“Mother With the Green Hair” … and other poetic responses to the last Wednesday Writing Prompt

Japanese Tea Garden, San Mateo, CA

“how the morning is greated
fight for the money or
fight for the soul the saying goes
but another goal is to
fight for neither. …”
Ecodeviance (Soma)tics for the Future Wilderness, CA Conrad

Happy Tuesday, Everyone!  It’s that lovely time of week when we share the work of fellow poets on the last Wednesday Writing Prompt theme. Last week’s prompt was Beach Scene, July 3, which asked about times when poets felt most at one with nature. This lovely collection today is thanks to the talents of mm brazfield, Gary W. Bowers, Paul Brookes, Anjum Wasim Dar, Irma Do, Deb y Felio, Jen Goldie, Sheila Jacob, Elena Lacy, Sonja Benskin Mesher, and Clarissa Simmens.  Also chiming in this week are newcomers Dick Jones and Debasis Mukhopadhyay, both warmly welcome.

Enjoy this fine read and do join us tomorrow or the next Wednesday Writing Prompt.  All are welcome, beginners, novice and pro.

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.

© 2019, Dick Jones

DICK JONES was initially wooed by the First World War poets and then seduced by the Beats. He’s been exploring the vast territories in between since the age of fifteen. His work has been published in a number of magazines, print and online, including Orbis, The Interpreter’s House, Poetry Ireland Review, Qarrtsiluni, Westwords, Mipoesias, Three Candles, Other Poetry, Rattlesnake and Ouroboros Review. In 2010 Dick received a Pushcart nomination for his poem Sea Of Stars. His first collection, Ancient Lights, is published by Phoenicia Publishing and is available from them or via Amazon. His translation of Blaise Cendrars’ influential epic poem ‘La Prose du Transsiberien…’ was published in an illustrated collaborative edition with artist Natalie D’Arbeloff by Old Stile Press in 2014.

sea-bound stroll

now retsina


old stitches


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


salty pebbles

keep rolling in

on the wounds

and the spume

swathes a heart in the sand


like a touch of warm cotton swabs




said once

love you


walked by the sea

© 2019, Debasis Mukhopadhyay

DEBASIS MUKHOPADHYAY (between ink and inblot) has been featured on The Poet by Day Before, but this is the first time in response to Wednesday Writing Prompt. He is the author of the chapbook “kyrie eleison or all robins taken out of context(Finishing Line Press, 2017). His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in journals & anthologies, including Posit, Words DanceThe Curly Mind (UK), Erbacce (UK), Strange Poetry (UK), Yellow Chair ReviewI Am Not A Silent Poet (UK), The New Verse News, Rat’s Ass Review : Love & Ensuing Madness, Writers Against Prejudice (UK), Manneqüin.HaüsAlgebra of Owls (UK), The Skinny Poetry JournalOf/With : Journal of Immanent Renditions, Anapest JournalCommunicators League (Nigeria), No Tribal Dance (UK), Quatrain.Fish, Duane’s Poe TreeWalking Is Still Honest, Leaving My Shadow : A Tribute to Anna AkhmatovaThirteen Myna BirdsWhale Road Review, The Apache Poetry Blog (Sweden), Scarlet Leaf ReviewSilver Birch Press, The Bitchin’ Kitsch, Foliate Oak, Eunoia Review, Revolution John, Fragments of Chiaroscuro, Down in the Dirt, With Painted Words (UK), The Wagon MagazineSnapping Twig, Words Surfacing, Praxis, Apple Fruits of an Old Oak, and Voice of Monarch Butterflies. His work has been nominated for the Best of the Net. MORE

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 harshens your breathing
it sounds like that of an astronaut

you and your rock
on the sweat-wringing trajectory
toward a magical world
enjoyed at peak’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
yet you enfold

© 2019, Gary W. Bowers

Gary’s site is: 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 here. Gary’s pottery is available for purchase.  Further details HERE. Note the business card. We appreciate Gary’s wry humor.


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

© 2019, mm brazfield

mm’s site is: Words Less Spoken

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.

© 2019, Paul Brookes

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

© 2019, Paul Brookes

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.

© 2019, Paul Brookes

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.

© 2019, Paul Brookes

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.


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

lamina moist make out

fragile weirs into lust

tongue kindly these guardians

a becomes a river

© 2019, Paul Brookes

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
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
r face n hands
in it

From Paul’s The Firewedding And Headpoke, (Alien Buddha Press, 2017)

© 2017, Paul Brookes

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

  • Paul’s Amazon Page U.S. HERE
  • Paul’s Amazon Page U.K. HERE

More poems by Paul at Michael Dickel’s Meta/ Phore(e) /Play

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

© 2019, Anjum Wasim Dar

Anjum Ji’s sites are:

“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

Mother With the Green Hair

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.

© 2019, Irma Do

Irma’s site is: I Do Run, And I do a few other things too ….

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.

© 2019, deb y felio 

Eagles sweep the sky
Bemused as the clouds drift by
Bewitched by silence

© 2019, Jen Goldie

Jen’s sites are:

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.

© 2019, Sheila Jacob

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.

© 2019, Sheila Jacob

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.

© 2019, Sheila Jacob

You can connect with Sheila on Facebook.  A review of her chapbook will appear on this site on Thursday, July 11 along with an interview and a sampling of poems.

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 …
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.

© 2019, Elena Lacy

Elena’s site is Hyperimage’s Blog


.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



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


to break the cut a pheasant comes comely all collars & spectacles walks sedately to the edge, leans forward, ambles down.

the walk.

© 2019, Sonja Benskin Mesher

envy the rural living.

make some.

walk the dunes
each day,
know the places,
to stop,
where berries grow.

where the photograph tree
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.

© 2019, Sonja Benskin Mesher

..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.

© 2019, Sonja Benskin Mesher

Sonja’s sites are:

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…

© 2019, Clarissa Simmens

Find Clarissa on her Amazon’s Author Page, on her blog, and on Facebook HERE; Clarissa’s books include: Chording the Cards & Other Poems, Plastic Lawn Flamingos & Other Poems, and Blogetressa, Shambolic Poetry.


Recent in digital publications: 
* Four poemsI 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 CoveI Am Not a Silent Poet, Meta/ Phor(e) /Play, Woven Tale Press,Metho/BlogThe 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 Plumb Tree’s Wednesday Poet’s Corner, several times as Second Light Live featured poet, on Belfast Radio and elsewhere.

Email me at thepoetbyday@gmail.com for permissions or comissions.

“Every pair of eyes facing you has probably experienced something you could not endure.”  Lucille Clifton