who are you?, a poem … & your Wednesday Writing Prompt

“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 PorchVita Brevis Literature,Compass Rose, Connotation PressThe Bar None GroupSalamander CoveSecond LightI Am Not a Silent PoetMeta / 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.”

 

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14 thoughts on “who are you?, a poem … & your Wednesday Writing Prompt

  1. 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

    Liked by 1 person

  2. 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.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. 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

    Liked by 1 person

  4. 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.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. 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.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. 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.

    Liked by 1 person

  7. 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

    Liked by 2 people

  8. 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.

    Liked by 1 person

  9. 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.

    Liked by 1 person

  10. ‘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

    Liked by 1 person

  11. . 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.

    Liked by 2 people

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