This is dedicated to all those people,
those who are blatantly themselves.
….[[[You know the ones I mean.]
Some, when seedlings, had family or teachers
who jabbed a finger yelling: You! You! You!
accusing them of being quintessentially themselves
. . . as though that was wrong.

They are the YOUs who come from multi-colored places
with varied dreams and
hearts woven of wonderlush
They are the womanly or manly,
childlike and wise.

They run from the gray streets to the green forest.

They take to long-lost roads and never-found pathways
with their song in a backpack and
a brown-bag lunch of no-baloney sandwiches.
When they elder they arrive back at the beginning

knowing who are they are

. . . and why.

© 2016, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved

“The moon does not fight. It attacks no one. It does not worry. It does not try to crush others. It keeps to its course, but by its very nature, it gently influences. What other body could pull an entire ocean from shore to shore? The moon is faithful to its nature and its power is never diminished.”  Everyday Tao: Living with Balance and Harmony, Ming-Dao Deng


Write a poem about being being true to ourselves, true to our inherent nature.  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.



  1. What a great theme and poem Jemmie! Here is my first response..
    #The Little Insane Atin#
    Kakali Das Ghosh

    Tramping the earthen road in a rainy morning
    through the brimming field
    walked the little insane Atin

    Kissing a puzzled infant snake in a rainy morning
    In the brimming field
    smiled the saviour little insane Atin

    Reposing the baby snake on his lap
    fetching it to home
    cherished it the little insane Atin

    Being a snake rescuer
    With painted snake tattoos over the whole body
    grew up the little insane Atin

    Making abode in the snake kingdom with hissing sounds
    playing with snakes
    rejoiced the little insane Atin

    Abiding in a world beyond our sense
    trampling an way isolated
    could love selflessly
    the little insane Atin

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Some years back,
    I packed a part (major one) of me;
    The void now left
    To fill with whatever flowed.

    Some years since,
    I let distances grow between
    parts I missed and the ones new;
    The mirror mocked,”is that really you?”

    Some months past,
    The bells rang loud and clear
    I sacrificed my self and peace some,
    To chase the dreams of someone else.

    Went back searching what was locked away,
    The yellowed photos,the dusty hopes,
    Fixed them,framed them,gave new light
    And yet the person I seeked, refused to step out.

    Neither here, nor there I feel
    Yet I like this person – mix of old and new;
    Maybe this is how it has to ideally be,
    Or perhaps I the transition is our true being.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. Playing for the Win

    I’ve never been good at playing games—
    I can’t bluff to save my life
    all that I feel is written across my face,
    so cards are out.
    And chess would not be my forte;
    I barely have the ability to see one move ahead
    much less twelve to the win.
    Monopoly, like poker, and chess,
    requires certain skills,
    none of which I possess.
    No, my life is more like Snakes and Ladders
    a mix of skill and chance, good and bad,
    of climbing and slipping back again.
    How many times have I ended up where I’ve begun
    —falling back to square one?
    I can only hope when the game is complete
    that the good will outweigh the bad
    that I will find the salvation that awaits
    those who persist.

    Ginny Brannan

    Liked by 2 people

  4. Hi Jamie,
    Here’s my first response.

    EVER Themsens
    Tow their own barra.

    Have no truck wi anyone elses.
    Not beholden to no one.

    Learnt early only themsens
    Is reliable, can be trusted.

    If they ever do ought for free
    It’s allus for themsens.

    Keep their own counsel.
    Quiet as a muffler with a flat cap on it.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. White shirt

    I am passing by at dusk
    in a white shirt.
    I am looking sidelong
    in the boiled soil
    the growth so wild
    of yellow flowers.
    I do not know
    what Evil is
    (“Flowers of Evil” –
    how did you guess which ones they were?
    Oh, Baudelaire!) .
    I do not know,
    what Good is
    (in His name
    I swear) .
    And I am passing on again so distant,
    again in a white shirt…

    In an endless sorrow.

    Liked by 3 people

    1. Lovely! Since this will be your first time, please send me a sort bio and – if you’re comfortable, a photo so that I can introduce you to everyone next Tuesday. Welcome to Wednesday Writing Prompt. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  6. boy howdy

    his pockets are lumpy. heavy. marbles
    and a little money, a golf pencil,
    bent feathers, string,
    something for luck, something
    metal lying on a canal bank,
    and much more
    he cannot remember
    fifty-eight years later.
    what he does remember
    is emptying those pockets,
    marveling at the quantity
    and variety of that boystuff,
    and gloating over it.

    some went into a drawer of treasure,
    some got thrown out,
    some got spent,
    and one thing was held up to the light
    and found miraculous.

    remenbering, the man
    looks at the surface of his drawing table,
    so cluttered, so discoverable,
    and knows the boy

    Liked by 6 people

  7. Wow. Words to read many more times today; I feel like you wrote a poem about me, and I’m sure many more people feel that you’ve used a magical telescope to look down the passageway that has been your young selves

    Liked by 2 people

  8. . admission of guilt .

    perhaps it was the weakness,
    brought on with aspic jelly,
    perhaps the truthfulness
    that lives inside me.

    i admitted it was me, and in
    the confusion babbled and fought
    embarassment. it is truthful
    and honest work i do each day,
    yet i am discovered now.

    secrets will come out, lies will catch
    you some day, they do say.

    he was a nice man, who explained,
    who takes photographs. I will leave
    him gifts.


    Liked by 3 people

Thank you!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s