“I was lucky to live in New York when it was dangerous and edgy and cheap enough to play host to young, penniless artists. That was the era of “coffee shops” as they were defined in New York—cheap restaurants open round the clock where you could eat for less than it would cost to cook at home. That was the era of ripped jeans and dirty T-shirts, when the kind of people who are impressed by material signs of success were not the people you wanted to know.” Edmund White, City Boy: My Life in New York in the 1960s and ’70s
Dear Zorch,
No ~
it’s not the sixties anymore. It is a decade of upheaval
and people inflamed and lands laid bare.
Sea levels are rising and the
99% walk desiccated paths.
Once, you jockeyed in suits and ties
while I sat pregnant with poems,
just seventeen
the most unhappening girl in New York,
that most happening town.
We never did walk The Village streets for sips
of espresso in eccentric cafés, places
where Gibran Khalil Gibran might have lounged.
So okay, that was my dream. Yours was
Wall Street and manicured lawns in Westbury.
These days
there are strangers living in the old home place.
Our favorite stores are shuttered.
Our hip fashions are vintage.
Our parents have gone the way of all souls.
They never did hear
their truth over the cacophony of rote prayer.
You were happy to embrace high finance in place of Mystery.
Now though,
the future grows short
and
… word is …
you’ve taken Pascal’s Wager.
Once
we sang “make love not war,”
but
the power mongering persists, just a habit I imagine,
Write a poem that gives us a strong sense of time and place and how you and/or the times have changed.
Share your poem/s on theme in the comments section below or leave a link to it/them. All poems on theme are published on the first Tuesday following the current Wednesday Writing Prompt. (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 30 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.
Poet and writer, I am a former 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 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 byNorthern 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.”
“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
Rate this:
Thank you for sharing your love of words. Comments will appear after moderation.
Would you also mind checking your “spam” folder for my other comments? Thank you! Sorry to be a pain!
I am very glad you are back though! This was a great prompt as evidenced by all the fantastic responses here!
I got it. Just returning home from hospital. Will get the post up before days end. Enjoyed every response. As always yours is stellar. Thank you for coming out to play.
Hello Jamie! Welcome back! I hope you had a good visit with your cousin (did I remember that right?). What a prompt to bring us back to! And by the amount and caliber of the responses this week, you’ve chosen a good one! I don’t know if mine brings a “strong” sense of time and place, but it did for me so I hope it is acceptable for inclusion this week.
Peanut butter IS expensive now! :-). Don’t forget to send your photo and bio to thepoetbyday@gmail.com since this is your first time here. Thank you for coming out to play and sharing your thoughts.
Let Your Light Shine
Young love blossomed on the horizon immersed in “the days of wine and roses”. Afros and dashikis danced in the streets to jazz improvisations weaving in and out of the intricate beats of the drum declaring support in the fight for civil rights. The blues sang of heartache and tragedy while spirituals announced resilience of faith and survival in a changing world global in concern.
I remember the sixties well, coming of age in a nation where the stage was set with demonstrations, picket lines, marches against racism, prejudice, and hatred…empathy standing tall with dignity not afraid to die for belief in true democracy “one nation, under God, with liberty and justice for all” regardless of race, ethnic origin, religion, or sexual orientation,
Jim Crow was on the defensive murdering, lynching, bombing, burning…turning the south into fields of blood sprouting weeds of hostility and fear. Beautiful caring people united against the atrocities, linking arms, singing to the heavens “We Shall Overcome Someday” believing in their hearts that this was a new start in the United States of America.
Tragedy and triumph were marked by a cyclical progression over the next generations. War and peace remained combatants in the world arena…ideologies exploded into shards of hatred, greed, and lust killing innocence attempting to eradicate the concept of brotherly love while in the USA came the day a black president served for eight years. Sweet victory became a reality!
Then the divisiveness of hate, rooted in this country from its inception, once again sent it spiraling into the depths of degradation. The offspring of racism were unleashed when egomania moved into the oval office bringing his family with him..xenophobia, misogyny, Islamophobia, and bigotry all claiming to want to make America great again.
Yet once more this country standing on the shore of time shall rise as the people lift up their eyes peering into the sky knowing the Creator is near and that hope is beyond the horizon ready to take wing and fly throughout the land raining perseverance and strength on those who want to make a positive difference as their collective voices are heard on high in a symphony of unity.
Wow! I love the power of this prose bringing us from the 60s to today with such vibrant imagery! Your writing is so vivid and hopeful. Thank you for sharing this with us!
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.
Optimists say we are not afraid
but I am.
And people usually say I am an optimist.
What’s wrong with me now?
Why do I feel so much
Fear, Sadness and Uncertainty?
Why can’t I get a sufficient dose of
Calmness, Serenity and Confidence?
Yet this fear of mine
does not keep me paralyzed
for I know we must move on.
This is a human rights issue,
a fight for social justice,
just one more in our world.
And while some say Dialogue, Dialogue
some others say what dialogue
if one of the parts always refuses it?
We need international mediation.
Urgently.
But that part does not want it.
So what is left to do
for the Spanish-Catalan eternal conflict?
Where’s the lesser evil
after the October First events?
What do you tell the 1066 injured people?
What do you tell the man who lost his eyesight
because of a rubber bullet from the police?
How do you comfort all those
who made the vote possible?
who made everything peacefully and democratically?
Tomorrow Catalonia’s president will most probably
declare independence from Spain.
It will be like you’re in a room
with some people trying to chase you,
loaded with guns.
But you’re peaceful
and do not have guns
and see an open window.
So you need to jump down
before they arrest you,
before they kill the rights
you’ve been long fighting for.
The lesser evil is throwing yourself
out of that window.
Is it a desperate suicide?
Or is there someone below
who will come to rescue,
who will get you in their arms
before you crash into the ground
when tomorrow comes?
Now listen people
wherever you are
trav’lin’ in trucks and
SUV cars
Your footprint is huge
and so is your track
the fossils you’re burnin’
we’ll never get back
so ease off the pedal
and give us some slack
‘cause the earth it is a warmin’
All nature around us
calls out our name
Pollution abounds
and we are to blame
Ozone layers
welcome us in
what we’re leavin’ our children
is really a sin
so if you give a damn
then you better begin
‘cause the earth it is a warmin’
Big pharmaceuticals
expand the pollute
not just in the body
but waters to boot
what did you think
you flushed down the loo
those poisoning meds
along with your poo
so quit looking around
before the whole thing is moot
‘cause the earth it is a warmin’
Organic farms where good
used to grow
are being replaced
with big g-m-o
now salmonella and
e-co-li, too
wrapped in the plastic
then sold to you
don’t think you’re immune
your money’s for show
‘cause the earth it is a warmin’
Mother nature is having
her turn
Disasters are teaching
what we need to learn
drought and flooding
and fires set to burn
we waited too late
it’s all now in ruin
no longer we mask it
we’re in hell’s handbasket
For us, the people who lived behind the Iron Curtain, the 60s, began after the fall of the Berlin Wall.
Protest (retrospective)
“Miss Corde was reading Plutarch by night the books then used to be taken seriously”
Zbigniew Herbert
(Adam Lux – Meditations)
Miss (or already, why not, Missis)
is reading.
So did she before getting married. The revolution of 1960s All is Love is over.
She used to sleep in tents. Why not?
The freedom has to be defended.
Drums, fires, the screams:
“Down with! Who doesn’t jump is.”
Rumble behind the walls. Marat is. Alive? Death? Used to live?
The time is traveling. The crown’s refined hat.
The hair short. With all the colors.
“In a dress like a blue rock.”
Obelisk? Yes! of passing from
necessity to
necessity (for survival).
Mrs. Corde, is reading. The Game of …
She’s dreaming. “All is love”.
The day is the most usual.
Charlotte?
She administrated justice.
The falling stars are glowing.
————————————
Jean-Paul Marat (French: [ʒɑ̃pɔl maʁa]; 24 May 1743 – 13 July 1793) was a French political theorist, physician, and scientist.[1] He was a journalist and politician during the French Revolution.
He was a vigorous defender of the sans-culottes and seen as a radical voice. He published his views in pamphlets, placards and newspapers. His periodical L’Ami du peuple (Friend of the People) made him an unofficial link with the radical republican Jacobin group that came to power after June 1793.
Marat was assassinated by Charlotte Corday, a Girondin sympathizer, while taking a medicinal bath for his debilitating skin condition. Corday was executed four days later for his assassination, on 17 July 1793.
those of you that read austen,
and maybe little women,
know that on summer days,
with heat, the ladies
wear their straws, protecting
gentle necks and complexion.
sipping drinks . i think that sucking
may be frowned upon. therefore
it is not seemly to show
that drinking aid here.
california: kitchen. future
Uncle Sonny (né Enoch) grins
in fire-engine red turtleneck
and atop it & his chest
a medallion like a
half-scale hubcap
dreaming of being
a mandala. the legs
of his hiphugging bellbottoms
looked like bras for metal detectors.
my aunt Diane
surfer girl of tawny hip
had painted-on capris
of brushed denim
and a variant of a peasant blouse
in loose chiffon
and midriff exposure.
i at 14
still in noisy corduroy
longed for a Nehru jacket
but revealed in my Mr. Muscle
Form-Fitting
T-shirt
in a burgundy
that lasted about
five washings
and imparted a blush tint
to my once-dazzling undies.
on the tv a girl sang,
“You’re my kind of guy,
I love you so,
Baby, everything about you
Is go, go, go!
And with Aqua Velva Lotion
Our romance began,
Because there’s Something About
An Aqua Velva Man!
Ah, ah, ah, ah…
Aha AAH, ah,ah,ah,ah…”
do you think
i would be gullible enough
to then desire to be
An Aqua Velva Man?
you bet i was.
so I weep,
do not answer,
for those pathetic nowadays boys
who think there is such a thing
as “the Axe effect.”
The passing of time and the longings of a man who remembers the old days so beautifully expressed. But just be who you are. I never liked an Aqua Velva Man.
I, ignorant, molly coddled,
aged fourteen , outsider to pierced,
bright red mohicanned,
black bin bag dressed peers
on the bus, Christmas Eve.
Sexy ultraviolet lasses
in black tights and dockers,
kohl eyed intelligence
scares my Burton’s suit.
Fascinated by safety pinned
noses, brazen forward face
of defiance, I wince
into a corner, my mam’s
“Acceptable behaviour”,
“When you have your own
house you can dress how you like.”
And my step dad’s knuckle
marks pulse on my jaw.
Hard to rebel when cossetted,
pot pourried, warm duveted,
hugged and soggily kissed
by grandparents, all Sunday Bested
under this long cold full mooned
Christmas Day.
by 
Jamie Dedes' THE POET BY DAY Webzine 
Maybe it didn’t – I will add it again here – https://iidorun.wordpress.com/2019/04/29/8th-grade-dance-1988-a-lai-poem/
I did post it originally before the deadline.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Would you also mind checking your “spam” folder for my other comments? Thank you! Sorry to be a pain!
I am very glad you are back though! This was a great prompt as evidenced by all the fantastic responses here!
LikeLiked by 1 person
You’re in. No worries
LikeLiked by 1 person
😃
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hi Jamie – I posted a response before but didn’t see it up. WP has been crashing on me so just wanted to check it made it to you ok.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I got it. Just returning home from hospital. Will get the post up before days end. Enjoyed every response. As always yours is stellar. Thank you for coming out to play.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you for the wonderful prompts you let us play with! I hope your hospital visits went well! ❤️
LikeLiked by 1 person
They did. Thank you, Irma.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hello Jamie! Welcome back! I hope you had a good visit with your cousin (did I remember that right?). What a prompt to bring us back to! And by the amount and caliber of the responses this week, you’ve chosen a good one! I don’t know if mine brings a “strong” sense of time and place, but it did for me so I hope it is acceptable for inclusion this week.
https://iidorun.wordpress.com/2019/04/29/8th-grade-dance-1988-a-lai-poem/
I am so happy to see you back! ❤️
LikeLiked by 1 person
♥️😀Thank you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Peace from LA. Thanks for the opportunity ❤
https://wordslessspoken781842219.blog/2019/04/29/the-price-of-peanut-butter/
LikeLiked by 2 people
Peanut butter IS expensive now! :-). Don’t forget to send your photo and bio to thepoetbyday@gmail.com since this is your first time here. Thank you for coming out to play and sharing your thoughts.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Let Your Light Shine
Young love blossomed on the horizon immersed in “the days of wine and roses”. Afros and dashikis danced in the streets to jazz improvisations weaving in and out of the intricate beats of the drum declaring support in the fight for civil rights. The blues sang of heartache and tragedy while spirituals announced resilience of faith and survival in a changing world global in concern.
I remember the sixties well, coming of age in a nation where the stage was set with demonstrations, picket lines, marches against racism, prejudice, and hatred…empathy standing tall with dignity not afraid to die for belief in true democracy “one nation, under God, with liberty and justice for all” regardless of race, ethnic origin, religion, or sexual orientation,
Jim Crow was on the defensive murdering, lynching, bombing, burning…turning the south into fields of blood sprouting weeds of hostility and fear. Beautiful caring people united against the atrocities, linking arms, singing to the heavens “We Shall Overcome Someday” believing in their hearts that this was a new start in the United States of America.
Tragedy and triumph were marked by a cyclical progression over the next generations. War and peace remained combatants in the world arena…ideologies exploded into shards of hatred, greed, and lust killing innocence attempting to eradicate the concept of brotherly love while in the USA came the day a black president served for eight years. Sweet victory became a reality!
Then the divisiveness of hate, rooted in this country from its inception, once again sent it spiraling into the depths of degradation. The offspring of racism were unleashed when egomania moved into the oval office bringing his family with him..xenophobia, misogyny, Islamophobia, and bigotry all claiming to want to make America great again.
Yet once more this country standing on the shore of time shall rise as the people lift up their eyes peering into the sky knowing the Creator is near and that hope is beyond the horizon ready to take wing and fly throughout the land raining perseverance and strength on those who want to make a positive difference as their collective voices are heard on high in a symphony of unity.
LikeLiked by 4 people
Wow! I love the power of this prose bringing us from the 60s to today with such vibrant imagery! Your writing is so vivid and hopeful. Thank you for sharing this with us!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hi Jamie,
my fourth response:
Kept Himself
to himself. Quiet man always in sharp
waistcoat and tie.
Shoes keen like mirrors.
Afraid he will be found out.
His daughter and her family
forever tainted by his past,
his feeble mindedness, his shame.
His urgent nine year old grandson
full of The Great Escape, Where Eagles Dare
Asks “What did you do in the war, Grandad?
Did you fight the Nazzies?”
He does not want disappointment
on this young face so invents:
“A German Tiger was coming towards me.
So I digs a hole so it goes over the top.”
“And what happened next, Grandad?
“Ask your Nanna. I need to do the Pools.”
*******
Nanna says he came to see her
when she worked in the Birmingham factories.
In midst of air raids, falling houses and fire.
“Your Grandad worked on the railways.”
So his grandson works it out.
Grandad never fought abroad.
“You know don’t you?” says his enfeebled Nanna
to her grandson, “Grandad’s dad?”
“One of his widowed mother’s lodgers?”
“Yes,” she says “Grandad was born out of wedlock.”
LikeLiked by 3 people
Respected Jamie Ji
Re sending with Translation in Urdu
https://poeticoceans.wordpress.com/2019/04/26/for-the-poet-by-day-wednesday-writing-prompt-time-i-am-no-exception/
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hi Jamie here’s my piece for the 60’s prompt.
https://starlightandmoonbeamsdotblog.wordpress.com/2019/04/26/do-you-in-response-to-its-not-the-60s-anymore-a-poem-and-poetry-prompt-by-the-poet-by-day-april-24th-2019/
Thanks
Jen 🌼
LikeLike
Thank YOU Jamie 🌼
LikeLiked by 1 person
The joke’s on me. Communication they say, is a two way street. Take Care Jamie.
LikeLike
https://poeticoceans.wordpress.com/2019/04/26/for-the-poet-by-day-wednesday-writing-prompt-time-i-am-no-exception/
LikeLiked by 1 person
And my second response:
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.
© February 2019 Marta Pombo Sallés
Link to my blog with this poem: https://momentsbloc.wordpress.com/2019/02/05/girl-my-little-pearl/
LikeLiked by 4 people
Wise and loving exchange!
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you, Gary. Your feedback is always so encouraging!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hi Jamie,
Here is my first response:
When Tomorrow Comes
Optimists say we are not afraid
but I am.
And people usually say I am an optimist.
What’s wrong with me now?
Why do I feel so much
Fear, Sadness and Uncertainty?
Why can’t I get a sufficient dose of
Calmness, Serenity and Confidence?
Yet this fear of mine
does not keep me paralyzed
for I know we must move on.
This is a human rights issue,
a fight for social justice,
just one more in our world.
And while some say Dialogue, Dialogue
some others say what dialogue
if one of the parts always refuses it?
We need international mediation.
Urgently.
But that part does not want it.
So what is left to do
for the Spanish-Catalan eternal conflict?
Where’s the lesser evil
after the October First events?
What do you tell the 1066 injured people?
What do you tell the man who lost his eyesight
because of a rubber bullet from the police?
How do you comfort all those
who made the vote possible?
who made everything peacefully and democratically?
Tomorrow Catalonia’s president will most probably
declare independence from Spain.
It will be like you’re in a room
with some people trying to chase you,
loaded with guns.
But you’re peaceful
and do not have guns
and see an open window.
So you need to jump down
before they arrest you,
before they kill the rights
you’ve been long fighting for.
The lesser evil is throwing yourself
out of that window.
Is it a desperate suicide?
Or is there someone below
who will come to rescue,
who will get you in their arms
before you crash into the ground
when tomorrow comes?
© October 2017 Marta Pombo Sallés
Link to the blog with the poem and a BBC video showing the brutality of the Spanish police forces against the peaceful voters in Catalonia:
https://momentsbloc.wordpress.com/2017/10/09/when-tomorrow-comes/
LikeLiked by 3 people
I never heard my grandfather’s voice
Nathan lost everything in the Great
Depression. Funny, they called it that.
Did they mean the economy or was it
their state of mind? Well, Nathan lost
it all: his wife left him. Took their two
daughters and went to wealthy parents
in California. I’m not sure Nat ever left
Brooklyn. Moved in with his brother,
kept a photo on his nightstand:
two young girls dressed in hand-
me-down plaids, four scraggly arms
surrounding a Sycamore tree. He missed
the bobby socked, saddle shoed feet
dangling off the fire escape, as they knit
scarves for soldiers. He even missed
their complaints about Gregg shorthand
and boorish boys that taunted them
at Tilden High. He missed taking them
for a Nedicks orange drink, or Shatzkin
knishes, Lundy’s for steamers and chowder.
Laughter in bumper cars, bellyaches from
too many hotdogs and fast rides
on the Wonderwheel. His girls were gone.
The tumor took his mind. The depression
devoured the rest. And then his wife
took the kids.
Cruelty lasts a lifetime. No one recovered.
LikeLiked by 3 people
Sad.
LikeLike
Very well written, so poignant.
LikeLiked by 1 person
ahh the good ole days – Thanks, Jamie!
New and Not So Improved
Now listen people
wherever you are
trav’lin’ in trucks and
SUV cars
Your footprint is huge
and so is your track
the fossils you’re burnin’
we’ll never get back
so ease off the pedal
and give us some slack
‘cause the earth it is a warmin’
All nature around us
calls out our name
Pollution abounds
and we are to blame
Ozone layers
welcome us in
what we’re leavin’ our children
is really a sin
so if you give a damn
then you better begin
‘cause the earth it is a warmin’
Big pharmaceuticals
expand the pollute
not just in the body
but waters to boot
what did you think
you flushed down the loo
those poisoning meds
along with your poo
so quit looking around
before the whole thing is moot
‘cause the earth it is a warmin’
Organic farms where good
used to grow
are being replaced
with big g-m-o
now salmonella and
e-co-li, too
wrapped in the plastic
then sold to you
don’t think you’re immune
your money’s for show
‘cause the earth it is a warmin’
Mother nature is having
her turn
Disasters are teaching
what we need to learn
drought and flooding
and fires set to burn
we waited too late
it’s all now in ruin
no longer we mask it
we’re in hell’s handbasket
‘cause the earth it is a warmin’
LikeLiked by 3 people
Very eloquent and powerful verses, thought provoking.
LikeLiked by 1 person
This is fabulous! Love the rhythm and the message of your words, debf!
LikeLiked by 1 person
For us, the people who lived behind the Iron Curtain, the 60s, began after the fall of the Berlin Wall.
Protest (retrospective)
“Miss Corde was reading Plutarch by night the books then used to be taken seriously”
Zbigniew Herbert
(Adam Lux – Meditations)
Miss (or already, why not, Missis)
is reading.
So did she before getting married. The revolution of 1960s All is Love is over.
She used to sleep in tents. Why not?
The freedom has to be defended.
Drums, fires, the screams:
“Down with! Who doesn’t jump is.”
Rumble behind the walls. Marat is. Alive? Death? Used to live?
The time is traveling. The crown’s refined hat.
The hair short. With all the colors.
“In a dress like a blue rock.”
Obelisk? Yes! of passing from
necessity to
necessity (for survival).
Mrs. Corde, is reading. The Game of …
She’s dreaming. “All is love”.
The day is the most usual.
Charlotte?
She administrated justice.
The falling stars are glowing.
————————————
Jean-Paul Marat (French: [ʒɑ̃pɔl maʁa]; 24 May 1743 – 13 July 1793) was a French political theorist, physician, and scientist.[1] He was a journalist and politician during the French Revolution.
He was a vigorous defender of the sans-culottes and seen as a radical voice. He published his views in pamphlets, placards and newspapers. His periodical L’Ami du peuple (Friend of the People) made him an unofficial link with the radical republican Jacobin group that came to power after June 1793.
Marat was assassinated by Charlotte Corday, a Girondin sympathizer, while taking a medicinal bath for his debilitating skin condition. Corday was executed four days later for his assassination, on 17 July 1793.
LikeLiked by 3 people
You steal my breath, Bogpan.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ah, dear Jamiе, this is only my life.
LikeLiked by 1 person
..28 every woman..
it is always there
in the bathroom,
ignored, as was the photo.
yesterday it came to light again,
every woman’s toilet,
book.
edited by mrs robert noble,
not dated, yet dated.
are artificial aids justifiable,
how to have a dimpled wrist
with excercise,
means, and massage,
a moderate diet essential.
we do not wish a muddy complexion?
no. nor to wear the years
away in sad ness and regret.
we just need an excellent lotion,
for tired eyes,
and carry on, rejoicing.
all that there is.
plus the photograph.
LikeLiked by 3 people
..188 jane austen again…
to live the life
of pomade and petticoats.
no ajustable waist.
one imagines there will
be no worry, yet the
adjectives will prove difficult
for me,renowned for
few words.
daily checking hips
in slanting mirrors,
reading of heaven over,
which is life on earth
randomly .
gods throwing dice,
rules changing constantly.
i find sadly,
i am not jane austen.
LikeLiked by 2 people
..straw hats & sunshades..
those of you that read austen,
and maybe little women,
know that on summer days,
with heat, the ladies
wear their straws, protecting
gentle necks and complexion.
sipping drinks . i think that sucking
may be frowned upon. therefore
it is not seemly to show
that drinking aid here.
LikeLiked by 2 people
fashion show 69
california: kitchen. future
Uncle Sonny (né Enoch) grins
in fire-engine red turtleneck
and atop it & his chest
a medallion like a
half-scale hubcap
dreaming of being
a mandala. the legs
of his hiphugging bellbottoms
looked like bras for metal detectors.
my aunt Diane
surfer girl of tawny hip
had painted-on capris
of brushed denim
and a variant of a peasant blouse
in loose chiffon
and midriff exposure.
i at 14
still in noisy corduroy
longed for a Nehru jacket
but revealed in my Mr. Muscle
Form-Fitting
T-shirt
in a burgundy
that lasted about
five washings
and imparted a blush tint
to my once-dazzling undies.
on the tv a girl sang,
“You’re my kind of guy,
I love you so,
Baby, everything about you
Is go, go, go!
And with Aqua Velva Lotion
Our romance began,
Because there’s Something About
An Aqua Velva Man!
Ah, ah, ah, ah…
Aha AAH, ah,ah,ah,ah…”
do you think
i would be gullible enough
to then desire to be
An Aqua Velva Man?
you bet i was.
so I weep,
do not answer,
for those pathetic nowadays boys
who think there is such a thing
as “the Axe effect.”
and i long
for fifty years ago.
LikeLiked by 4 people
The passing of time and the longings of a man who remembers the old days so beautifully expressed. But just be who you are. I never liked an Aqua Velva Man.
LikeLiked by 1 person
😃
LikeLiked by 1 person
A wonderful response, Marta! I am smiling ear to ear now, thanks to you!
LikeLiked by 1 person
You are kindly welcome, Gary.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hi Jamie,
Here’s my third response:
On Trend
In Bus Station, now renamed, Transport Interchange
crazies herd, or stud on Friday night,
past disguised as fresh and new.
Filly’s Seventies platform throwback
high heels whipcrack and totter
past and shoutback,
“Can’t get enough!”, to the stallions.
Hormones on an after school
high josh one another into minor
crimes their pot bellies
will chuckle at when they’re pastured.
Big yellow hi viz “club bouncer”
jackets tap their ear phones
and watch the younger
good spirits rise, ready to corral a stampede.
A thin bright yellow hi viz jacket
pushes a blue plastic hygiene cart
whose white wheels clop on tiles
recall wooden clogs on sodden cobbles.
A crazy talks to himself
as he trots by, his eyes elsewhere
and then I see the leads
from the buds in his ears.
Young stud tucks his blue boxers
into his jeans waist below
his haunches, a US prison trend,
and old fashion now.
Yoga panted fillies giggle
at his shorts, as they, too
will blush at fashions sworn by
in their galloped youth.
And older some afford pasture,
others to the knacker’s yard,
and clothes no longer second hand,
or charity but sold as “vintage”.
LikeLiked by 4 people
Hi Jamie,
Here’s my second re3sponse:
A Full Moon Christmas Day,1977
I, ignorant, molly coddled,
aged fourteen , outsider to pierced,
bright red mohicanned,
black bin bag dressed peers
on the bus, Christmas Eve.
Sexy ultraviolet lasses
in black tights and dockers,
kohl eyed intelligence
scares my Burton’s suit.
Fascinated by safety pinned
noses, brazen forward face
of defiance, I wince
into a corner, my mam’s
“Acceptable behaviour”,
“When you have your own
house you can dress how you like.”
And my step dad’s knuckle
marks pulse on my jaw.
Hard to rebel when cossetted,
pot pourried, warm duveted,
hugged and soggily kissed
by grandparents, all Sunday Bested
under this long cold full mooned
Christmas Day.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Hi Jamie,
Here is my first response:
Candlelit Seventies Without
a thought switch flicked,
and if glass globe works light
and I recall candlelit Seventies
evening in Winter’s discontent.
How important during that Winter
electric light, few hours TV,
the extra jumpers and ignorant
thrill of days extraordinary nights.
Those nights I recalled stood
underground in Eighties, caplight off
a darkness lively with ghosts
as imagination lit by stories.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hi Jamie,
Here is my first response:
Candlelit Seventies Without
a thought switch flicked,
and if glass globe works light
and I recall candlelit Seventies
evening in Winter’s discontent.
How important during that Winter
electric light, few hours TV,
the extra jumpers and ignorant
thrill of days extraordinary nights.
Those nights I recalled stood
underground in Eighties, caplight off
a darkness lively with ghosts
as imagination lit by stories.
LikeLiked by 4 people