!

    Liked by 1 person

      1. No worries. If you’d like it included that’s fine. I’ll do it. I see a poem coming up as well. Since it’s your irst time with this, I’ll need a photo (if you’re comfortable) and a brief bio. Send it to me at thepoetbyday@gmail.com and welcome to Wednesday Writing Prompt. Delighted to have you.

        Like

  3. that moment

    when I said – this symphony
    is so full of beautiful tunes
    which just go on and on

    you smiled such a caressingly
    honest smile that I sensed
    the light of your Being
    touching mine (mine yours)

    I expected the moment
    to last forever

    From my ‘Years Later’ (2016)

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Third response

    ..aside..

    i cannot live through
    stagnant water,
    i need oxygene
    to survive this life,

    to swim in clear
    utter glory,
    natures sweetest potion,
    float among lilied notions

    and live readily.

    rancid pools a bitter
    marriage make,
    yellow scum upriver,
    comes down reminding
    sleepless nights
    and half remembering.

    running water or amnesia?

    sbm.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Hi Jamie,

    Here’s my third response:

    Her Forgetting Him

    Steve says his wife often
    comes into their bedroom
    and says “Where’s Steve?”

    And he says to her.
    “I’m here love. We’ve
    been married forty years.”
    And she says,
    “Of course you are. We have.”
    And she laughs.
    “How did we first
    get together?”

    At the end of the next day,
    when they’ve been out
    to the shops and visiting
    old friends she’ll say,
    “What have we done today,
    Steve?” And she remembers
    none of it.

    At mealtimes she picks
    up her knife and fork
    and holds them very close
    to her glazed eyes.

    Holds them
    like javelins to eat
    her meal.

    (II)

    You’ve stolen them.
    Haven’t you?”
    “Stolen what, love?”
    “You know what.
    Look?”

    She shows him her
    fingers, and he sees
    they are no longer fat
    but thin to the bone.

    “Come on,love.
    They must have dropped off.
    I’ll help you look for them.”
    He offers.
    “In the place you’ve hid
    them. I bet. I know
    your game, Steve.
    I’m wise to you.”

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Hi Jamie,

    Here’s my second response:

    Married

    comes home
    atter long day at work
    to find his lass
    lugged art on lounger
    in back garden

    “a thort this is where ad find thee.”
    he says.

    “aye”, she says ” and friggin’ fairies
    came art an hung all this, you grate
    pillock!”

    as she points to three lines
    o’ washin hung art

    *****

    ‘ome from shoppin’
    his lass says ‘look what a bought.’
    “temple balm. Where’s temple
    rahnd ‘ere?”

    she points to her crows feet

    “a bow darn to them then.”
    he says.

    “tha will when a black thee eyes”
    she says.

    Liked by 1 person

  7. Jamie, I’m sorry I’m so often involved, but the themes are exciting.

    Arriva*

    We do not know each other.
    The fog is carving the ghostly
    silhouettes of houses, people
    and hopes.
    And like a sound the hand is –
    a semitone of the scream
    of seagulls “Arriva … Arriva”
    Nothing is coming.
    Nothing has come.
    I am trying to breathe –
    in a time beyond.
    In the gardens of the cascades
    before the dawn and after the rain.
    We do not know each other.
    You’ve melted in the sun,
    a sun in the fog
    and you’ve never been here.
    The paper remembers some passed
    sounds come from the outer
    world – Arriva.

    In our eyes we are burning.

    *Arriva (ital)-arrives

    Liked by 1 person

  8. Hi Jamie,

    Here is my first response:

    The Brandished Knife

    One

    A Filey clairvoyant:

    “You will meet the Right Man

    and know it in two years time.

    His name begins with,

    I can’t quite distinguish

    a P or B or R.”

    Well, I’d had a Bernard and Paul.

    I feel sorry for Ray
    tells me his fat
    girlfriend just sits
    around house,

    no housework.
    He prepares all meals.
    She just sits
    reading Mills and Boon.

    drinks and sleeps
    Never together when out.
    She with her friends, he with his.

    He goes out,
    returns she’s brandishing a knife,
    interrogates him

    where he’s been.
    He is a designer
    witty with it.

    Manager at my workplace
    he sends me a picture
    of an American Indian

    with palm up
    and five statements on how
    we should get together.

    How did he know
    the guardian angel who appears
    bottom of my bed
    is a North American Indian?

    Two

    I ask
    “Why haven’t you moved out?”
    He says
    “When my last marriage broke up
    my wife got house and everything
    and my girlfriend won’t move out.”
    He makes sense.

    I want a boyfriend with either
    motorbike or a landrover.
    He’s just sold his bike.

    Landrover is soft topped.
    Takes me and Ben out walking
    to Dark Peak.

    We enjoy pictures rather than
    words.
    He makes meals for the family.

    My friends said if my last husband
    turns up Ray
    would not hesitate to lay him out.

    We spend evenings planning places
    things we can do, together.
    He smokes
    socially when he drinks, like me.

    Suddenly,
    Christmas he moves in.

    On way out to a Parents evening
    at Ben’s school I tell him
    “We’ll talk when I return.”
    On return I find all drink gone

    him crashed out drunk in my bed.
    In morning he says
    “Please forgive me.”

    Over the next month we go out
    hold hands, and are gentle
    down by the bridge while Ben plays
    ahead with our dog.

    Three

    Over next month he fills my
    wardrobes with his clothes
    my shelves with his CD’s.

    Then I notice
    him going to pub straight after
    work returns home crashes

    out to sleep.

    He works drinks sleeps.

    Comes from work after pub
    says he’s tired,
    sleeps rest of night.

    I wait for him downstairs.

    I sit alone in house on an evening
    or when he is in
    he gawps at TV in bedroom.

    He does not let me to go
    out with my friends.

    We go out again after I have words.
    Two weeks later he is back
    drunk and sleeping again.

    On few occasions we go out
    he leaves me on my own
    he spends evening talking
    to a biker or someone at bar.

    I talk to his fat girlfriend Sophie.
    She’d been holding a knife
    because she was cutting veg
    as she always did

    preparing meals for him while he
    went out and got drunk.
    He catches me talking to her

    says
    “Don’t believe her, she’s a liar. She’ll say
    anything to get me back with her.”

    Tells me all the girls at work
    are after him.
    I talk to them.

    They wouldn’t touch him.
    He promises me he’ll not go drinking
    starts excuses when I smell it on
    his breath.

    I tell him so.
    I say
    “I’ll go to a counselling session with you.”

    He’s having none of it.
    His tears when I phone him at local
    pub and tell him

    “Your stuffs in the driveway.”
    Down on his knees he is,
    tears and moans, begging me to

    reconsider.
    He says
    “Your right in everything you say.

    I’m at fault and I’ll change.”
    He is really suffering.
    I nearly break

    but people never change.

    I meet him a month or two later while out with my mates.

    He comes in pub.
    Sends one of his mates over to me
    “Ray wants a private word”

    I say
    “Whatever Ray has to say he can say while my mates are present.”

    Anyway he comes over.
    I ask
    “How’s Sophie?”

    he tells me
    “Eff off!”

    I feel nothing.

    Mark is the man for me,
    but he is married
    and she is kind.

    I have known the family for ten years now.
    It is only recently I admit to myself I love Mark.

    I would not hurt their kids .
    I have seen them settle down
    round meal table of an evening.

    I come home, collapse on sofa
    and cry for I know we would be good together.

    I want to settle down.
    For a time with Ray I forget about Mark.

    Ray never knew about him.
    I see Mark less.

    I will not move from this cul de sac
    because I feel safe with Mark down the road

    and the fabulous view of the moors.
    Perhaps because I love Mark I find it difficult
    to love anyone else.

    I’ll keep looking.

    Liked by 1 person

  9. Second verse….

    ðɛːˈbʌɪ/

    the importance of a partner/no partner.

    answer me ?

    when all around is singing,

    why silence this?

    the importance of anything

    is relative, do not place

    a value on something

    that is not important.

    ðɛːˈbʌɪ/ unimportant.

    broaden the world.

    sbm.

    Liked by 1 person

  10. Thanks Jamie….first response.

    . humming gently .

    quietly humming here,

    from the hum book,

    still thinking on that river.

    flowing hard today, peat black,

    down from the valley above,

    rain soaked

    turbulent, dark current blind,

    yet silvered edged

    to paddle.

    disappointed at the madog flow,

    tiding edging in , brought a yellow scum,

    like badness in a marraige.

    i hum in the dusk

    at the pity of

    of bandages through eyes

    that cannot see

    **( notes i cannot tag here) and if i could, who would you see?

    small edges,

    the voiced pledges.

    Liked by 1 person

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