Have you had those days when you feel absolutely at one with nature? (Note: the theme is not a beach scene per se. It – like the poem – is about feeling one with nature.) Tell us about it in your poem/s.
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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, July 8 by 8 pm Pacific Daylight Time. If you are unsure when that would be in your time zone, checkThe 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.
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 (July 2019) * From the Small Beginning, Entropy Magazine (Enclave, #Final Poems)(July 2019)
* The Damask Garden, In a Woman’s Voice (August 2019)
A busy though bed-bound poet, writer, former columnist and the former 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, Meta/ Phor(e) /Play, Woven Tale Press, The Compass Rose and California Woman. I run The Poet by Day, a curated info hub for poets and writers. I founded The Bardo Group/Beguines, a virtual literary community and publisher of The BeZine of which I am the founding and managing editor. I’ve been featured on The MethoBlog, on the Plumb Tree’s Wednesday Poet’s Corner, and several times as Second Light Live featured poet.
Email me at thepoetbyday@gmail.com for permissions, reprint rights, or comissions.
“Every pair of eyes facing you has probably experienced something you could not endure.” Lucille Clifton
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Hello Jamie! Here is mine entitled “Mother With the Green Hair” – I hope it is on point for the prompt (as I must admit, I am a city girl and that “oneness with nature” does not come naturally to me! 😂)
Rough brown skin scratches my cheek
I lean into your strength
My arms wrap around you
My fingers not touching
Reminding me of your age
A comfort in this short sighted world
Your willowy boughs sway in the hot breeze
But under your protective shadow
I am but one who rejoices in your giving nature.
Jamie this was inspired by the time I spent in Idaho. If it’s too small or not just right, I’ll understand.
My friend Greg commented that “It sure looks like a corner of Paradise there. You’ll carry this trip in your soul forever.” I still remember and tried to capture that feeling in a Haiku/Senryu.
Eagles sweep the sky
Bemused as the clouds drift by
Bewitched by silence
inhale my sage, mint,
basil, saint john’s wort,
sunflower and lavender
leap through my balefire
an ‘I do’
burn my gorse and hay
fields to stubble
dress me in dried herbs,
potpourri, seashells, summer flowers, and fruits.
colour me blue, green, and yellow
let me handfast to you
think on harvest to come
*******
breathe in mistletoe
oak, rowan, and fir.
watch sticky moon rise
gold
as if honey
outa hive
yon fires r small suns
t’ massive blaze
nar set this short neet
she as bairn
in her belly
and soon a must pass
this fertile crahn
from oak t’ holly
tek int shape
and tale
o’ other folks fires
on yon hills
as tha would pattern
stars make
int neet sky wi art clards
an scry what’s t’come
an sup elder wine
an et this bread
of yon fields
grahnd thru yon stones
into fire
into r gobs
an bellies
an leet a candle
a midneet
aside this bowl
a rain watta
t’ catch moon n
wash
r face n hands
in it
(From “The Firewedding And Headpoke”, Alien Buddha Press, 2017)
riverbrain flows in my head
fountainbrain channels my ideas
lakebrain plays the fey
electric rivulets move earth
inside my head
waterskin neural net
circumnavigates damage
fruited hemispheres
replenish, restore, reimagine
senses water roots
springwaters in my head
well in my head.
sheflow
her flaps of the water
bride of the waveskin
her inner lips of the river,
spring and waterfalls,
fermented honey drip
not dragonfly laced stained glass
I knew the warmth
of a man’s body
though no blood
ever surged
through my veins.
I was oak-flower,
broom and meadowsweet
conjured into woman
without flesh and bone
and beating heart.
The moon O-hed
at the smoothness
of my face.
The sun paled
at the earth-gold
of my hair.
I loved Gronw,
the lord of Penllyn.
I lay in his arms
and we plotted
to kill my husband.
Now, for my sinfulness
I am shunned
and alone
at the woodland’s edge.
I am owl.
I am beak and talons,
feathers and sharp eyes.
I wait, still as death,
in the shadow
of midnight leaves.
In Welsh legend, Blodeuwedd (Flower-Faced”) was made by magicians
Math and Gwydion to be the wife of Lleu Llaw Gyffes.She and her lover
Gronw Pebr attempted, unsuccessfully, to murder Lleu. Gwydion turned
her into an owl as punishment.
I want to grow more poppies
like these that intoxicate
my garden and out-blaze
the sun; I’ll keep the seeds
when green wand are flowerless
and rake them into the soil
for next summer.
I’ll still remember playgrounds
of childhood and the scent
of lilac; my mouth will moisten
at the thought of home-grown
blackcurrants but I won’t
hanker to go back, sit on the grass
and blow dandelion clocks.
I’ll be busy growing poppies,
admiring petals of extravagant
scarlet silk that outlive sultry
afternoons and noisy outbursts
of evening rain: that sway
beneath a clear blue sky and cup
a day’s worth of light.
Richard, why don’t you participate in Wednesday Writing Prompt. Poems on theme art published the following Tuesday. Read and follow directions carefully.
desert you look very pretty in your tender green veil
it’s been a while since i was here visiting you
inner struggle and rebirth brought me to your boulder bosom
i see my brothers the Joshua Trees have gotten taller
therefore waving more lost children toward your safety dear friend
oh and the hares and wood peckers they still look
me over with caution and pity they sense my spirit
is still shackled in some ways but they are right
i’m just a human mother Joshua but how are you
i’ve brought you great news there will be rain later
this evening that rock you say yes that will be
good shelter the tiny lizard queen is a great hostess
the breath of your slate tinged skies is beginning to
smell like wet earth just like my grandmother’s hair when
as a babe i’d grab fistfuls and put it in
my mouth yet i don’t know how i can remember
her we were both too young when she had to
go up to the silver stars above my head oh
mother Joshua did you tell Oma to come and visit
there you see she’s the one next to Venus smiling
at me hey little ants get off my cake here
i’ll place it by your hill take it to your
queen my regards to her and now my eyes focus
to see the splendor of the ocotillo fire red blossoms
held up to the peacock sky and i breathe deeply
once squaw peak
now is piestewa peak
because etymology
because war hero
it is a hunk of rock
an asteroidal embedment
of the rocky mountains
or it seems so
despite artifactual distractions
like memorial benches
and erosion-checking cement
and rails
at night it transports you
through a piece of the solar system
and when the climb harshness your breathing
it sounds like that of an astronaut
you and your rock
on the sweat-wringing trajectory
toward a magical world
enjoyed at park’s peak
panorama of an alien civilization
its photonic array twinkling
rectilinearly below
on your back the rock drinks your sweat
and you/rock bathe
in ancient light from the everywhere
surrounded
yet you enfold
A Beach Poem
Follow the thin line
Between the water and the land,
Between the sky and the earth.
Follow it until you see the horizon
That lured your ancestors
To explore the thin line in search of a better life
All the way, from Africa to South America,
All the way, from Africa to Australia,
All the way from Africa to …
…love?
…compassion?
…wars?
….atrocities?
…humanity.
Humanity is a thin line
At the whim of the moody Moon
That buries it under the high tide
Or bares it by pulling the waters back.
Follow the thin line.
Keep your eyes on the horizon.
I come to the pocket-sized beach
In winter only
No longer liking to be close to strangers
Alone, dreaming in Green Key Park
In the Gulf of Mexico dawn
I sit on the sand, drinking
Drive-through black coffee
Comforts more than stimulates
Birds, palms, sunrise on the Gulf
I pretend it is the sea
Here, it is warm like a bathtub
But not quite placid
Some tidal action
A bit of wave hiking up to the shoreline
Sand and negative ions
Water and fiery sun
Elemental balance
Aligning my body and soul
Entwined with Nature’s rhythm
I go inward more and more each year
Feel like Hesse’s Siddhartha on the river
He, like me, can think, can wait, can fast
Well, fasting, ok, not quite there yet
But able to do the rest
Because the inner life is best…
boy, oh boy, a wave appears….
you stand back
and observe
beach scene, a poem make a splash
bikni girls *enjoying this*
boy, oh boy, you aren’t a loud person
or, someone who gets attention.
she certainly does…. yeah
you stand back
and observe
I am sure she will come around.
boy, oh boy, a wave appears
and disappears soon.
.323. the walk.
do you like the feeling, walking ahead quickly, moving forward, loosening limbs. pushing
through wind, through water, rain slanting. shouting, counting the rams, shadowing
shepherd. wee mouse on the path, beady eyed. these are the hopeful days, weak sun
aching
3.
down the back lane there are puddles, huge amounts of water fell, flooded the abbey ruins. branches blown , creaking twigs while rain stays off a while. she is a new walking partner, quite fast, no bother.
lean on the fence to look over a steep drop to the river
tears well as we speak of it openly
4.
to break the cut a pheasant comes comely all collars & spectacles walks sedately to the edge, leans forward, ambles down.
Stones and shells.
Each grey disc
or pink ellipse
is a crashed planet.
Driftwood and splinters.
Dreams tangled up
in the mystery script
on blown cartons
and vagabond bags.
He scuttles, unshelled,
under a carillon
of seagulls, drunk
on salt and ozone.
This child who fears
clouds and mirrors
for the shapes
they throw at him
is healed for a day
by the moonstruck
logic of the tides.
by 
Jamie Dedes' THE POET BY DAY Webzine 
Lovely selection of poems by everyone.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hello Jamie! Here is mine entitled “Mother With the Green Hair” – I hope it is on point for the prompt (as I must admit, I am a city girl and that “oneness with nature” does not come naturally to me! 😂)
Rough brown skin scratches my cheek
I lean into your strength
My arms wrap around you
My fingers not touching
Reminding me of your age
A comfort in this short sighted world
Your willowy boughs sway in the hot breeze
But under your protective shadow
I am but one who rejoices in your giving nature.
LikeLiked by 3 people
Jamie this was inspired by the time I spent in Idaho. If it’s too small or not just right, I’ll understand.
My friend Greg commented that “It sure looks like a corner of Paradise there. You’ll carry this trip in your soul forever.” I still remember and tried to capture that feeling in a Haiku/Senryu.
Eagles sweep the sky
Bemused as the clouds drift by
Bewitched by silence
LikeLiked by 1 person
Dear Respected Jamie Ji
Some lines in response
I rejoice in a state of eutierria
I sink into sleep
enshrouded by oblivion
my sensing mind quiets
I fall in a state of eutierria
my grieving soul cries
tears raindrops flow together
drenched deaf to thunder
I soak in a state of eutierria
no more! stone marble
senses green, naked in soil
break bonds to connect.
I succumb to a state of eutierria
LikeLiked by 4 people
Thank you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hi Jamie,
Here’s my seventh
Ma Firesongs
inhale my sage, mint,
basil, saint john’s wort,
sunflower and lavender
leap through my balefire
an ‘I do’
burn my gorse and hay
fields to stubble
dress me in dried herbs,
potpourri, seashells, summer flowers, and fruits.
colour me blue, green, and yellow
let me handfast to you
think on harvest to come
*******
breathe in mistletoe
oak, rowan, and fir.
watch sticky moon rise
gold
as if honey
outa hive
yon fires r small suns
t’ massive blaze
nar set this short neet
she as bairn
in her belly
and soon a must pass
this fertile crahn
from oak t’ holly
tek int shape
and tale
o’ other folks fires
on yon hills
as tha would pattern
stars make
int neet sky wi art clards
an scry what’s t’come
an sup elder wine
an et this bread
of yon fields
grahnd thru yon stones
into fire
into r gobs
an bellies
an leet a candle
a midneet
aside this bowl
a rain watta
t’ catch moon n
wash
r face n hands
in it
(From “The Firewedding And Headpoke”, Alien Buddha Press, 2017)
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thanks for all, Paul! 👍
LikeLike
Hi Jamie,
Here’s my sixth response:
riverbrain, rivermind
synaptic rivulets
neuron canals
sacred water
riverbrain flows in my head
fountainbrain channels my ideas
lakebrain plays the fey
electric rivulets move earth
inside my head
waterskin neural net
circumnavigates damage
fruited hemispheres
replenish, restore, reimagine
senses water roots
springwaters in my head
well in my head.
sheflow
her flaps of the water
bride of the waveskin
her inner lips of the river,
spring and waterfalls,
fermented honey drip
not dragonfly laced stained glass
faplap
lamina moist make out
fragile weirs into lust
nympha
tongue kindly these guardians
a becomes a river
LikeLiked by 2 people
Hi Jamie,
Here’s my fifth response:
A Water Frets
gives and takes her contours,
every ripple adds or removes
years, smooths and plumps,
wrinkles and scars, blisters
and bubbles. Each surge
an encounter begins in laughter.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hi Jamie,
Here’s my third response:
Earth Always
looks down,
sniffs tracks the sky makes.
Sky always looks up
sniffs tracks the earth makes.
One day they will apologise
when they bump into each other.
LikeLiked by 3 people
oh, Jamie, Bittersweet.
When the season of change comes once more
sun of summer come
it has been too long
already like my own
days are short again
the leaves will turn
from youthful green
abundant to gold
scant as the briefest
breeze tumbles them
leaving bare spindles
vulnerable witness
to times past
and futures uncertain
sun of summer come
warm this body
too soon grown cold
in the shadows
of light.
deb y felio
7/7/2019
LikeLiked by 3 people
Love this! I long for the sun of summer to shine on me as well….
LikeLiked by 1 person
Blodeuwedd’s Lament
I knew the warmth
of a man’s body
though no blood
ever surged
through my veins.
I was oak-flower,
broom and meadowsweet
conjured into woman
without flesh and bone
and beating heart.
The moon O-hed
at the smoothness
of my face.
The sun paled
at the earth-gold
of my hair.
I loved Gronw,
the lord of Penllyn.
I lay in his arms
and we plotted
to kill my husband.
Now, for my sinfulness
I am shunned
and alone
at the woodland’s edge.
I am owl.
I am beak and talons,
feathers and sharp eyes.
I wait, still as death,
in the shadow
of midnight leaves.
In Welsh legend, Blodeuwedd (Flower-Faced”) was made by magicians
Math and Gwydion to be the wife of Lleu Llaw Gyffes.She and her lover
Gronw Pebr attempted, unsuccessfully, to murder Lleu. Gwydion turned
her into an owl as punishment.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you! 🙏
LikeLike
Garden Greeting
It’s still there
behind the splash
of sunlit curtains
freeing me from night’s
dark dream.
Even wayward grass
is rooted, jostles
for space with irises,
geraniums, alliums
and deep-cerise pinks.
Fruit of every seed
I’ve sprinkled
and every bulb
I’ve pressed
into the earth.
I amble along the path,
learn the colour-speak
of potted residents:
pansies, petunias,
bee-kissed marigolds.
There’s a breezy,
rose-scented wave
and murmurs of mock-orange
flowering after a decade
of solitary leaves.
LikeLiked by 3 people
Now I’m Nearly Sixty Nine
I want to grow more poppies
like these that intoxicate
my garden and out-blaze
the sun; I’ll keep the seeds
when green wand are flowerless
and rake them into the soil
for next summer.
I’ll still remember playgrounds
of childhood and the scent
of lilac; my mouth will moisten
at the thought of home-grown
blackcurrants but I won’t
hanker to go back, sit on the grass
and blow dandelion clocks.
I’ll be busy growing poppies,
admiring petals of extravagant
scarlet silk that outlive sultry
afternoons and noisy outbursts
of evening rain: that sway
beneath a clear blue sky and cup
a day’s worth of light.
LikeLiked by 3 people
👍💙
LikeLike
I am trying to get my poetry included on poet by day
LikeLiked by 2 people
Richard, why don’t you participate in Wednesday Writing Prompt. Poems on theme art published the following Tuesday. Read and follow directions carefully.
LikeLike
love and gratitude from LA ❤
peregrine
desert you look very pretty in your tender green veil
it’s been a while since i was here visiting you
inner struggle and rebirth brought me to your boulder bosom
i see my brothers the Joshua Trees have gotten taller
therefore waving more lost children toward your safety dear friend
oh and the hares and wood peckers they still look
me over with caution and pity they sense my spirit
is still shackled in some ways but they are right
i’m just a human mother Joshua but how are you
i’ve brought you great news there will be rain later
this evening that rock you say yes that will be
good shelter the tiny lizard queen is a great hostess
the breath of your slate tinged skies is beginning to
smell like wet earth just like my grandmother’s hair when
as a babe i’d grab fistfuls and put it in
my mouth yet i don’t know how i can remember
her we were both too young when she had to
go up to the silver stars above my head oh
mother Joshua did you tell Oma to come and visit
there you see she’s the one next to Venus smiling
at me hey little ants get off my cake here
i’ll place it by your hill take it to your
queen my regards to her and now my eyes focus
to see the splendor of the ocotillo fire red blossoms
held up to the peacock sky and i breathe deeply
LikeLiked by 5 people
Please edit the above as you see fit, Jamie. The Autocorrect struggle continues, and the down side of comment-submitting is uneditability.
LikeLiked by 1 person
👍
LikeLike
take a peak
once squaw peak
now is piestewa peak
because etymology
because war hero
it is a hunk of rock
an asteroidal embedment
of the rocky mountains
or it seems so
despite artifactual distractions
like memorial benches
and erosion-checking cement
and rails
at night it transports you
through a piece of the solar system
and when the climb harshness your breathing
it sounds like that of an astronaut
you and your rock
on the sweat-wringing trajectory
toward a magical world
enjoyed at park’s peak
panorama of an alien civilization
its photonic array twinkling
rectilinearly below
on your back the rock drinks your sweat
and you/rock bathe
in ancient light from the everywhere
surrounded
yet you enfold
LikeLiked by 3 people
Okay. Email it to me if you don’t mind. thepoetbyday@gmail.com
LikeLike
🙏👍
LikeLike
A Beach Poem
Follow the thin line
Between the water and the land,
Between the sky and the earth.
Follow it until you see the horizon
That lured your ancestors
To explore the thin line in search of a better life
All the way, from Africa to South America,
All the way, from Africa to Australia,
All the way from Africa to …
…love?
…compassion?
…wars?
….atrocities?
…humanity.
Humanity is a thin line
At the whim of the moody Moon
That buries it under the high tide
Or bares it by pulling the waters back.
Follow the thin line.
Keep your eyes on the horizon.
LikeLiked by 5 people
Thank you! 👍👏
LikeLike
“THINK, WAIT, FAST…”
I come to the pocket-sized beach
In winter only
No longer liking to be close to strangers
Alone, dreaming in Green Key Park
In the Gulf of Mexico dawn
I sit on the sand, drinking
Drive-through black coffee
Comforts more than stimulates
Birds, palms, sunrise on the Gulf
I pretend it is the sea
Here, it is warm like a bathtub
But not quite placid
Some tidal action
A bit of wave hiking up to the shoreline
Sand and negative ions
Water and fiery sun
Elemental balance
Aligning my body and soul
Entwined with Nature’s rhythm
I go inward more and more each year
Feel like Hesse’s Siddhartha on the river
He, like me, can think, can wait, can fast
Well, fasting, ok, not quite there yet
But able to do the rest
Because the inner life is best…
LikeLiked by 4 people
sea-bound stroll
Debasis Mukhopadhyay
now retsina
softening
old stitches
and
summer jaunts
fomenting the sepia waves
of lassitude
the fresh catch grilled at sundown
dabbled memories
nea paralia nea paralia
and an opalescent sea
rustling across a bloated brochure
called gateway
or maybe
sea-bound stroll
with azure galore
beguiling the eyes
like those hydrangeas flaunting
a clear blue
within easy reach
from the deck flowing to
a time
when
salty pebbles
keep rolling in
on the wounds
and the spume
swathes a heart in the sand
vowing
like a touch of warm cotton swabs
now-here
now-here
now-here
said once
love you
and
walked by the sea
LikeLiked by 4 people
I seem to have unintenionally ‘liked’ my own poem… Oh well, that’s one down for false modesty!
LikeLiked by 1 person
😀👍
LikeLike
boy, oh boy, a wave appears….
you stand back
and observe
beach scene, a poem make a splash
bikni girls *enjoying this*
boy, oh boy, you aren’t a loud person
or, someone who gets attention.
she certainly does…. yeah
you stand back
and observe
I am sure she will come around.
boy, oh boy, a wave appears
and disappears soon.
LikeLiked by 2 people
A Nice poem, Pali, but it’s not on theme. Read the post carefully and try again.
LikeLike
.323.
.323. the walk.
do you like the feeling, walking ahead quickly, moving forward, loosening limbs. pushing
through wind, through water, rain slanting. shouting, counting the rams, shadowing
shepherd. wee mouse on the path, beady eyed. these are the hopeful days, weak sun
aching
3.
down the back lane there are puddles, huge amounts of water fell, flooded the abbey ruins. branches blown , creaking twigs while rain stays off a while. she is a new walking partner, quite fast, no bother.
lean on the fence to look over a steep drop to the river
tears well as we speak of it openly
4.
to break the cut a pheasant comes comely all collars & spectacles walks sedately to the edge, leans forward, ambles down.
the walk.
LikeLiked by 3 people
..the photograph tree with blue..
envy the rural living.
make some.
walk the dunes
each day,
know the places,
to stop,
where berries grow.
where the photograph tree
knows,
what lays beneath.
look at each gentle place,
to keep in a pocket
of love,for that rainy
day, you do not go.
then in mine, in honour
walk the place in mind.
sbm.
LikeLiked by 4 people
..the hare..
have you ever gone back,
that repeat journey,
watching swallows dip
as if they had never been away.
staggering the stones
you may find god in
water falling.
LikeLiked by 4 people
Hi Jamie,
Here’s my second response:
Find Yourself
All in the air
All in the earth
All at sea
All in the stars
All in her skin
All in her blood
All in her bones
All in her
All at once
All at sixes and sevens
All in a state
All for her
LikeLiked by 4 people
Hi Jamie,
Here’s my first response:
Your Bones Remember
what my skin forgets.
What your sky forgets
my earth remembers.
Your rivers forget the distance travelled
My earth remembers where direction changed.
Blood memory stains your riverbed.
Skin never restores its shape.
Absence is character unrecognised.
Absence is a never return, a forgotten way
marked by signs unrecognised as signs.
LikeLiked by 4 people
I love the contrasts here. Beautiful!!
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thanks, Jamie.
BEACH BOY
For a boy, aged 5, newly diagnosed as autistic.
Stones and shells.
Each grey disc
or pink ellipse
is a crashed planet.
Driftwood and splinters.
Dreams tangled up
in the mystery script
on blown cartons
and vagabond bags.
He scuttles, unshelled,
under a carillon
of seagulls, drunk
on salt and ozone.
This child who fears
clouds and mirrors
for the shapes
they throw at him
is healed for a day
by the moonstruck
logic of the tides.
LikeLiked by 6 people