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
WEDNESDAY WRITING PROMPT
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 thepoetbyday@gmail.com. These are always published for new contributors by way of introduction.
Thank you! 🙂
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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
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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.
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Hi Jamie,
Here’s my first response
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
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From Catalonia with love to this great poet’s community: https://momentsbloc.wordpress.com/2018/05/12/the-autumns-of-our-lives/
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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.
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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.
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Thank you, Paul!
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You have such a way with words!💛
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And you as well; but, thank you, sweet Imelda.
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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
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secondly….spring again!
https://sonjabenskinmesher.wordpress.com/2017/08/10/after-the-brigands-inn/
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first response….
https://sonjabenskinmesher.wordpress.com/2016/02/18/on-spring/
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Thanks Jamie
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