“We need four things to survive life: bread, water, oxygen, and dreams!” Avijeet Das, The Untold Diaries, The Real Entries of Five Different People, Vidushi Guptaa, Anish Talwar, Surbhi Bhalla, Deshna Jai, Avijeet Das [This book is free if you have Kindle Unlimited]
The
Garden
Is
Lost
Where
Once
Life
Played
On
Wings
Of
Angles
Trees
Offered
Mystical
Fruit
Cats
Were
Prophetic
The
Scars
Have
Swallowed
Time
Whole
And
With
It
Memory
Work
Tears
Dreams
Plummeting
Backwards
Into . . .
A
Single
Obsession:
Oxygen
© 2019, Jamie Dedes
WEDNESDAY WRITING PROMPT
Ah, the stuff of survival: “bread, water, oxygen and dreams.” Write a poem about one or more of these four necessities of life and …
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. (Please no oddly laid-out poems.)
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, April 3 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.
Squeaking in!
https://iidorun.wordpress.com/2019/04/02/the-need-for-stars-and-moonbeams-a-villanell/
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No worries! :-). Only just getting back from the Stanford and working on the post now. Besides, I’d have checked with you. Thanks for coming out to play, Irma.
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Of course! I love your prompts! It makes me think and create…sometimes too much and then I realize it’s almost 8 pm your time and I have to let my baby Poem go even if I’m not ready. 😁 I hope your Stanford visit went well!
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https://poeticoceans.wordpress.com/2019/03/31/for-the-poet-by-day-g-jamie-dedes-wednesday-writing-prompt-the-tests-of-passion/
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Hi Jamie this is a Link to “Heavenly Dreams”
https://starlightandmoonbeamsdotblog.wordpress.com/2019/03/31/heavenly-dreams-in-response-to-the-poet-by-day-poetry-prompt-oxygen-hunger-a-poem-3-27-2019/
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😊❤😀Thank you very much for following my site!😍God bless you!!!💕
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Thank YOU, for following mine, Jannatul!
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😀👦😍
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SOURDOUGH
Does it have to be like this? My hands trapped
in this ectoplasmic blob. It seemed harm-
less last night when I laid it down to rise.
I really should have picked a simpler task:
making sense of quantum physics, riding
a penny-farthing in a force nine gale.
No use now as I wrestle with this dough,
nay, monster. First proving, I slathered you
in olive oil. Was I too rough as I
pounded and pummelled, stretched, stretched, stretched you out,
a line of white intestine? Entrapment
was your game, yet I have tamed you with my
farinaceous hands, caressed and then reformed
you, laid you in the tin, a baby in its cradle.
Say not that the struggle naught availeth
as the firm, warm bread nestles in my palms.
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B eginnings beauty brim bounty
R eceiving resplendent radiant reception retention reparation
E ternal exhale ecstasy elixir
A bsorption acceptance awareness
T ime ticking threshold terminus tip
H ealing hands helping
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Kelly’s Last Christmas
Air
Airport
Airplane
Arrival.
Oxygen and cigarettes
Her sustenance,
Untimely death,
Last time
Last breath,
Last trip,
a gift……
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Jen, did you have another poem?
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Yes why?
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Not posted
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Saw your note in messages.
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oic that was earlier
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Okay! :-). Email sent.
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👍😊💜
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Another very interesting prompt Jamie and thought provoking poem. 🌹💭
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in solitary refinement
guilty said
the paper the judge read
so the system did a trick
it learned from the cult novel
NORSTRILIA
by cordwainer smith:
they put a thinking cap on her
and it imprisoned her
for eight hours
but due to wireless accelerants
and virtual reality mushware
the eight hours were as eighteen years
for her offense was extreme
and doing her time
was not a walk in the park
no “club fed”
ghosts-or-not mocked her
bribed ghost guards to get her alone
packratted her with hurting things
and she fought back
and ended up in solitary
bread and water only
(plus oxygen)
(plus dreams)
she found though
that virtuality had its virtues
the bread could be any bread
the water any water
and so she feasted
pumpernickel dense as brick
cinnamon toast richly steaming
lavosh pita arrowwheat
and she slaked
smartwater dumbwater sparkling cold
and her oxygen’s purity could be amped
and her dreams could be imagineered
she could dance with Fred
sojourn through oz
change endings
create worlds
so she asked that her term of solitary “confinement”
be extended indefinitely
and the mushware obliged
eighteen seeming years were up
she had learned who she was
what she wanted
and the rudiments of a new trade
she woke
and marvelled at disappearance
of liver spots and despair
she was indeed free
bore no burdens
no grudges
and no guilt
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Hi Jamie,
Here’s my fifth response:
Three Bread Crumbs
I.
Christ passes a Bakers shop,
smells new bread,
Says to disciples
” Fetch us a loaf.”
The Baker says
“Thas nowt for free here.
Get him to miracle up his own”
but,
Bakers wife
and six daughters
secretly stuff couple of loaves
in disciples bag.
For this Christ sets them
in spring sky
as Seven Stars
He makes the baker a cuckoo
the Dusty Miller,
who so long as he sings in Spring
St. Turbutius Day to St. Johns
can see his bright wife and daughters
warm the night.
II
Me Mam dies as she gives birth,
to sis and I.
Our new mam murders us.
Feeds our cooked sinew and muscle
to our dad. Separates heart and bones,
crams rest beneath
gables of our home.
Buries our heart and bones
in a hole in a tree,
that coddles us.
Our bones lock our refreshed hearts
in a new cage, so we fledge
in dusty grey feathers.
We fly to local miller’s
pick up a millstone
in our strong beaks
let it fall as we fly
over
our new mother
whose blood and bones
grind beneath its weight.
III
After my sis and I disappear,
Christ knocks on Dad’s door
Says, ” I’m parched mate,
can tha spare a drop
of thee water.”
Our Dad brings stranger
a cup of fresh water.
As he sups Christ says:
“Tha looks badly, cocker.
What’s up with thee?”
Our Dad says ” Me kids
are no where to be seen.
Pain right here says they’re
both dead.
I miss them summat chronic.”
“Aye, it’s a bad going on.
Perhaps, next Spring
from East gables of this place
tha’ll see summat
to buck thee up.”
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Hi Jamie,
Here’s my fourth response:
The Terminal
Stretched thin
he spits out
of his car door
as I get in,
and we drive out
the short stay
carpark below
the train station.
“What are you
going to do
day I die?”
he asks. I tell him
what I need to know.
“Oxygen tanks are no use
as they don’t
increase surface
of my lungs that
take in oxygen.
Doctors can do no more.”
Dad replies.
My dad collapses into himself
disappears into black hole
in space
of his lungs on
where there is
no oxygen
for his brain
or heart,
only coughs
to loosen phlegm
for the spit bag,
he carefully seals air tight.
(From a forthcoming collection of my late dad’s drawings and paintings and my writings about him, No title as yet)
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Hi Jamie,
Here’s my third response:
Clear Plastic Tube
in both her nostrils
a tiny woman
with wavering voice
says “If you can
put these in this bag
I’ll put some in my trolley.
It’s not a shopping trolley.
It’s for my oxygen tank.
Shouldn’t worry.”
(From my latest collection called, “Please Take Change, Cyberwit.Net, 2018)
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Hi Jamie,
Here’s my second response:
Skyfish
Below a sunset or rise of mountains
a load of bull
eyecatches a celebration
of blue and red fish
midflight
leaping
and smiling,
I or you ride the flight
of one fishback
hold the other fish
in hollow of an armpit
Between waterholes of words.
Taste the fresh water verbs
Salt water star shine.
We are skyfish rode
By reader or viewer
We are two fishes tethered by smiles
of smaller fish.
A brown fish mouth agape
rests a fin on a waterholes side
to watch our fishback ride.
(From my forthcoming collaboration with Iranian artist Hiva Moazed, called “Fish Strawberries”)
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Hi Jamie,
Here’s my fist response:
This Value Of Water
as I wet my Nanna’s mouth
with a tiny bud of wool
she lies half in this world
half in another unseen.
My hand fetches water from the well
of the cup, every time my eyes
notice cracks appear in softness,
dry earthquakes open soil
like her trowel levers earth open
for the receipt of a seed or flower.
(From my collaborative collection with Dutch artist Marcel Herms, “Port Of Souls”, Alien Buddha Press, 2018|
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