Big Sur, Northern California

The Peace of Wild Things

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
Wendell Berry, The Selected Poems of Wendell Berry [recommended]

they’re paralyzed on the Atlantic seaboard under
the weight of snow drifts, the detritus of blizzards;
stark bare branches of oak, elm and maple
etch dark veins into an icy-gray cast-over sky

on the West Coast we’re breaking out magnolias
and blades of tender young grass are unfurling;
the near-sping temps us to wrap ourselves
in its perfumed and congenial blessing

along the stretch of Big Sur the sea strikes stone
and the air explodes, bright and wet with spume,
the green patinated-brine salts our mouths;
above us cloud turrets mimic white-capped waves

standing here, consumed by this seeming infinity,
our hands and eyes and mind conspire
to imitate nature in the most apt way, using
our sketch pad, pen and colored pencils

a quick wingless flight into that dancing sea and
we surface with visions grasped tight in our fists,
our eyes are blinded by a palette of colors, our
pencils bear witness to the gift of another morning,
another kind of beauty; undulating, animated
and so unlike the silent white majesty of snow

© 2013, poem, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved;  photograph of Big Sur 2008 courtesy of Diff under CC BY-SA 3.0 license

WEDNESDAY WRITING PROMPT

Despite all the rocky news about climate change, deforestation and other environmental tragedies, nature in her many aspects speaks to us of joyful things. How does nature inspire joy in you, inspire your creativity and perhaps even your sense of peace.  Tell us in your own poem or poems.

Share your poem/s on theme in the comments section below or leave a link to it/them. All poems on theme will be published on the first Tuesday following this post.

 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, March 4 by 8 pm Pacific Standard Time.

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.

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1950 Brooklyn, NY – my mother, Zbaida, and me

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

36 Comments

  4. Dear Jamie,

    Here is my third response:

    Grovemind, Groovemind

    synaptic branches
    neuron tipped limbs
    sacred grove recovery

    oakbrain opens doors in my head
    ashbrain spears my ideas
    elmbrain plays the fey

    electric gust moves limbs
    inside my head

    barkskin neural net
    circumnavigates damage
    fruited hemispheres
    replenish, restore, reimagine

    senses water roots
    grove in my head
    grooves in my head

    between oaklimbs
    between ashlimbs

    her flaps of the wood
    bride of the barkskin
    her inner lips of the forest
    fermented honey drip
    not butterfly laced stained glass

    fapleaf
    lamina mulch make out

    fragile doors into lust
    nympha

    tongue kindly these guardians.

    (From my collection, “The Headpoke And Firewedding”, Alien Buddha Press, 2017)

    Liked by 1 person

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  5. Hi Jamie,

    My fourth response:

    Riverbrain, Rivermind. Riverwives

    synaptic rivulets
    neuron canals
    sacred water

    riverbrain flows in my head
    fountainbrain channels my ideas
    lakebrain plays the fey

    electric rivulets move earth
    inside my head

    waterskin neural net
    circumnavigates damage
    fruited hemispheres
    replenish, restore, reimagine

    senses water roots
    springwaters in my head
    well in my head.

    sheflow

    her flaps of the water
    bride of the waveskin
    her inner lips of the river,
    spring and waterfalls,
    fermented honey drip
    not dragonfly laced stained glass

    faplap
    lamina moist make out

    fragile weirs into lust
    nympha

    tongue kindly these guardians

    (From my poetry collection “The Headpoke And Firewedding”, Alien Buddha Press, 2017)

    Liked by 1 person

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  6. Hi Jamie,

    Here’s my second response:

    Let Me Pass Through

    city walls
    that bind all your threads together,

    walk through this wood,
    let your cityself take same walk, see
    buildings as lone trees,
    homeless hostel
    is an oak, butchers
    a willow that bends
    down over the stream
    where jammed traffic swims.

    A dead bird breathes
    animated by flies
    is a man in the corner who sings
    the blues to passers.

    That fall of a leaf
    tickertape homecoming parade.

    Your pavement footfall
    echoes in my forest.

    Liked by 1 person

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  7. Hi Jamie,

    Here’s my first response:

    Gust Is Deaf, Hills Are Blind,

    trees can’t walk properly,
    Flowers twitch haphazardly.

    Grass is mute, rivers are dumb.
    Nature is differently abled.

    Mountains are too tall,
    struggle to talk when they can’t

    bend a knee, get down to those smaller
    who are in awe when all mountains need

    is to speak face to face , dispel their myth.
    Same with water that rushes by,

    no time to stand and stare, moments pass
    before they have time to fully comprehend.

    Flux needs a still moment but has to go on.
    Still waters wish they could rush.

    All hankers after what it Is not,
    Cannot accept their place as their lot.

    Liked by 1 person

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  8. Hi Jamie, this is a poem I wrote a few years ago. A little more uplifting perhaps 🙂❤

    https://starlightandmoonbeamsdotblog.wordpress.com/2019/03/03/the-trees-are-making-music-in-response-to-the-poet-by-day-poetry-prompt-2-27-2019-another-kind-of-beauty/

    The Trees are making music

    The trees
    Are making music
    To the sky today,
    In apology for
    Yesterday’s silence.

    Music
    With crystal bells
    Of questions,
    Hanging on the limbs,
    Unspoken,
    Unanswered.

    Liked by 1 person

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  10. WORDSMITHS

    Letters inscribed in air; branches
    write the seasons and their fickle
    variations, shredding coherence
    as they thresh and whine, blasts and rants
    of leaves and barren seeds.

    Gift of the wasp’s gall: indelible
    tales from the oak’s heart and hearing;
    grand hotel and shelter, shade for
    transient languor.Acorn fall.
    Sap retreats slow to reticence.

    Meditation under rimed sky,
    the hermit’s calligraphy spread
    across the crystal sheet, utterance
    of promise laid in autumn’s scatter.

    The year turns; dew-varnished beech glints
    with angled light. Decipher the forest’s
    library: curlicues unfurling
    on spring-dancing branches, stickiness
    and insect hum, in April’s breeze
    the Book of Kells unscrolling.

    Liked by 1 person

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  11. These ones are not newly written, but they are two of my favorites. If you only accept new poems, I will try to write a new one for you.

    When Galaxies Cry

    When galaxies cry,
    The tears that they shed
    Are showers of light
    We see overhead
    That leave us in awe
    As we touch our cheeks,
    Speechless but listening
    When radiance speaks.

    So gaze at the sky
    When stars shoot above
    And hear as they make
    Their statements of love,
    For they long to be heard
    In the vacuum of space,
    Stardrops streaming down
    A celestial face.

    https://reowr.com/2013/06/18/when-galaxies-cry/

    I Long to Climb

    I long to climb into the sky
    On steps of wisp and smoke;
    I long to feel the sweet caress
    Of heaven’s velvet cloak.
    I long to greet the newborn dawn,
    Blushing in its youth;
    I long to shoo the honeyed rays
    From shadow’s hungry tooth.
    I long to hear the faeries sing
    Conducted by the moon;
    I long to dance with dimpled winds
    In Eden’s fair lagoon.
    I long to stroke a comet’s tail
    Impetuous in flight;
    I long to whisper in the dark
    Of dreams beyond the night.
    I long for things I cannot have
    And I will not deny,
    For beauty’s sake is why I long
    To climb into the sky.  

    https://reowr.com/2013/05/18/i-long-to-climb/

    Liked by 3 people

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  13. And here is the last poem (very important to check out the excellent writers this poem has found inspiration in!)

    Out of the Shell

    Out of the shell!
    the tortoise said
    out of that hell!
    the price was paid.
    Now I am cold
    but not in vain
    as I am told
    I won the pain!
    I can walk free
    did nothing wrong
    there is no tree
    but I stay strong.

    I’m a bit old
    and just need love
    I’ll be a bit bold
    and play the dove.
    I found a girl
    on a dating site
    oh, how I swirl
    to her I write.
    She’s just too young
    or I’m too old
    but I’ve begun
    and now I’m sold.

    My name is Frank
    and she’s Nicole
    I’m not a prank
    yet she’s my goal.
    Told her the truth
    what will she do?
    she’s in her youth
    and I feel blue.
    Difference in age
    is not so good
    it is a cage
    you think I should?

    © February 2019 Marta Pombo Sallés

    Poem inspired by poet Newton Ranaweera’s post: See, we’re free!!: https://newtoneapblog.wordpress.com/2019/02/17/see-were-free/, and by chapter 6 of Mario Savioni’s novel “Pickles and Tarts”:
    https://savioni.wordpress.com/2019/02/12/pickles-and-tarts-chapter-6/

    Link to my blog: https://momentsbloc.wordpress.com/2019/02/19/out-of-the-shell/

    Liked by 2 people

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  14. I just met a turtle

    I just met a turtle in the park.

    It was on the way

    Not where its mates

    Usually are,

    Near the lake

    Sunbathing.

    It was solitary.

    I figured out it spoke

    To me.

    Told me to slow down.

    And so I sat

    As words began to dance

    In flight

    Carrying a smell of pine trees,

    Rosemary and lavender.

    Like butterfly wings

    Fluttering in the wind

    They intertwined

    And slowly began

    To land on my paper

    One by one.

    I pulled my thread,

    Took the needle

    And began to sow

    One after the other.

    A word weaver

    Just like my friend

    Quim

    And all the others.

    I just met a turtle.

    © May 2017 Marta Pombo Sallés

    Link to blog: https://momentsbloc.wordpress.com/2017/05/30/i-just-met-a-turtle/

    Liked by 2 people

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  15. The Park

    Trees and blue sky,
    sweet lavender and rosemary
    not knowing why
    a few lines I could invent.
    Soft wind caressing my face
    and the birds singing distant
    feeling this nature’s embrace
    longing to hold.
    So much there is now at stake
    sunbeams crossing through tree leaves,
    peaceful water of the lake
    sensing all, what nature presents.
    Let us go on rowing
    together on our humble boat
    even though not knowing
    how long to keep it afloat.

    © June 2016 Marta Pombo Sallés

    Link to blog: https://momentsbloc.wordpress.com/2016/06/14/the-park/

    Liked by 3 people

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  16. Respected Jamie Ji you capture the beauty of nature in a unique grandeur of language, woven superbly to create a kaleidoscope of color grace and imagery.Simply beautiful. Thank you for yet another inspiring and fragrant prompt. Looking forward to exploring the wonderful world of nature.

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  17. .clean water.
    we left early to visit

    clear pools of water,

    the mountain sloped.

    here we wandered,

    among sheep.

    watched the bug

    glide the water,

    sucked down

    the fish leap.

    storm past, this

    was a day of sunshine.

    we are good friends.

    we got better.

    so it goes.

    Liked by 4 people

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    1. I could feel everything in this poem. I saw myself wandering in the mountains, being part of this wonderful trip, sensing all nature’s elements and placing value on friendschip. A great read!

      Liked by 1 person

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  18. .turkey island.
    they say it is too cold there. cold as icebergs

    none came the year the storm broke, breached

    the shingle bank

    decisions were made

    i hear

    to not repair

    now there is salt marsh where samphire grows

    some eat it

    i don’t

    i like turkey island

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Thank you!