by 
“Be yourself. Everyone else is taken.” Oscar Wilde
Are you the person you inherited from your parents
or the one you bequeath to your children?
Did you have to break the mirror]
[open fresh eyes?
Your heart is not shattered,
though sometimes it feels that way.
The cells of your body are separate
but collaborative and reciprocal.
Your sight is lighted
by the ground of being, but . . .
the question remains
who]
[are you?
Caught between the generations,
their different cultures,
perspectives, values.
Their expectations are at odds
and the older made promises
the younger could never keep
Change
[ever with you,
in you]
[as you
Your spiritual tectonics shifting
who]
[are you?
© 2013 poem (revised 2018), Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved
WEDNESDAY WRITING PROMPT
Who are you? How have you grown from your original programing? What have you found worthy and held onto? What have you had to modify or let go of? Have your children fulfilled the promises your parents made? Has family history fulfilled its promise? Maybe there were some delightful surprises. Maybe there was a lot of dysfunction. How were you changed? Tells us with your poetry.
Share your poem/s on theme or a link to it/them in the comments section below.
All poems shared on theme will be published next Tuesday. Please do NOT email your poem to me or leave it on Facebook. If you do it’s likely I’ll miss it or not see it in time.
IF this is your first time participating in The Poet by Day, Wednesday Writing Prompt, please send a brief bio and photo to me at thepoetbyday@gmail.com in order to introduce yourself to the community … and to me :-). These will be partnered with your poem/s on first publication.
Deadline: Monday, July 9 at 8 p.m. PDT.
Anyone may take part Wednesday Writing Prompt, no matter the status of your career: novice, emerging or pro. It’s about exercising the poetic muscle, sharing your work, and getting to know other poets who might be new to you. This is a discerning nonjudgemental place to connect.
ABOUT
Poet and writer, I was once columnist and associate editor of a regional employment publication. Currently I run this site, The Poet by Day, an information hub for poets and writers. I am the managing editor of The BeZine published by The Bardo Group Beguines (originally The Bardo Group), a virtual arts collective I founded. I am a weekly contributor to Beguine Again, a site showcasing spiritual writers.
My work is featured in a variety of publications and on sites, including: Levure littéraure, Ramingo’s Porch, Vita Brevis Literature,Compass Rose, Connotation Press, The Bar None Group, Salamander Cove, Second Light, I Am Not a Silent Poet, Meta / Phor(e) /Play, and California Woman.
My poetry was recently read by Northern California actor Richard Lingua for Poetry Woodshed, Belfast Community Radio. I was featured in a lengthy interview on the Creative Nexus Radio Show where I was dubbed “Poetry Champion.”
Jamie Dedes' THE POET BY DAY Webzine 
My first response dear Jamie :
#Rejoinder Of The Mirror #
” Who am I? ”
Sprouting from my mother’s womb
I’m here to you ,
I belong to my parents like you ;
Is it enough for my identity ?
Then why I’m an escaped from hustle of all sounds ?
Then why I’m traversing a lonesome peak
Where the first ray of sun lights my heart ?
Then comes my child -part of my corpus ,
Entangling my all .
Time rotates -he finds out his own world ,
Then that query chases me asking-
“Who are you ?”
Approaching to a mirror my query goes ,
” Who am I ? ”
The mirror replies laughingly –
“you are the one with your own view-own judgement -own love -own passion and own perseverance .
You are not just a body evolving from genetic materials ,
Rather a heart -a spirit laid in the cluster of atoms
Of your own physique ;
Your footsteps on this earth
will fade with you ,
Just colors of your composition would subsist for ages . ” ;
But still I think ,
“Who am I ?”
© Kakali Das Ghosh
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whodunit
i at six
questioned the baskin-robbins ice cream pricing.
they wanted ten cents
for a cone with one scoop,
twenty for a cone with two scoops,
thirty for one with three.
why would anyone buy the three-scooper
when they could get three ones at the same price
and get two extra sugar cones?
i at seventeen
kissed the most splendid creature in the universe.
that was most of my life ago.
only two times since
have i been that happy.
i at twenty-one
crossed the finish line
at the 1984 San Francisco marathon.
my friend waiting there
asked me how i felt.
with my first breath i said,
truthfully,
“i feel terrible!!”
with my second breath i said,
truthfully,
“i feel great!!!”
at thirty-five i saw
the top of my newborn’s head
bookended by my poor then wife’s skull-tightened flesh.
today at sixty-three
I feel accursed by congestion of the nose
and blessed by what the day
promises.
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Jamie –
You have offered us another thoughtful and beautiful piece. Thank you.
my response:
Self Search
I am not
myself
or the you
you were looking for.
parents with unfinished dreams
pour into new life
their old ones
friends looking for a place
to belong / to rest
seek you in their
desires
lovers needing love
to restore / affirm
embrace a possibility
without attaching
reality
I myself
only have myself
for moments
before transmuting
to another self
contained within
an aging, forgetting
mind and body
forgetting what it knew
where muscle
was held tight
and who
I was
supposed
to be
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I’m pleased to know that, Debbie. Thank you for saying so and thank you for your poem. Always wise.
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The Light Toy-Railway
The light toy-railway is traveling,
with the kids who aren’t anymore.
To Paris, to Brussels is traveling,
to the Black Africa too.
The light toy-railway is grieving,
for the fawn’s steps under Christmas tree,
for the luster in the eyes and
ah, for the toys.
For the Blue Bird, for the white photos,
for the hand that is putting the little star.
For the dream that’s coming true.
The light toy-railway is traveling.
Traveling.
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Hi Jamie, my first response. Hope you like it!
The Creation
The radiant Sun rises,
Former black, empty shadows,
Reformed. Full. Colourful.
Exploding, popping, intriguing –
Spellbinding to Everyone.
Myself, mystified, bewildered, bemused…As it
Transformed, singular to plural, a whole
Intertwining of emotions,
Heart to heart throbbing, pulsing, pounding
Throughout our minds, bodies and souls.
The portrait of perfection before me;
An artist (unique) skilled to create a
Masterpiece.
By the Hand of God you breathe
The sweet succulent scent of hope and desire,
Humble (curious) as the spring bee I am drawn
Naturally my starving eyes feast.
Feeling of uncertainty and disbelief evaporate as
Real fireworks of emotion form and take over –
Controlling and honing the skies of senses to One;
With which the Moon rises to
Shadows now revealed, open and completely aware.
Alongside the vast peace and utter calm
I stand, wholly joined with
Love, hand in hand, heart to heart with
You.
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See it published next Tuesday. 👌👍 Don’t forget to email me a photo and short bio. 😀
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Hi Jamie,
Here is my second response:
Our Identity
is unnecessary. Don’t
haul around the weight
Of what you are.
I am not defined by my roles,
Husband, grandfather, son, brother.
I am not defined by my choices
Whether to help others or not.
I not classified, regulated, defined
In law, financial position or clump
of negative biases. I am not programmed
from birth to contribute.
I am not what I say I am not.
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Hi Jamie,.
My second response:
Trace back
through father’s asbestos boiler lungs
a glaziers eye,
a solicitors assistant’s discretion
a linen merchants fingers
a hotelier’s welcome
a linen merchants touch
a coal merchants aroma
a farmer’s tread
he walk towards me
short coated in sky blue
a waterman of the River Wytham
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What a wonderful poem, Jamie. It captures the major question we face as the world around us changes and the body we live in starts declining with age and disease. It makes me think of the wonderful music from Fiddler on the Roof.
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Yes indeed! Fiddler is the perfect connection. Hadn’t thought of it but you’re right, Pat. Thank you. Happy 4th. Becwell.
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Hi Jamie,
He here’s my first response:
I Am Not My Dad
“I can’t cope with babies.”
says my Dad.
“Now you’re nine I can talk to you.”
He wants me to play board
or card games, or build
Airfix Golden Hind,
I’d rather read or draw.
He does not know
how to step into my shoes.
My two year old granddaughter
on my knee we sing nursery rhymes.
She makes me a cup of tea
with her wooden cups, saucers,
and teapot. I drink the tea,
munch on her wooden pizza,
toast and tomatoes.
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‘Head Above Water: A Swimmer’s Perspective’.
Metaphorically, i have spent much of my life, keeping my head above water.
Dealing with life facts and disappointments, not forgetting the quiet times to help the work along
I lived on the coast, played by the sea
As a child, I floated gently until all became spongey. Now I swim head above water, up and down obsessively counting, hoping all will come clear..
Friends in water talk more, baring much, reflecting their clothing
I am drawn to water, my work reflective. Writing, swimming, painting, drawing.
I collect cuttings of people in water.
“a diary, a personal relationship with the landscape.
“Shoreline would be more an exploration of the concept….shorelines more related to actual examples…..how about that?
Shoreline…..an ever-changing interface……between 2 media…..2
worlds…..can be crossed in both directions, but only temporarily?……but
aren’t we only here because something had the courage to cross
permanently…..something emerging from the sea is such a powerful
image….turtles, ursula andress in dr. no, monsters from the deep…..and
why do we find it such an attractive place to be
xx salty”
sbm
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. i am the pin .
:: a book of pins :: handwritten, copied in a day.
the drawing, the written page.
i am paint and cotton
i am pins and details
codes and reasons
calm and seasons.
i am boxes, charcoal,
fires and birds.
i am hand writing.
i am the old house,
all things considered.
i am the joker, the radio,
the music.
i am four dots.
i am the folded page,
the falling face.
i am the picture, the painting,
i am the mouse, the little bird,
a monstrous woman.
i am a word document, a picture file.
i am the pin.
sbm.
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