morning, the pale yellow sun spilling
its radiance, slower to blossom and
faster to fade into twilight obscurity

wind, migrating from other climes,
bruising itself back-handed against
my windowpane, reminding me of rain
and easy breathing and the bliss and
vigor of shorter days, the hint of chill
and autumn promises in one dry leaf

© 2018, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved


After the weight of last week’s prompt, I thought I’d do something light this week.  Although the summer heat isn’t upon us yet in Northern California, I know it’s coming and I’m already longing for fall. What is your favorite time of year? Why? Perhaps it’s not the weather that makes it your fave but traditions: holidays, birthdays, vacation … Tell us in a poem.

Leave your poem/s or a link to it/them in the comments section below. All poems shared on theme will be published here next Tuesday. You are encouraged to join with us no matter the status of your career: novice, emerging or pro. It’s about the love of reading and writing poetry, sharing your work, exercising the writing muscle and getting to know poets who may be new to you. You have until Monday evening, May 14 at 8:00 pm PDT to respond.

If this is your first time participating in The Poet by Day Wednesday Writing Prompt, please send a short bio (NOT your poetry) and a photograph to  These are always published for new contributors by way of introduction.

Thank you! 🙂



  1. Hi Jamie,

    Here’s my third response:

    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

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Hi Jamie,

    My second response:

    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.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Thank you again, Jamie, it is a pleasure to participate in this lovely exchange of poems. I feel truly welcomed and cannot find any better words to express my gratitude.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. 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.

    Liked by 2 people

  4. the longhot

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

    i was a long distance runner
    of the mind
    that i could not miss a day
    i had to run
    at least a mile
    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
    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

    Liked by 3 people

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