by 
“Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you’re there.
“It doesn’t matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that’s like you after you take your hands away. The difference between the man who just cuts lawns and a real gardener is in the touching, he said. The lawn-cutter might just as well not have been there at all; the gardener will be there a lifetime.” Fahrenheit 451
Her last will and testament …
in lieu of flowers
……….please impeach
for crimes against humanity:
the no-gooders
the spin-meisters
the war-mongers
the raw-dealers
the grand-standers
the self-aggrandizing
the stallers, stalkers
and sycophants
the vampires and panderers
Thank you!
Your good sense is much appreciated by the family of the deceased and the billions of worthy people who survive her.
© 2016, poem and photograph, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved
WEDNESDAY WRITING PROMPT
Let us know in poem or poems what you’d like to leave as legacy or what you’d like at your funeral in lieu of flowers?
Share your poem/s on theme or a link to it/them in the comments section below.
All poems on theme are published on the following 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 joining us for The Poet by Day, Wednesday Writing Prompt, please send a brief bio and photo to me at thepoetbyday@gmail.com to introduce yourself to the community … and to me :-). These are partnered with your poem/s on first publication.
PLEASE send the bio ONLY if you are with us on this for the first time AND only if you have posted a poem (or a link to one of yours) on theme in the comments section below.
Deadline: Monday, October 29 by 8 p.m. Pacific.
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, showcasing your work, and getting to know other poets who might be new to you. This is a discerning non-judgemental place to connect.
ABOUT
Poet and writer, I was once columnist and the 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 River Journal, The Bar None Group, Salamander Cove, Second Light, I Am Not a Silent Poet, Meta / Phor(e) /Play, and California Woman
Jamie Dedes' THE POET BY DAY Webzine 
Hello Jamie,
My third response:
The Afterthoughts
When this brain Is medically dead . will I pray I locked the door?
or made presentable by morticians knife fret I left the Box plugged in;
then lowered so others cast first soil or flame-grilled to fine urn ash tell myself I left the oven on;
(From my first chapbook”The Fabulous Invention Of Barnsley”)
or gladly leave this legacy a real reminder how I used to be.
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The Last Symphony
The melodious singing of the church choir intensifies emotions replacing tears with a melancholy joy. I am on the outside peering in the dimension I vacated a week ago. In walks the bass striding to the beat of distant drums. My reasonably long life has come to an end as I prepare to make my transition. Piano lines racing and spacing…fingers flying… harmonic overtones filling in what was. I can hear the accolades,in lieu of flowers, the resolutions that say when I took Jesus in my heart was the start of new beginnings for me. Trombone sounds announce a life supreme…the tambourine marks time. I become the wife…the mother…the grandmother I should be. I am the teacher that cares for her students working diligently to enable them to succeed. I give back to the community…working to ameliorate poverty. Blue tones…chords dissonant…syncopated rhythms inspire my march against hatred…enabling me to poetically protest ignorance…racism…fanaticism…sexism and economic discrimination in the world’s richest nation. Last message to My Country Tis of Thee…choose God not money…choose God not money…choose God not money. God is LOVE! The bass takes my hand…stepping high. A crescendo of symphonic tones fills the atmosphere for God is near. Jazz stands on the horizon beckoning. The coffin is now closed on my life.
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Hi Jamie,
Here’s my second response:
O, Lady Of The Breath (Six Vacanas)
1. You Rise
from my forest and leave
out of the gob and earth falls.
It shivers renewed,
welcomes a similar you
into my gob.
You excite my spring buds,
allow the earth to rise, again.
2. Can’t Let
you stay long in the dark,
or the earth will rot.
I can’t let you out for long,
or the earth will rot.
Let’s follow this pattern.
I’ll briefly allow you into my dark wood,
But please don’t take woodsmoke, car fumes,
coal dust, iron filings, water in with you,
else I’ll hack you out. These companions
quicken the rot.
3. Help With The
tasting snake in my cave
form the words I need to say.
Take my words out into air
loud enough for others to hear.
Please don’t say you are weak
and can’t carry such a weight.
Please don’t say I failed to welcome
enough of you into the forest.
4. My Dad Let You
in with pungent watercolours on his back,
stink of Clwyd cowpats and fresh mountain air,
but when he scraped boilers you secretly
took into his forest asbestosis strands
that speed his rot and ruin. I can’t understand
your thought in all of this
5. My Sister Threw You
out over her steering wheel,
her forest crushed by molded plastic.
She tried to welcome you back
but the wood was gone,
so you gust over her grave
under an overseeing tree.
O, my lady of the breath.
I welcome your coming and going.
6. Your Cheyne Stokes
delay before my unconscious Nanna
let you in.
I waited a minute, a 10-20
second episode of
stopped breath
suddenly her welcome
let you in
deeper and again
deeper in and out.
then delay
then delay
then delay
her welcome of you
and delay I watched seven days
until she refused your entry for good.
Gave me a legacy of breath.
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Hello Jamie,
My first response:
Silence
wears piles of shoes and bags
new white shirts never opened
charity irons
creases out of the forgotten
sometimes a relative
gives a story
in feel of used cloth
weighs time in threads
how a story continues
nothing is possessed
If you never heard
a previous owner
only shoes have tongues
fail to speak of their wearer
except in wear
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UNKNOWN TO US
She left a legacy.
A legacy of love.
That’s all it was,
Simple and pure of spirit.
She left a legacy,
A legacy of hope.
That’s all it was,
Simple and pure of heart.
She left a legacy.
A legacy of caring.
That’s all it was,
Simple and pure of mind.
She left a legacy.
-J.E.Goldie-
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Thanks Jamie
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Thanks, Jamie
Finally
I leave to each and all of you
in equal and careful measure
my love everlasting, ever new
it is my only treasure
that and hearty laughter
shared in close and distant quarter
may you hear it long after
my ashes settle in the water
when in the best of times
with family and friends
hear me in your laughing
bringing hope that knows no end
and when the time for sadness
comes into your lonely days
may the mystery of love once planted
help you navigate the waves
nothing more have I to offer
life itself could only know
those times of love and laughter
and how it made a family grow.
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Don’t Miss Me
Take our times together
and apart
as memories to savor
or not.
Don’t miss me
Take challenges for me,
Be my eyes,
Be my voice,
Be my heart,
And remember this.
We’ll never br apart
-J.E.Goldie-
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Actually We’ll never BE apart ……..
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Thanks Jamie
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Smile at Fear
Wait,
humbly,
for everything
to flow in this direction.
It’s not
a competition.
Wind and water may
want to rush past
but not when
I have created
a meandering path to draw them
around corners,
into nooks,
leaving traces of
energy.
In lieu of flowers,
please sing:
gather many
ensembles to set
the air
v i b r a t i n g.
Smile at Death
vibrantly.
Remember me
in melody.
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bud and lieu
in lieu of flowers
have a beer
or soda water
sparkled clear
or pinetop freshness
golly gosh
or kiss enmeshness
(use mouth; wash)
for when i’ve died
and journey ends
i’ll be relaxing
with my friends
who went before
and saved a seat
or barstool where
we toast, complete;
so ixnay tears
omit that flower
and raise your glass:
it’s Happy Hour.
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Thank you Jamie, and thank you Sonja. Very beautiful poems!
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..the book..
is discussed at length,
the book is bound for
nightmares. it starts
early evening. retiring
to the upper rooms
the rags are torn ready
to close, to bind his
book in definitely.
it is an inheritance.
he talked about wills,
put his head under the cover,
slept.
sbm.
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..side parting..
looking for a legacy
i find nothing / no words
no comfortable leavings
parting on the wrong side
can be painful
some hide secrets
i do not
we hope you will feel good
about pins
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Thanks Jamie
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