Pacific Sea Kettle; photo courtesy of Dan90266 under CC BY-SA 2.0

” . . .
Few things tire me more than
a child
all over again to
not favor war
not surrender to greed.”
CA Conrad, While Standing in Line for Death (Wave Books, 2017)

Elusive Soul
like buttercups running wild across Turtle Island
like Pacific sea nettle, cadmium yellow floating
like the pitch, plunge, sway of flotsam on a wave
no capture
no caging
no repression

It takes Time to progress
But noTime to be set free,
to shed the skin, the scarred bone,
the poisoned blood
and meet the Soul again

© 2019, Jamie Dedes


Assume reincarnation as an option. Would you choose it or pass? Are you done with the material life or ready to go another round. Why? Why not? I know this suggests mixed thoughts and feelings, but let’s go with it and see what comes. Share your poem/s on the desirabilty – or not – of reincarnation. PLEASE keep in mind, we’re not exploring this from a religious perspective. Use your imagination. Consider your life experience and the world in all its beauty and chaos, and put on your “What if” cap.  Thank you!


  • please submit your poem/s by pasting them into the comments section and not by sharing a link
  • please submit poems only, no photos, illustrations, essays, stories, or other prose

Poems submitted through email or Facebook will not be published.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 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, July 15 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 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 PressThe 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 for permissions, reprint rights, or comissions.

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


  1. Second Time Around

    Inspired by Joy Harjo.

    Let a roan mare house my soul.
    Let her coat be blue.
    Let her name be Ocean.
    Let her spine be strong.
    Let her mane flow unplaited.
    Let her ears twitch at the growl of thunder.
    Let her face be winsome and her eyes gentle.

    Let her tail swish to the hush of the tide.
    Let her be free from bridle, saddle and bit.
    Let her run in the company of other horses.
    Let her chase the wind across green fields.
    Let her travel country lanes and city streets
    and mountain paths dusted with pine cones.
    Let her follow the river and reach the valley.

    Let her drink from clear streams.
    Let her graze under the stars.
    Let her gallop across sand and shingle
    and the sea’s frothing hem.
    Let her whinnying breath scatter the clouds.
    Let her dance on the beach at sundown
    and trace the moon’s halo with silver-tipped hooves.


    Liked by 1 person

  2. Hi Jamie,

    Here is my fifth response:


    Gone to ground
    he sharply sees far below the hole
    he crouches in,

    his fellows hop and thump,
    gust in his wings as he dives,
    break of bone and fur,
    of his daughters limp body
    as he takes her to his perch
    to feed hungry beaks.

    Aware he did this once.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Hello Jamie! This was a fun one! Here is my response entitled “Nirvana Knows – A Pantoum” (I thought the form fitting for this prompt. 😉)

    Redo my life please
    I paid good money for that paper on the wall
    It glares at me with disapproving rage
    As I struggle with my final breath

    I paid good money for that paper on the wall
    A professional path to fame and fortune
    As I struggle with my final breath
    I think, “Regrets.”

    A professional path to fame and fortune
    Bartered for super tight hugs and sticky kisses
    I think, “Regrets?
    No, I am dying happy.”

    We tried to barter super tight hugs and sticky kisses
    But the cancer still clutched my breasts
    Now, I am dying happy
    Nirvana knows I made the right exchange

    The cancer that clutched my breasts
    Glares at me with disapproving rage
    Nirvana knows I made the right exchange
    Redo my life? No, thank you!

    Liked by 1 person

  4. So many interesting thoughts on re-incarnation, hard to know where to start. I think I am here as a person but I know I was here before. I liked most of the poems printed here and am sending congratulations to all the poets who have braved this topic. Here is mine:
    ANOTHER LIFE copyright Irene Emanuel
    Once I was a worshipped cat,
    I’m absolutely sure of that.
    Whisker greys adorn my face,
    which are the basis for my case.
    At ease with every cat I meet,
    without a cat, I’m not complete.
    We greet and speak by sight and touch
    and though that really isn’t much,
    I swear the cats know who I was
    when formally, I was their boss.
    So when a cat is scared and hisses,
    I shower him with gentle kisses,
    until the present is the past
    and he knows who I am at last.

    Liked by 3 people

  5. That is a fascinating topic to think about.

    What if …

    Waking up after centuries of silence
    Old memories still linger, but their meanings are elusive.
    My Self, woven deliriously at the intersection of the old world neuroses,
    Is trying to reach out for mirrors
    Searching for familiar worries and joys
    Suspended and in need of direction.
    And, all of a sudden, that need for change feels familiar.
    Life is flooding my existence once again…

    Liked by 3 people

  6. plished

    as a young dad he formed the
    habit of when leaving the house
    of telling his young wife and tod
    dler with mock-solemn drama:
    “i am going on a mission…
    from which…
    i may never return.”
    he did that 218 times.
    there was a thirty-five year
    between #217 and #218,
    which was on his deathbed,
    staring lovingly
    into his daughter’s
    tear-swimming eyes.

    she laughed a little, then hiccup-
    sobbed. but he ska-sneezed
    her hand
    and said “mission accom–”
    and died.

    in this life
    i suddenly remembered.
    and so i say

    Liked by 4 people

  7. In the sunny mantle

    In the sunny mantle
    the souls fall asleep
    They are returning to Earth
    (to calm the fast time)
    And if ever
    on the green hill
    from a clean river
    someone woke you up
    stretch your hands
    with your palms up
    and you will feel
    streams of golden sparks –
    the soul of the sun

    Liked by 3 people

  8. gratitude and peaceful energy from LA thanks for the opportunity


    i’m that girl
    this Eden is
    very beautiful
    i’ve crawled on my belly
    since the time of the Pharaohs
    and i’m feeling deeply tired
    today i make the case that gifting
    me free will does not compare to heaven
    when i close my eyes the cries of Mary
    still echo in my ears while Martha’s
    brother slumbers wrapped in linens
    and the taste of chocolate
    melting joy on my tongue
    careless angels send
    Your blessed signs
    i am

    Liked by 5 people

  9. Respected Jamie Ji
    Some lines for you….

    I believe I am an eight pointed star incarnate
    I once orbited the central celestial dark space
    where I was a reflector of pure light and peace
    and was circling on duty on an invisible plate

    many light years ago a new planet was born
    and a twinkling dome was set as a guide, I
    was transferred to move and shine, to pray
    and light the way for those who would seek

    for many more light years I remained suspended
    and guided many lost sea and desert travelers
    til some enemies down below started shooting
    and one day I broke and lost my invisible footing

    I am quite sure that I am in my third life now
    from a star and a guide and in pure light, I
    am in a different form called female, and in
    a meteor shower mixup,got the spirit of a male.

    and now my name though means a star
    but am still in a state of confused war
    many a times in lists and divisions I find
    that my seat or chair is in the boys bar

    the worst is when the organizers look me
    up and down and refuse to believe that I
    am a she and not a he’ as they had thought
    shake their heads and reluctantly let me pass

    so who is to blame if incarnation takes place
    not according to what one wished or desired
    or wished to be a prince or a princess royal-
    when reality strikes you find, Oh, the change misfired

    Liked by 5 people

  10. Thanks for the prompt, here’s my swing at it, thank you for reading and your consideration.

    I’d ravage The Endless back into a savagely peaceful state,
    where the darkness ceased against the ripping of sunlight
    and flesh was made to stagger under new form and structure.
    I’d break down amidst the ferocity of nerves completely aflame,
    blazing mysterious life back in a rictus of fresh birthed anguish
    that would howl up and out a throat misshapen to memory.
    I’d rest my pained eyes on reflective surface and cast out,
    cast out into the recesses of my mind to search for recognition,
    failing and withering beneath the harsh gasp of true newness.
    So I would be reborn, brought about by misguided hope,
    faithfully preserved in the belief that housed in a new sanctuary
    madness and sanity would restore to a natural balance
    leaving me aware of a change, but aching with the loss.

    Liked by 3 people

  11. . reincarnationˌriːɪnkɑːrˈneɪʃn .

    coming home can be.

    frightful, in snow or heavy rain,

    dark the days are, the evenings darker.

    forecasts bring gloom and panic, then are cancelled

    minutes later, the phone kicks off.

    ice is predicted, mountains white

    i may be reborn in this valley….

    now there is a story, meanwhile

    arriving home to candlelight, fire the same

    and hopefully all will be well a while.

    the mouse, the bear,

    are quiet ones.

    the word count is 62, the years are 8,

    and i dreamed it was 2 months ; longer

    than all the other numbers.

    i may be a long time coming home.


    Liked by 3 people

  12. wish I wish I were born too stunned.
    my mom must have sensed my presence.
    don’t look at me as though I have grown another head.
    what if, I can feel your nerves bubbling up?
    elusive soul, a poem make a stand ….yeah
    I shake my head smiling.
    I smile a small smile.
    p.s. it’s difficult to me to show outward affection.

    Liked by 3 people

  13. Hi Jamie,

    Here’s my fourth response:

    A World Where

    I can’t recognise this pattern of words,
    the timetables at work. I can’t make

    a pattern is a world without form,
    without substance, an out of focus

    pictures in which there maybe more
    than one of me. I don’t orientate

    without signposts or landmarks or signatures.
    All is blur. Meaning elusive.

    If I make it could be false. There is grief
    at a loss of shape, of pattern.

    A gallery of random words and pictures
    I can reshuffle so every time a picture

    has different words, words you can apply
    to any other picture. The application of shape

    more meaningful perhaps. As we can’t say
    when someone close will leave this earth.

    Port of Souls is found landlocked sometimes.
    Like marrow locked inside a bone, at other

    Times it is a small island surrounded
    by a repetition of water. Occasionally after

    so many have passed into memory,
    a port of souls occupies our inside.

    ( collection”Port of Souls”, Alien Buddha Press, 2018)

    Liked by 2 people

  14. Hi Jamie,

    Here’s my third response:

    This Soul Nonsense

    Writers use the word without thought.
    Expect readers to know what they mean.

    Never define the word in their work.
    A throw away word to mean something deep.

    Used without care a word out of place
    repeated so often it is meaningless.

    Air, ether, fire or light once thought
    incorporeal. If air perhaps our breath

    actions at a distance. Breathe in spirit.
    Perhaps we refer to our emotions.

    Endeavour to give them gravity.
    Don’t throw away, pick carefully.

    (From my collection “Port of Souls”, Alien Buddha Press, 2018)

    Liked by 3 people

  15. Hi Jamie,

    Here’s my first response;


    I watch the traffic lights
    consider a walk this way or
    a green man allows me
    to avoid bloodied bone

    my mouth and ears
    thresholds and doors
    full of oaklimbs and leaves

    reborn I stretch down
    to deep dark moist

    I stretch up to cloudlight
    barkskin palmtouched
    I let others breathe
    shelter and endure.

    Liked by 2 people

    For once I thought ‘It’s Wednesday,
    Let’s see what today’s prompting is…’
    And couldn’t believe what it was!
    What to write, if I don’t believe
    In reincarnation, but live
    With it since I was a newborn?
    And how can I write about it
    ‘Just from my imagination’,
    When memories are flooding me
    From so many places and times
    Which I have known and have known me?
    Oh, I do feel universal,
    Old soul with yet another face
    On top of another body
    Whose cells still hunger for the food
    They used to live by long ago
    And still act upon the old vows
    That I pronounced, meaning well,
    In so many monasteries
    Of so many dire religions
    All over the entire planet,
    Imprisoning myself in them!
    Or other vows claiming Freedom
    Without knowing quite what it was…
    Yet in this life it all came back
    As a whole harvest of lifetimes
    Leading to this one’s turning-point
    In the true Light at last of Love
    For myself and for all ‘others’:
    Unconditional Love at last,
    Healing all with its strong Delight…
    Shall I try to express all that?
    It is such a tempting topic…

    Liked by 2 people

    My very first memory?
    Deep sadness.
    Deep sadness within me at knowing, and telling myself:
    “Here I am again,
    having to pretend being a separate person again,
    instead of a blissful part of the loving Whole… ”
    Sadness like a huge sigh in my being,
    in the Soul that I was
    since ever
    for ever.
    The feeling of going at it once again,
    out of a sense,
    not of obligation,
    but of accepted duty.
    Like shouldering up again a burden
    that has to be carried
    to its destination,
    whatever time it may take.
    This was when I was supposed to be a tiny baby
    just newborn,
    arriving back into this difficult physical world
    of planet Earth.

    Liked by 2 people

  18. ha!

    in the fifties there was war
    and hatred of those people
    in the sixties there was war
    and the hatred of those people
    in then eighties, nineties, the same
    then a new century came
    no different now
    war and hate
    why would anyone
    want to reincarnate
    to be the hater or the hated
    you lose either way
    I’ll just stick
    with Groundhog Day

    Liked by 5 people

Thank you!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s