I have been searching
Old Woman
and I find her
in
mySelf
Daughters of Copper Woman, Ann Cameron
In case you haven’t noticed, I’m beautiful now,
beautiful in ways I never was in callow youth …
On fire now with the violet fire of soul speak,
treading a lighter path with a brighter spirit.
·
Sparking pink tourmaline, green jade, amethyst.
Blue sapphire flashing through the cloud of my being,
shooting stars in a cobalt sky of my heart.
I shed the pyrite, lead, hematite, the heavy, the dross.
Lost in a whisper of indigo dreams,
like a gray sparrow feather –
I float through Eternity,
a fragile-strong willow-wisp of joy.
·
In case you haven’t noticed, I am beautiful now,
beautiful in the way of all young women in that
once-upon-a-time when they were old.
© 2019, Jamie Dedes; photograph Beautiful Old Lady from Darap (Sikkim) Village courtesy of Sukanto Debnath from Hyderabad, India under licensed Creative CommonsAttribution 2.0 Generic.
WEDNESDAY WRITING PROMPT
An old poem shared today, somewhat rewritten in honor of the soon-to-be celebration of my sixty-ninth year. I may be a minority, but I find old-age gratifying. It some ways, life is easier and things are certainly clearer than they’ve ever been. How about you? What are your thoughts on aging? Tell us in your poem/s.
Share them on theme in the comments section below or leave a link to it/them. All poems on theme are published on next Tuesday.
No poems submitted through email or Facebook will be published.
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, February 11 by 8 pm standard.
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.
You are welcome – encouraged – to share your poems in a language other than English but please accompany it with a translation into English.
ABOUT
Poet and writer, I was once columnist and associate editor of a regional employment publication. I currently 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.”
The BeZine: Waging the Peace, An Interfaith Exploration featuring Fr. Daniel Sormani, Rev. Benjamin Meyers, and the Venerable Bhikkhu Bodhi among others
“What if our religion was each other. If our practice was our life. If prayer, our words. What if the temple was the Earth. If forests were our church. If holy water–the rivers, lakes, and ocean. What if meditation was our relationships. If the teacher was life. If wisdom was self-knowledge. If love was the center of our being.” Ganga White, teacher and exponent of Yoga and founder of White Lotus, a Yoga center and retreat house in Santa Barbara, CA
“Every pair of eyes facing you has probably experienced something you could not endure.” Lucille Clifton
I’m Not Done Yet by Julie Standig
I lost my ovaries a week ago:
no, they were not misplaced,
like my keys, cell phone and eye
glasses. They were unruly
so, like that bad student years ago,
they were removed. Don’t miss ‘em.
Don’t need ‘em.
Heads no longer turn when I walk
down the street,and when I meet
my daughter on Columbus, the waiter
barely takes my order, but quickly
knows to hand me the cheque.
I expect it.
I’m the oldest woman at work.
My earrings don’t hang as long,
my heels are not too high,
and my hair is quite short.
I wear pants, and if they’re tight
is more around the waist.
But I love nights filled with music,
wine and friends. Amber necklaces
and oversized rings that still slide
over my knuckles.
Words are comrades, still, and so far
they have not deserted me.
The lines around my mouth and
creases at my eyes, I wear like medals.
Not for bravery, or a war that was won.
I can’t win this war and I know it.
I have lost, I miss, yet I have no regrets.
Beware.
I’m not done yet.
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https://poeticoceans.wordpress.com/2019/02/11/for-the-poet-by-day-wednesday-writing-prompt-age-is-an-unknown-thing/
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Hello Jamie! I have a few responses to your prompt this week. One new poem and two older ones. Here is the newest one:
https://iidorun.wordpress.com/2019/02/10/chive-on-a-limerick/
This is another short fun haiku about getting grey hair:
https://iidorun.wordpress.com/2018/09/10/fighting-age/
This one one is more somber. I wrote it for my parents, a take on seeing them age:
https://iidorun.wordpress.com/2018/09/09/details/
I can’t remember if I have posted the latter two for your prompts previously (I blame the poor memory on growing older! 😂😂). Feel free to disregard them if so!
Hope you had a good week! ~ Irma
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Come,
see me now.
I am, the wind in your sails
when storms cause you fear,
I am, the love on your skin
when complexion gives in,
I am strength in your bones
as your bones become thin,
You will know me by sight
when your sight isn’t clear,
When darkness is near,
You will deny any fear.
I am the warmth
of your Sun.
and the light
of your Moon.
I am everything
you know,
I am everything
you knew
Who am I?
I am you.
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And you see this as connected with aging how, Jen?
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We don’t consider aging when we’re young. The point is we should and we should respect the process. Take a look, “This will be you” “See me now”. Perhaps I misunderstood.
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I’m sorry it was too subtle I guess. I wanted to connect aging with youth. Guess I missed the boat.
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It’s fine. Trouble concentrating today.
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Lovely, and you kept me guessing until the very end.
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Thank you, Mike.
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Thank you so much. I’ve had a rough few days. Not a happy few. Sleep was my refugue and writing. I was overly sensitive. Thank you. 🌹
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No worries. Feel better.
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Beautiful!
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Thank you so much. It was a difficult write at a not so happy time. 🌼
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Well, you did it very successfully.
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Thank you Marta
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You are very kindly welcome, Jen.
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Girl, my little pearl
Girl, my little pearl
you swirl in golden waters
when you wear the highest heels
when you show your slim body
when you put on that lovely dress
when you wear that perfect make-up
when you exhibit those expensive earrings
when your fingers and toe nails are so carefully painted
when you completely remove all your hairs
(except those on your head)
when your hair is dyed accordingly
(never forget to dye it when you grow older,
you should always look younger)
Girl, my little pearl
you still want to swirl in goldern waters
when you exhibit those piercings and tattoos
though they are not still enough,
so you will want to have some more, perhaps
some botox and breast size operations too.
And girl little pearl says:
I do not want to wear high heels,
they’ll ruin my feet and back forever.
I was not born with a slim body so
why should I want to have it?
I do not want to wear that lovely dress,
it’s terribly uncomfortable, unpractical,
has no pockets and it’s too cold now,
so why should I wear it?
I do not want that make-up made of chemicals affecting my health.
They always want to sell
and so they never tell.
The same with nail polish. I do not want it
unless I buy these things at the organic shop
just in case I changed my mind.
I do not have earholes for earrings.
Why does almost every girl have them
to mark their gender as soon as they’re born?
My mum has those earholes and wore once
some unexpensive pair of earrings, bad metal,
and ended up with red skin, red spots and allergy.
No, I do not want earholes to mark my gender differentiation.
I want to choose if I want them or not when I grow up.
As for my hair and its natural color,
I am perfectly satisfied, well, perhaps
some streaks to highlight a bit of color
together with shades of greys and whites.
I want to look my age, why younger?
I am getting older and have grey hairs.
So what? Will I be less of a woman
if I don’t dye my hair anymore?
I refuse irreversible things
like piercings and tattoos.
Some other women and men
may like them very much.
Perhaps they’ve been the luckiest ones
who had no health problems so far
after piercings and tattoos
marked their bodies
forever.
I do not want this on my body
I do not want to be obsessed by esthetics
I do not want to do something just because
it’s fashion, everyone does it.
I do not want to be who I am not
I want to be myself
I want to be appreciated for who I am.
And if somebody wants to love me
I’ll say, please, look first at my inside
and then you’ll be able to decide.
I am no girl, little pearl
to swirl in golden waters
I am simply who I want to be
now you just take me or leave.
(c) Marta Pombo Sallés
(link to this poem on blog: https://momentsbloc.wordpress.com/2019/02/05/girl-my-little-pearl/)
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“A Dying Light”
(Raanana, July 14, 2017)
Once when your light was at its zenith
We could see the possibilities of poetry
And now, and now,
Your light is swollen and bloodred
As it sinks below the crags of the far horizon
We would not venture to explore,
But even in the dying of your light
And the cold night that it portends,
You show us the way we all must tread
Through dreaded mindscape
That leads us lemminglike to fall free
Through the nothingness of nonexistence.
Though you would bid me follow you
Showing me the beauty here
Or the danger there,
You can only point at them
For words have deserted you,
Adjectives no longer describe
Nouns no longer are
Verbs no longer act,
And time itself was ever only deceit.
(c) Mike Stone
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“Retirement”
(Raanana, April 30, 2017)
We sat at the kitchen table
The two of us as we did most evenings
Her eyes tear-brimmed.
I reached over and touched her arm
Why? I asked although I knew.
She had retired just a few months back
But I had kept on working
Til now.
We’ll turn into a couple of old people
It’s the last chapter of our lives, she said.
Both of us turned around and looked at Daisy
Snoring softly from her mattress
As she does most days now.
Neither of us could imagine life without her
But I sensed my wife’s sadness
Spilling and spreading out towards me
And I promised her
Wherever we’d go
We’d go together hand in hand
Til time’s far-flung end.
(c) Mike Stone
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😢
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Lovely!
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“Wisdom”
(Raanana, April 4, 2017)
And in the end
They’re right, you know,
The Hindus and the Buddhists:
All life is illusion
Cut adrift from the shores of reality
With a logic of its own
Like the shells on the beach
That my mother remembering
When she was a little girl
Picked up and put to her ear
And heard the sea in them.
This was the wisdom they talked about
Sitting around the fires
Toothless grins under a full moon,
A wisdom that is not a wisdom,
At all.
(c) Mike Stone
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Mike I love this one! “A wisdom that is not a wisdom at all.” I could quote the entire poem. Beautiful, Thank you.🌹
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Thank you Jen!
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👍😊
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Scorched Bones
Gathering thoughts
of remembrance
Time stood still.
My kind eyes
Muddied by a world
Full of hate,
We see everyday.
This is not
Where I want to be
This is not
What I want to see.
My gentle, trusting
Nature being worn
Away by the news
The confusion I see.
This is not
Where I want to be
This is not
What I want to see.
Beauty dying In front
of me not naturally
But gradually, and
strategically on course.
This is not
Where I want to be
This is not
What I want to see.
I and my friends
losing Grace, misplaced
Days dwindling by
Shortening time.
This is not where
I want to be
This is not what
I want to see.
Gone is the wonder
Gone is the trace of
Smiles erupting
on this aging face.
This is not where
I want to be
This is not what
I want to see.
God give me grace.
When the loving warmth
Of the final fire
scorches my bones.
This is not where
I want to be
This is not what
I want to see.
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Thank you Jamie ❤🌼
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“Trembling Hands”
(Raanana, October 8, 2016)
My hands,
I look at them now
Trembling
As they are wont to do
And I wonder why
They do,
My hands.
My father’s hands trembled too,
More toward the end,
How I loved them,
His hands.
I think maybe they know something I don’t know,
My hands,
That starlight trembles in the night
From distance and the coldness of it,
That strings on violins tremble
From Sheherazade’s beauty,
Or remind me how my vulnerability
Lets me listen to your heartbeat.
O captain, my captain,
Perhaps your hand upon the wheel
Trembled before the port that was your destination.
(c) Mike Stone
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Love this one!
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This poem gives me echoes of Walt Whitman’s “Oh Captain! My Captain!”
It kind of bears the same emotional intensity.
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I intended that as a respectful reference to Whitman’s powerful poem with a loving twist to tie it in with my poem about my father, who was my “captain, O captain”.
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Well, it is just beautiful how you have done it.
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“Little Things”
(Raanana, January 3, 2019)
The desert hills behind me
The white-flecked sea in front of me
Clouds roiling on the horizon
A chill wind shivers old bones.
That’s when the clementines are best
And a steaming cup of mud-black coffee.
The sky is golden just before dusk,
What more could one ask for?
My hands age while I watch,
I suppose, like everything else here.
Slowly,
It’s hard to tell,
If you don’t pay much mind,
Little things
Get subtracted from your life
Until there’s not much left
But I guess it’s simpler
To keep track of
What’s important
And what’s dying.
(c) Mike Stone
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A beautiful poem, Jamie! I’ll look for some poems I’ve written on aging.
Mike
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The Tallest Tree
Graying hairs, and
Weakened bones
Could snap as the fragile
Aging branches
Of the tallest tree.
I am now as tall
As I’ll ever be.
Time is mine to keep.
My eyes have opened
Though I can hardly see,
my limbs have
taken me the distance
and no longer carry me.
I am wind and I am sea,
The heavens tenderly
Beckon me,
My arms are open.
Please
look
at
me.
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🙂❤ Thank You Jamie. So good to have you back. 🌹
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Thank you.
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💜🌼😏
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Old Are Young
My wrinkles disappear,
No more crow’s feet.
Knees lack pain when I get up,
or walk stairs. Mind so pin sharp
it hurts. Touch my toes,
cartwheel, run marathons.
I’ve had to throw away my false teeth,
As I’ve grown new ones.
Age means less struggle.
Life should be struggle.
Age means less pain .
Everything should hurt.
I tell my wrinkled grandkids.
Never grow old. Wish it on no one.
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My Decrepit Is Good
Bring on grey hairs turn to silver.
Bring on sharp pain in the knees
as I hobble downstairs, deafness
is my body’s editor.
Bring on memory loss
as I know no different.
Bring me my stick,
my arrow of desire.
Bring it all on, fuzzy brain,
misty sight, zimmer frame,
adult nappy’s, oxygen through
plastic tubes, a knowing.
Bring on wrinkles, laugh lines,
tang of autumn, radical spice
of spring, footskate winter,
wild summer, all natural process.
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Biddy To A Young God
Have you some anti aging cream
in your warm skin young god
for as you caress these ancient hands
this bent body wintered
the wrinkles smooth out?
You have planted fresh
delight in these eyes
that sprout visions again
as when I was a young girl.
You have breathed
through my cold embers
and stroked warmth
into this thin skin.
My face has plumpness
and reddens
as your hands find flesh
for my angled skull.
My limbs no longer bare
begin to dress themselves
with buds and colour
for your lustful eyes.
Perhaps these changes
are only in your eyes,
and this puddle reflection
may be false, a false Spring.
From forthcoming book “Stubborn Sod”, Alien Buddha Press, 2019
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Bairns Are Old Codgers
Before I get taken to play at my soft playcentre,
my one year granddaughter toddles with her zimmer frame.
Later we will take her to the memory cafe
where she’ll remember her past lives.
“Hard”, of before dawn and midnight hours:
A welder in the Clyde shipyard, 1942.
“Stinks that,” she says of the steel shavings, and Swarfega.
“Heavy”, of the hammer…
A kitchen servant in a big house.
“Hurts”, of calloused pestle and mortared deferment…
I’m all giddy at tumble down
slides, scramble nets and ballpools.
(From “A World Where”, Nixes Mate Press, 2017)
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As I will see my 68th this year, this is a very interesting prompt for me as well, Thankyou Jamie ❤🌼
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.the rain came suddenly.
sun, was done and dusted.
by the slate they talked, shining.
faces older now, friendship retained.
learned a little more on life, the small
things, wisdom rings
the generations.
i did not need all the mange tout.
how beautiful
sbm.
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.angel.
sit with me, talk to me
about yourself and things
surrounding.
i am older now, look
like this, and will harm,
no living thing.
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.these days these days.
are longer now, i feel younger now,
i am older. we do so many things.
we are no longer afraid.
make the best of summer days,
winter follows.
he remarked that it was
good enough
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thanks Jamie
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