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

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

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

A Heady Burnt

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)


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)



  1. Good responses Jamie. Marta Salle’s visited my site recently and was asking if I was a distant relative of Salvador Espriu and I said most likely as the surname is rare. It is good you always have new writers drop by. There isn’t an accent mark so used an apostrophe in her name. I also have an accent mark in my first name but keyboards are limited things as you know. Hope you are well.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. More changes are coming next year. I will be moving in with my daughter and at some point putting a tiny abode on her property. I will be parting ways with my partner but it has been agreed upon mutually so all is well. Lots of things to do in the coming months. Hope you are settled into your new digs also and are staying well.

        Liked by 1 person

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