by 
“You have been told that, even like a chain, you are as weak as your weakest link.
This is but half the truth.
You are also as strong as your strongest link.
To measure you by your smallest deed is to reckon the power of the ocean
by the frailty of its foam.
To judge you by your failures is to cast blame upon the seasons for their inconstancy.”
The Prophet
Thank you to all who sent messages and notes wishing us a happy family reunion. It was wonderful. We chatted and laughed as though we’d only seen one another yesterday, as though forty years hadn’t passed. Thanks also to those who knew I went into the hospital right after our reunion and who wished me well and kept me in your prayers. I admit to slowing down, but I’m still here kicking thanks to loving family and friends, good doctors, and the grace of God.
I know it’s already Wednesday where some of you live, but it’s still Tuesday here in Northern California. My apologies though for the lateness of the post. So much catching up – good catching up – to do after the activities of the past few weeks.
It certainly looks like we hit a responsive nerve with the last Wednesday Writing Prompt, It’s Not the ’60s Anymore, asking for work that gives us a strong sense of time and place and how the writer and/or the times have changed. This collection is delightful featuring such a diversity of time, place, and ages and marked by depth, caring, and consciousness. I’m proud to be able to present this collection to you here today.
Thanks to our newcomer mm brazfield for her participation and a warm welcome. Thanks to all for coming out to play: Gary W. Bowers, Paul Brooks, Irma Do, Deb y Felio (Debbie Felio), Sonia Benskin Mesher, Taman Tracy Moncur, Bozhidar Pangelove (Bogpan), Marta Pombo Sallés, Julie Standig, and Anjum Wasim Dar.
Links are connected to poet/writer websites where available – NOT to specific poems – to encourage readers to visit them and get to know their work. If no website is available, it’s likely you can find the poet/writer on Facebook, where some folks also publish their work.
Read! Enjoy! And join us tomorrow for the next Wednesday Writing Prompt. All are encourage to share their work on theme, beginning, emerging or pro.
The Price of Peanut Butter
of course i remember the old Safeway, Hank. in closing my eyes i can see the Mahatma Rice Genie on the little rice bags and Jiffy cost less than a dollar. i was not taller than a yard stick, yet i knew my lime green pastel knit dresses were an infamy. Hank, i recall the prime parties on Berendo street, the last of the beehive hairdo elegant women in turquoise bell-bottoms, i a barefooted brat. and on alternate Saturdays the biker parties in the Silver Lake Hills. the Harleys looked like stallions. in the middle of the week, i can’t remember where i’d sleep, but AC/DC dueled with Tom Jones in my dreams. now, Hank, we have non-GMO juice stands and designer coffee drinks. i’m about a yard stick and a quarter tall now and i dress in black. i still enjoy Tom and Brian, but Nirvana and Cornell own my heart. i finally read the Torah too. but the fears, doubts, agonies and uncertainties are still within my universe. Safeway is now Vons. House of Pies is still there too, i feed on their Western Spaghetti. i’m going at it in a round-about way. Volkswagons’ and Mustangs aren’t what they used to be, but they’ve cut down on bad emissions. Hank, you wouldn’t believe, there’s almond, cashew, sunflower, pistachio and Brazil Nut butter. i don’t talk much, i type on the phone, even on dates, sitting right across the table from them all. i suppose i’ll never see a good bra burning anymore, i giggled at it as a child. but, they have apps for that now. i never really fit in any particular time in LA. from 8 tracks to Alexa and frozen peas to organic produce delivery. i don’t know, Hank. peanut butter today is quite expensive.
© 2019, mm brazfield (Words Less Spoken)
MM BRAZFIELD was born and raised in urban Los Angeles and is a Gen X’er who chronicles and scrawls about the art form of living in the Angelino metropolitan environment. These offerings were inspired by the mental health crisis in the city. mb personally battles depression and anxiety, but utilizes writing and art to self-regulate. mb works in social services in the hopes of supporting others who endure the same.
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.
© 2019, Gary W. Bowers (One With Clay, Image and Text)
As some of you know, Gary is multi-talented, combing visual art with poetry or prose narrative. He is also a potter. A sample of his work is pictured below. Gary’s pottery is available for purchase. Further details HERE. Note the business care. We appreciate Gary’s wry humor.ter. A sample of his work is pictured below. Gary’s pottery is available for purchase. Further details HERE. Note the business card. We appreciate Gary’s wry humor.
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.
© 2019, Paul Brookes (The Wombwell Rainbow)
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.
© 2019, Paul Brookes (The Wombwell Rainbow)
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”.
© 2019, Paul Brookes (The Wombwell Rainbow)
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.”
Prolific Yorkshire Poet, Paul Brookes
FYI: Paul Brookes, a stalwart participant in The Poet by Day Wednesday Writing Prompt, is running an ongoing series on poets, Wombwell Rainbow Interviews. Connect with Paul if you’d like to be considered for an interview. Visit him, enjoy the interviews, get introduced to some poets who may be new to you, and learn a few things.
The Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Jamie Dedes
More poems by Paul at Michael Dickel’s Meta/ Phore(e) /Play
In the market, I’m
Hearing songs sublime
First dance
Takes me back in time
First date jitters – mine
No chance
First kiss fail – not prime
Now improved with time
Perchance
The Lai is a poetry form introduced by Grace for d’Verse’s Poetry Form Challenge. The brevity and constraints of this form makes it quite challenging however, I am enamored by it’s ability to capture so much in so few syllables. This is my first attempt to any feedback is welcome!
The topic of this Lai comes courtesy of Jamie Dedes’ Wednesday Writing Prompt to write a poem with a strong sense of time and place and how you and/or the times have changed. I wasn’t sure what to write for this prompt until I went grocery shopping this weekend. The song “Always” by Atlantic Starr started to play and I was instantly taken back to my first date with Elvio who took me to first dance and gave me my first kiss. I truly believed we would end up like that song until he told me that he was going to take Sally to the next dance because she was a better kisser. (Sigh.)
Have things improved dating wise for me? Well, yes!! Considering I don’t have to date anymore – saved from those trials and tribulations by my Honey. But the hope and innocence I felt in the 1980’s is also gone…(sigh)….
©️2019, words and illustration, Irma Do (I Do Run, And I do a few other things too . . . )
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’
© 2019, Deb y Felio (The Journey Begins)
..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.
© 2019, Sonja Benskin Mesher
..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.
© 2019, Sonja Benskin Mesher
..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.
© 2019, Sonja Benskin Mesher
- sonja-benskin-mesher.net
- sonja-benskin-mesher.net
- Sonja Benskin Mesher, RCA paintings (This is her Facebook page, so you can connect with her there as well as view photographs of her colorful paintings.)
- Sonja on Twitter
- sonja-benskin-mesher.co.uk
- Sonja’s daily blog (WordPress) is HERE.
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.
© 2019, Taman Tracy Moncur (The Road of Impossibilities)
Diary of an Inner City Teacher is a probe into the reality of teaching in our inner city school systems as seen from the front line. Over two decades in the trenches, educator Tamam Tracy Moncur exposes through her personal journal the plights, the highlights, the sadness, and the joys she has experienced as a teacher. Come to understand why the United States Department of Education and the various state departments of education must realize the teaching of academics cannot be divorced from the social issues that confront the students. Let s be innovative together and design new millennium schools that address the educational needs of the inner city students before it s too late! Our children s very existence is at stake! Laugh, cry, and become informed as you embrace the accounts of an inner city teacher.
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.
© 2019, Bozhidar Pangelove (Bogpan)
————————————
“Jean-Paul Marat (French: [ʒɑ̃pɔl maʁa]; 24 May 1743 – 13 July 1793) was a French political theorist, physician, and scientist. 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.” [Wikipedia]
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.
© 2019, Marta Pombo Sallés (Moments)
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?
© 2017, Marta Pombo Sallés (Moments)
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.
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.
© 2019, Julie Standig
Time – I Am No Exception
Under the roof of peace in quiet meditation
Time seemed still, time was pure
time for prayer and forgiveness
asking for salvation
say nothing to time ‘
it is something else, colors show change
brown to red, living to dead, all are in range’
no accusation
Time tells me many stories
born in war I hear more wars
bloodshed bloodshed bloodshed
out of sight and dim are the stars
By the blue green sea ,
curling in rolling in and rolling back
Like tiny serpents creeping up
with stings poised,making one
more story –
Pulled back to unseen depths
Golden myriads glistened
as in sunlight life lay
Bathing basking relaxing-
There is enough time !
Delicately exposed yearning for the tan
Tender petal like still, unaware lying
Ready bait for the brutal mind
It is My Time !
And from the shade , came not the coolness
But hot fire,blistering bodies in the sand
Not shielding from the sun- Life so stilled as
Hot bullets rained, sprayed from the gun
Then, there was no time’
Then, there was no time’.
Time now is Time uncertain
energy decreased vision weak,
rampant obreption, subreption
time is now endless deception
Do I have time? Do I have time?
I must make peace I am no exception’
امن کے ساے تلے
امن کے ساے تلے کیا کویؑ مقدس مقام نہیں
خاموش عبادت میں
ٹھرے ھوےؑ وقت مہں
مغفرت کی طلب میں
نجات و بخشش کی دعاوؑں میں
زمانے کی بات نھیں
یہ کچھ اور بات،ھے
رنگ بدلتی دنیا میں ،سب زد میں
ھر زات اور ھے
امن کے ساےؑ تلے اب کویؑ الزام نہیں
جنگ کی پیشیں گویؑ
خونریزی کرے کوی
ستارے نظر آتے نہیں
کیا میرے پاس وقت ھے؟
میں سب سے علیحدہ نہیں
my novel (unpublished )
“POETRY PEACE and REFORM Go Together -Let Us All Strive for PEACE on EARTH for ALL -Let Us Make a Better World -WRITE To Make PEACE PREVAIL.” Anjum Wasim Dar
ABOUT
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 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
Jamie Dedes' THE POET BY DAY Webzine 
Respected Jamie Dedes, Peace Be Upon You’
Welcome Back may Allah Bless you with joy happiness and the best of health and comfort amen.
Thank you for the inspiration motivation and support and the opportunities for writing that are so wonderfully offered by you.
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Thank you, Anjum Ji, and all the others who also share their inspiration and encouragement. What blessings you all are.
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