” . . . Few things tire me more than imagining reincarnation a child struggling 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
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!
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 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Poems submitted through email or Facebook will not be published.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 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, 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 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
Rate this:
Thank you for sharing your love of words. Comments will appear after moderation.
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.
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,
bloodseep
of his daughters limp body
as he takes her to his perch
to feed hungry beaks.
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!
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.
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…
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
gap
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
“plished.”
In the sunny mantle
the souls fall asleep
They are returning to Earth
forever
(to calm the fast time)
And if ever
on the green hill
surrounded
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
gratitude and peaceful energy from LA thanks for the opportunity
RSVP
hi
Rabbi
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
however
i am
done
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
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.
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.
TEMPTING TOPIC
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…
MY VERY FIRST MEMORY
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.
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
by 
Jamie Dedes' THE POET BY DAY Webzine 
profound thanks
LikeLike
Respected Jamie ji please use the following title for my poem
From A Star Afar
LikeLiked by 1 person
Will do. Just putting a wrap on the post now.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Will do.
LikeLiked by 1 person
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.
.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you,Jamie,I’ve recently discovered Joy Harjo’s poetry. Wow!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Big “Wow” ! Yes! 🙂
LikeLike
Hi Jamie,
Here is my fifth response:
Knowing
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,
bloodseep
of his daughters limp body
as he takes her to his perch
to feed hungry beaks.
Aware he did this once.
LikeLiked by 1 person
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!
LikeLiked by 1 person
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.
LikeLiked by 3 people
We always recognize our own! 🐱 Great Poem!
LikeLiked by 1 person
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…
LikeLiked by 3 people
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
gap
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
“plished.”
LikeLiked by 4 people
Ha! He got in the last (or first?) word! 😁
LikeLiked by 1 person
In the sunny mantle
In the sunny mantle
the souls fall asleep
They are returning to Earth
forever
(to calm the fast time)
And if ever
on the green hill
surrounded
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
LikeLiked by 3 people
gratitude and peaceful energy from LA thanks for the opportunity
RSVP
hi
Rabbi
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
however
i am
done
LikeLiked by 5 people
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
LikeLiked by 5 people
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.
LikeLiked by 3 people
. 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.
sbm.
LikeLiked by 3 people
Thanks Jamie
LikeLiked by 1 person
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.
LikeLiked by 3 people
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.
(From.my collection”Port of Souls”, Alien Buddha Press, 2018)
LikeLiked by 2 people
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)
LikeLiked by 3 people
Hi Jamie,
Here’s my second response:
I See Daylight
when the blade
opens a gash in his skin,
a valley I can walk through.
The sharp edge
narrowly misses me.
I step out of his wound,
his valley.
Reborn.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Hi Jamie,
Here’s my first response;
TRAFFIC
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.
LikeLiked by 2 people
TEMPTING TOPIC
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…
LikeLiked by 2 people
MY VERY FIRST MEMORY
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.
LikeLiked by 2 people
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
LikeLiked by 5 people
Thanks to all the appreciators : )
LikeLiked by 1 person