“Coach said. “the quality of a man’s life is in direct proportion to his commitment to excellence, regardless of his chosen field of endeavor”.” Sherman Alexie, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian [Young Adult Book/recommended]
at sunrise with its shmears of
cream cheese clouds against
the quince-colored morning light,
Mrs. Goldberg is out of bed ~
a military tactician in war-time
no dust-bunny is safe, every
grease spot enzyme-bombed,
her wash thrashed by machine,
then hung or folded, put in place,
her windows wiped, her floors scrubbed,
and woe betide wee crawling creatures,
so intent is Mrs. G on genocide
Note: I have shared this poem as part of a prompt before, but the theme was to write about a neighbor. Here it is again – slightly revised – and the theme this time is “excellence.”
WEDNESDAY WRITING PROMPT
There are people you know – perhaps a grandparent or parent or a teacher or coworker – who do their chosen work with such grace, finesse, and precision that they simply captivate you. Tell us how they work, why that makes them admirable; or tell us about your struggles to do something well, perhaps your writing, a sport, cooking, gardening, or teaching.
NEW RULES
please submit your poem/s by pasting them into the comments section and not by sharing a link
please submit poems only, no essays, stories, or other prose
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, June 17 by 8 pm Pacific Daylight Time. If you are unsure when that would be in your time zone, check The Time Zone Converter.
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.
Recent in digital publications:
* Four poems , I Am Not a Silent Poet * Remembering Mom, HerStry
* Three poems, Levure littéraire Upcoming in digital publications:
“Over His Morning Coffee,” Front Porch Review
A homebound writer, poet, and former columnist and associate editor of a regional employment newspaper, my work has been featured widely in print and digital publications including: Ramingo’s Porch, Vita Brevis Literature, Connotation Press,The Bar None Group, Salamander Cove, I Am Not a Silent Poet, The Compass Rose and California Woman. I run The Poet by Day, an info hub for poets and writers and am the founding/managing editor of The BeZine.
“Every pair of eyes facing you has probably experienced something you could not endure.” Lucille Clifton
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When Lola arrives, it’s hard to deny there’s magic The children happily sigh, “It’s magic!”
My tween can whisper secrets in her ear Lola – my spy who can pry – hush magic!
My sweet girl’s dollies all need a cuddle Lola’s arms wide like the sky – hug magic
Train engineer boy with curious spark Lola answers all the why’s – smart magic
The toddler is whining, “No” is his word Lola’s sweet talks – he complies – bribe magic!
Then quiet, they gather around her chair Lola gives sweets on the sly – bad magic!
Homemade dinner, there’s so much to clean up Lola’s sink is spotless, dry – clean magic
I’m exhausted, drained, this job is so hard Lola’s shoulder, allows me to cry – mom magic
(FYI – Lola means Grandmother is Filipino/Tagalog)
Okay. PLEASE only put the poem in comments. No links. Thanks! I’m not taking art of photo from sites. I’m just now getting cause up after the Zine work and hospital, so I don’t know what all is here yet.
It must be fun, to own a goat,
To buy a boat, to stay afloat,
To see a tree, walk on its knees!
But Oh! My golly! Oh!
To see a tree, walk on its knees?
It must be great to stay up late,
To watch a monkey roller skate,
To see a book, get up and look?
But Oh! My golly! Oh!
To see a book, get up and look?
It would be nice to have a castle
To own a tall giraffe named Basil
To see a deer playing bongos!
But Oh! My golly! Oh!
To see a deer, playing bongos?
It must be nice to have a car
To make the distances less far,
It would be fun to know tomorrow
From a crystal ball you borrow,
It’s just the images we create
To give us patience
To sit and wait……….
Now, here you go
she’d smile with a wink,
as she handed out
apples she’d cleaned
In the sink,
A comforting hand
A heart warming hug
and gramma would smile
and glint with a shrug
A scrape on the knee?
oh dear, let me see
with the warmth in her eyes
and the love in her touch
the scrape that you got
didn’t hurt very much.
Run along she would say
It’s a great day to play,
but don’t go too far!
There’s buns in the oven
and cookies in jars, then,
with a warm loving hug
and comforting smile,
she’d send you outside
to play for awhile.
Every night she would hear the blame
The kitchen floor is dirty it means one
who works here is the same,
better keep it clean,wash it every night
wipe it dry then you may think of rest or sleep’
soon such instructions felt like insults-
was she dirty lazy careless incapable one
or a free forsaken donated handed over,given
for good, home and house worker, cleaning woman-
why life’s meaning sank so low,was it just common?
soon these thoughts would slip from the mind
as a new day dawned, acceptance quickly sank in
‘ he has a mania for cleanliness’ ‘ hunger for food
crazy love for movies’ values of life die in a dust bin’
line between love care, and sharing is so thin’
more is revealed as cushions lineup on the sofa
spoons forks knives must be separate in the holder
no dust on any table chair desk shelf or cupboard
car, shoes polished, clothes ironed, crease less
bed covers, slippers joined,glasses placed with pens
wrist watch, now mobile phone,must be untouched
three dishes at meals three kinds of fruit at least
tea pink and salty is must, puffs from the Only Old
bakery in the old inner city narrow street shop
dinner time seven thirty, no tea at that hour allowed
for all, to be dressed spic and span hair cut and set
no extra talk or questions,driving speed at will by choice
other person to give way, no traffic police should this way
even look, all ways are my ways’,books for show, display
no row in disarray, set all with pain or be ready never to
see your book again- and so perfection came in way
of ‘good enough’ and peace’ -how to be artistic, who
could be original, perfection may be excellence ‘ but
would you rather have something, ‘okay’ than nothing’
that is all perfect’
There’s a chiming hel-looo
as she opens the front door,
drops her travel bag
and encircles us
in her warmth.
Our luscious, dazzling daughter
with strawberry-kissed smile,
double-cream cheeks
and honey-bee eyes
to match her lustrous hair.
She kicks off scarlet pumps
and curls, latte-limbed,
on the sofa; sips black tea
and texts a message home,
relays love to our grandchildren.
I admire old and new tattoos:
butterflies, stars, swallows
and, where a sleeve might fit,
a crimson heart emblazoned
fod yn ddewr.
Do her ladies ask what it means?
“Yes,” she laughs, “very often.”
I hold her hands in mine.
They’re small but strong:
first cradle for a baby’s
blood-stained head
when she wears regulation blue,
echoes the motto
on her arm and urges
“Be brave. One last push.”
A poem which had been gathering dust! I shook it and edited it and thought it was a suitable response to the Prompt. Our elder daughter is a constant source of inspiration and strength to us.
” Please can I borrow your eyes?”
Asks the blind nightingale
of the excellent eyed blindworm
” I’ve been invited to faerie wedding,
and don’t want to look foolish.”
After the nightingale sees bright
colours, red, green and gold
of the faerie occasion, he tells
blindworm, “I cannot return
these worlds of light, but will
sing to you, my friend, night and day.”
The writer searches for the perfect quill
to make him an author of genius,
his work lauded,
taught in schools
only possession
of this object
will make
the work great.
The carpenter wants a fine pillow
Stuffed with the softest
Gentlest down
To complete
His fabulous carved bed
Made of the rarest wood.
The comedian wants the funniest
feather to tickle his audience
into laughter
that will last
long after
he dies.
The cat wants the meat under
The feather, warm
And tender,
Succulent
In its jaws.
The dog wants his master
To have the bird
He retrieves,
For his master to be happy
And give him treats,
Maybe even a cooked morsel,
Once the bird is plucked
And cooked.
The bird waits for his new feathers
After his moult
To flatter a female,
Make him handsome,
Nudge her with his display
So she will bear
His children.
She never really wanted to be
the best, but somehow stood out
among the rest,
In school in class,eagerly took
part in collecting notebooks,
polishing desks with wax and rags,
laughing joking,arms never tiring,
inking the large board black, no
whiteboards then,
representation
meant hard work with joy as the
reward, being close to the teacher
noting the piano chord, humming
volleyball service hits swelled her
wrists,she still wears the support
band and smiles as memories flood
in, the final win and the final fall
was the most memorable of all-
A role on the stage in Shakespeare’s
plays, not a Mid Summer Night’s Dream
but real school life she took as high order
to en wrap and enfold learning time gold
capture every moment each story told-
ten years flashed full of wisdom and fun
peaceful it was all, no guard bullet or gun
by 
A homebound writer, poet, and former columnist and associate editor of a regional employment newspaper, my work has been featured widely in print and digital publications including: Ramingo’s Porch, Vita Brevis Literature, Connotation Press, The Bar None Group, Salamander Cove, I Am Not a Silent Poet, The Compass Rose and California Woman. I run The Poet by Day, an info hub for poets and writers and am the founding/managing editor of The BeZine.
Jamie Dedes' THE POET BY DAY Webzine 
Hello Jamie! My poem is below.
Lola’s Magic – A Ghazal
When Lola arrives, it’s hard to deny there’s magic The children happily sigh, “It’s magic!”
My tween can whisper secrets in her ear Lola – my spy who can pry – hush magic!
My sweet girl’s dollies all need a cuddle Lola’s arms wide like the sky – hug magic
Train engineer boy with curious spark Lola answers all the why’s – smart magic
The toddler is whining, “No” is his word Lola’s sweet talks – he complies – bribe magic!
Then quiet, they gather around her chair Lola gives sweets on the sly – bad magic!
Homemade dinner, there’s so much to clean up Lola’s sink is spotless, dry – clean magic
I’m exhausted, drained, this job is so hard Lola’s shoulder, allows me to cry – mom magic
(FYI – Lola means Grandmother is Filipino/Tagalog)
LikeLiked by 1 person
Same poem. I know how you like to use photos. Its ok doesn’t matter
LikeLike
Jamie. Here’s the link to “With A Smile and A Wink”
https://starlightandmoonbeamsdotblog.wordpress.com/2019/06/17/with-a-smile-and-a-wink-for-the-poet-by-day-mrs-goldberg-a-poem-and-your-next-wednesday-writing-prompt/
LikeLike
Hi, Jen. Please past your poem into the comments section. I’m no longer – see new rules above – pulling poems from sites. Thank you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It’s already on your prompt site. I have photos on my page. If you want to use them If not well , it’s ok. They’re photos of my Gramma.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Okay. PLEASE only put the poem in comments. No links. Thanks! I’m not taking art of photo from sites. I’m just now getting cause up after the Zine work and hospital, so I don’t know what all is here yet.
LikeLiked by 1 person
The poem IS in comments. Take care Jamie
LikeLike
IMPATIENCE
It must be fun, to own a goat,
To buy a boat, to stay afloat,
To see a tree, walk on its knees!
But Oh! My golly! Oh!
To see a tree, walk on its knees?
It must be great to stay up late,
To watch a monkey roller skate,
To see a book, get up and look?
But Oh! My golly! Oh!
To see a book, get up and look?
It would be nice to have a castle
To own a tall giraffe named Basil
To see a deer playing bongos!
But Oh! My golly! Oh!
To see a deer, playing bongos?
It must be nice to have a car
To make the distances less far,
It would be fun to know tomorrow
From a crystal ball you borrow,
It’s just the images we create
To give us patience
To sit and wait……….
Jen Goldie
LikeLiked by 2 people
Flight
Distances are much shorter now,
Time flies on wings aloof
Tall isn’t tall anymore
What happened to my youth?
Young means twenty minutes is forever,
A mile is around the world and back
Tall is Dad at five foot eight
How did I miss the attack?
Something came and stole my youth
Time and distance is the proof
Maybe when my time runs out
I’ll know just what it’s all about.
Jen Goldie
LikeLike
Gramma
Now, here you go
she’d smile with a wink,
as she handed out
apples she’d cleaned
In the sink,
A comforting hand
A heart warming hug
and gramma would smile
and glint with a shrug
A scrape on the knee?
oh dear, let me see
with the warmth in her eyes
and the love in her touch
the scrape that you got
didn’t hurt very much.
Run along she would say
It’s a great day to play,
but don’t go too far!
There’s buns in the oven
and cookies in jars, then,
with a warm loving hug
and comforting smile,
she’d send you outside
to play for awhile.
Jen Goldie
LikeLiked by 1 person
Life with a Perfectionist
Every night she would hear the blame
The kitchen floor is dirty it means one
who works here is the same,
better keep it clean,wash it every night
wipe it dry then you may think of rest or sleep’
soon such instructions felt like insults-
was she dirty lazy careless incapable one
or a free forsaken donated handed over,given
for good, home and house worker, cleaning woman-
why life’s meaning sank so low,was it just common?
soon these thoughts would slip from the mind
as a new day dawned, acceptance quickly sank in
‘ he has a mania for cleanliness’ ‘ hunger for food
crazy love for movies’ values of life die in a dust bin’
line between love care, and sharing is so thin’
more is revealed as cushions lineup on the sofa
spoons forks knives must be separate in the holder
no dust on any table chair desk shelf or cupboard
car, shoes polished, clothes ironed, crease less
bed covers, slippers joined,glasses placed with pens
wrist watch, now mobile phone,must be untouched
three dishes at meals three kinds of fruit at least
tea pink and salty is must, puffs from the Only Old
bakery in the old inner city narrow street shop
dinner time seven thirty, no tea at that hour allowed
for all, to be dressed spic and span hair cut and set
no extra talk or questions,driving speed at will by choice
other person to give way, no traffic police should this way
even look, all ways are my ways’,books for show, display
no row in disarray, set all with pain or be ready never to
see your book again- and so perfection came in way
of ‘good enough’ and peace’ -how to be artistic, who
could be original, perfection may be excellence ‘ but
would you rather have something, ‘okay’ than nothing’
that is all perfect’
LikeLike
With The Woman
There’s a chiming hel-looo
as she opens the front door,
drops her travel bag
and encircles us
in her warmth.
Our luscious, dazzling daughter
with strawberry-kissed smile,
double-cream cheeks
and honey-bee eyes
to match her lustrous hair.
She kicks off scarlet pumps
and curls, latte-limbed,
on the sofa; sips black tea
and texts a message home,
relays love to our grandchildren.
I admire old and new tattoos:
butterflies, stars, swallows
and, where a sleeve might fit,
a crimson heart emblazoned
fod yn ddewr.
Do her ladies ask what it means?
“Yes,” she laughs, “very often.”
I hold her hands in mine.
They’re small but strong:
first cradle for a baby’s
blood-stained head
when she wears regulation blue,
echoes the motto
on her arm and urges
“Be brave. One last push.”
A poem which had been gathering dust! I shook it and edited it and thought it was a suitable response to the Prompt. Our elder daughter is a constant source of inspiration and strength to us.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Hi Jamie,
Here’s my third response:
Borrowed Eyes
” Please can I borrow your eyes?”
Asks the blind nightingale
of the excellent eyed blindworm
” I’ve been invited to faerie wedding,
and don’t want to look foolish.”
After the nightingale sees bright
colours, red, green and gold
of the faerie occasion, he tells
blindworm, “I cannot return
these worlds of light, but will
sing to you, my friend, night and day.”
LikeLiked by 1 person
♥️
LikeLike
Hi Jamie,
Here’s my second response:
A New Feather
The writer searches for the perfect quill
to make him an author of genius,
his work lauded,
taught in schools
only possession
of this object
will make
the work great.
The carpenter wants a fine pillow
Stuffed with the softest
Gentlest down
To complete
His fabulous carved bed
Made of the rarest wood.
The comedian wants the funniest
feather to tickle his audience
into laughter
that will last
long after
he dies.
The cat wants the meat under
The feather, warm
And tender,
Succulent
In its jaws.
The dog wants his master
To have the bird
He retrieves,
For his master to be happy
And give him treats,
Maybe even a cooked morsel,
Once the bird is plucked
And cooked.
The bird waits for his new feathers
After his moult
To flatter a female,
Make him handsome,
Nudge her with his display
So she will bear
His children.
LikeLiked by 1 person
She never really wanted to be
the best, but somehow stood out
among the rest,
In school in class,eagerly took
part in collecting notebooks,
polishing desks with wax and rags,
laughing joking,arms never tiring,
inking the large board black, no
whiteboards then,
representation
meant hard work with joy as the
reward, being close to the teacher
noting the piano chord, humming
volleyball service hits swelled her
wrists,she still wears the support
band and smiles as memories flood
in, the final win and the final fall
was the most memorable of all-
A role on the stage in Shakespeare’s
plays, not a Mid Summer Night’s Dream
but real school life she took as high order
to en wrap and enfold learning time gold
capture every moment each story told-
ten years flashed full of wisdom and fun
peaceful it was all, no guard bullet or gun
LikeLiked by 1 person
fred
what ho daddy longlegs
buzzing down to rio
kinesthetic mastermind
champagne-frothing brio
doodling with a hatrack
swinging rita hayworth
tyranting ungingerly
twenty-hour-day’s worth
softshoe tap and ballroom
jazzy or balletic
conman charmer fashion plate
sculpting an aesthetic
LikeLiked by 2 people
♥️👌
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hi Jamie,
Here’s my first response:
My Mam Is
nothing if, not thorough.
Victorian reminder on a wall
full of telling aphorisms:
What will the neighbours say?
Our home shows us how
we treat ourselves.
Buff away grey clouds,
bring out the blue, make every
wood bell, crocus, daffodil
open their flowers today,
place a spruced up nest
for every chaffinch, green
and goldfinch, blackbird, dove.
Open all windows to “freshen”.
Clean outside and in,
see yourself without smears.
Tidy the memory home.
If you can see a job needs doing,
then do it. Why leave till tomorrow,
something that needs doing today?
Empty every drawer,
cupboard, wardrobe, surface,
scrub them clean, let spiders scurry off.
Launder, dry on the line winter’s
sombre deep cottons and woollens,
neatly fold away, in freshly
lavendered drawers.
It shows you respect yourself.
Rinse every item
of crockery, cutlery,
some unused for years.
Return them to scoured drawers.
Burnish copper ornaments,
delicately brush capodimonte
figures, feather dust top of doors,
skirting boards, deweb high corners,
Shine gas fire with Brasso. Polish
tables and furniture with Rosewood
or Lavender Pledge, all furniture pushed
into centre of rooms, to vacuum.
A person is what they do,
not what they say they will do.
Decant bookshelves,
every book cover cleaned.
Roll up, sling over washing line,
slap and beat dust out of all
rugs and doormats. Strip beds,
turn mattresses, air sheets.
It’s a warm spring day.
A clean home is a clean soul.
Bleach bath, sinks.
Glister chrome taps. Blue toilet.
Fragrance bathroom with Lemon.
Defrost fridge, full milk
bottles in a sink of cold water.
Unload and brush out garage,
vacuum Datsun Estate outside and in.
Weed patio and border, cut
straggly grass for first time this year.
Black bag food beyond sell by dates,
or out of fashion.
Likewise, shine your shoes,
pick bits off clothes,
straighten your skirt, tie,
tighten your belt.
A smart person is a smart mind
LikeLiked by 1 person
.garage.
i do not wait for the alarm,
just the red bar on my gauge.
it is a quiet village, a name
i can’t pronounce. so i stopped
for fuel.
how nice, an attendant, probably
owner/mechanic came, took my
keys and did it all for me.
whilst chatting about the day, how
the nights draw in, and i felt cosy.
a softer voice than some, his clothes
hard working.
i asked for twenty quid’s worth
to see me home, and a chomp
at 25p.
i shall stop there next time.
comfortable.
sbm.
LikeLike
.stitching.
we will not have blankets,
if there are none, take the old
rags, layer , stitch and stitch
by hand till fingers bleed.
work along the coast
with thread and diligence.
gather wools, layer carefully,
we shall have warmth this winter.
we will have quilts to share.
sbm
LikeLiked by 1 person
.balfour beattie.
power and beauty
stone and steel.
rise above
mud and wood.
swarmed by
worker ants.
world without end.
wyn is a poet.
a visionary.
monkeys and tigers
stalk welsh hills
the
satanic mills
of his imagination.
he is the blake
of the a470.
did he once see
angels on peckham rye
too?
i expect he did, i expect.
we will not know
unless i ask him.
he will tell.
yet not when
his colleagues
are listening.
he may be shy.
balfour beatty.
LikeLiked by 1 person