On Awakening, a poem … and your next Wednesday Writing Prompt

Hazy summer sunrise over the Mojave Desert

“This is the best –
throwing off the light covers,
feet on the cold floor,
and buzzing around the house on espresso …”
Morning by Billy Collins, Picnic, Lightening



Morning comes in gentle whispers, soft refrains
A fresh light peeks in around the blinds
Breezes stroke the sheers with sweet affection
Ears spark to the rhythm of a light spring rain
I think I hear school bells. Slowly I realize . . .
. . .  “I am no longer that young girl.”

From someplace the sound of baby murmur,
but that sweet boy is grown and gone away
I reach for the man and with relief remember,
now he’s another woman’s Sisyphean task
The cat, I move to pull her plump and furry
body into the cuddle of my arms, but her dust
sits in a wooden box on my bedside table

Slowly orienting to time and place, I rise
I spark to the spirit of my several selves
I stretch and yawn my way into this new day
The good yesterday has faded in time and
tomorrow is a promise that may not keep,
But look! This bright morning has arrived . . .
What unknown adventures will come my way
with this new sun and newer me?

© 2019, Jamie Dedes; photo courtesy of Jessie Eastland under CC BY-SA 4.0

WEDNESDAY WRTING PROMPT

What is it like when you are awakening in the morning? Are you up-and-at ’em right away?  Do you curl back up for a few moments of precious sleep?  Are you ever disoriented, perhaps not knowing the time or place?  Tell us in your poem/s and

  • 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Poems submitted through email or Facebook will not be published.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, August 12 by 8 pm Pacific 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.

You are welcome – encouraged – to share your poems in a language other than English but please accompany it with a translation into English.


ABOUT

Recent in digital publications: 
* Four poemsI Am Not a Silent Poet
* Five by Jamie Dedes, Spirit of Nature, Opa Anthology of Poetry, 2019
* From the Small Beginning, Entropy Magazine (Enclave, #Final Poems)(July 2019)
* Over His Morning Coffee, Front Porch Review (July 2019)
Upcoming in digital publications:
* 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: Levure littéraireRamingo’s Porch, Vita Brevis Literature, HerStry, 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. Among others, 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 or commissions.


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

27 thoughts on “On Awakening, a poem … and your next Wednesday Writing Prompt

  1. Hello Jamie! I’ve been on vacation and almost missed this prompt! A short haiku is my submission, entitled:

    “On Being Awakened”

    The joy of morning
    Crowded out by small elbows
    In my lower back

    I hope your summer is going well! ❤️

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Hi Jamie,

    Here’s my seventh response:

    Servant

    For a time I do bother
    to polish the surfaces,
    hoover, wash and iron.

    If only for myself,
    but then myself is not enough.
    Dust piles, crumpled clothes dirty.

    I fall asleep among dirty sheets,
    empty crisp packets,
    half eaten cold pizzas,
    stink of mice piss.

    Awake to freshly laundered sheets,
    clean carpets, clothes washed, ironed.
    Surfaces polished smell of Lavender.
    How could this happen?

    Again I fall asleep while tv on,
    amongst discarded chocolate papers,
    left over cake on plates,
    half drunk cans of lager.

    Awake to tv off, rubbish binned,
    plates washed, dried put away,
    Citrus not stale beer and rotting smell.
    I’m intrigued. Curious.

    It takes no effort to be a slob, again.
    Spill crisps down sides of chairs,
    dribble tea into carpet, crumbs.
    Energy drinks ready I stay awake.

    Energy sup is the biz. Make
    Me hyper so I see these two tiny
    Folk, man and woman, like regular
    Nanites sorting my crap.

    Like my old man never were
    this one hoovers up crumbs,
    packs his black bin bag with cans,
    busies, polishes, scrubs to his bones.

    His old woman like mam, I guess,
    dusts, scours a whirlwind devil.
    Part of me says they do as they must,
    the other sees what they lack.

    Next night I leave them a gift
    of nothing to tidy, to put away.
    They seem contented as I watch
    surrogate mam and dad leave for good.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Hi Jamie

    Here’s my sixth response:

    The Owl Guide

    As you lie on that hospital bed unconscious
    in a maybe
    What more can you do,
    What more should you have done

    As a young girl, excited and unaccustomed to city-ways, gallop your dads milk horse
    away from your white home,
    through downtown Sunderland streets
    where this morning it trotted
    Dads milkcart rattle on a milkround.

    Folk scatter, run scared.
    A bobby captures your reins.
    Arrested and thrown in prison
    with the rapists, killers and paedophiles.

    sob yourself to sleep.
    Shortly after midnight awake
    to flap, flap flap near the door,

    stood wide open. You softly
    step out, closed the door behind you.

    See an owl,
    perched on a wooden fence,

    who awaits your escape.
    The owl flies in front of you,
    guides you past bobbies,

    through dark streets, till you came
    to a saddled horse and a bundle of fresh clothes.

    You mount, the owl pulls the horses head
    Towards the white dairy farm

    then leaves, as it must as the owl
    In a maybe
    Is your future daughter who dies before you do.
    What more can you do?
    What more should you have done?

    (From my collection “Port of Souls,’ 2017, Alien Buddha Press)

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Hi Jamie,

    Here’s my fifth response:

    our god sleeps

    with his gob open.
    When he opens his gob
    It could be dawn, noon or midday.
    whenever we must awake
    to work in the mountains.
    The mountains of god’s tongue.

    They shake and gust blows.
    We must find
    our balance.
    Hunt for food
    on the undulations.

    Never know
    when god will close his mouth
    for night to fall, again.

    Sometimes night is short.

    Folk say there is life
    over the mountains
    in god’s teeth.

    None have returned.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Respected Jamie Ji Please accept some thoughts and words

    Awakening! Sweet or Rude

    In Lethe we stay
    dipped drugged forgetful of life
    seasons pass in time

    childhood is a dream
    fettered forced youth,innocent crime,
    silver streaks,await

    the promise in vain,
    bent weak constantly in pain,
    hope to rise again?

    right guidance will come
    love light peace freedom will shine,
    to awaken me.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Angels Sing Hallelujah

    Angels singing hallelujah pull the sun up from behind the horizon splashing the colors of dawn across the sky calling for the spirit of life to arise in God’s radiance.

    Sleeping flowers perk up preparing to unfold in their resilience and in their brilliance.

    The rolling green hills in the distance framed by cumulus clouds stand firm in their resolve to praise God.

    The birds twitter and tweet good morning to the universe then take wing and sing to the inhabitants of earth.

    Gentle sounds emitting from a cell phone alarm roam through the air at that moment penetrating the dark silence of a deep sleep in another world…in another place…in another space.

    Scripture settles a sleepy soul sweeping away cobwebs of confusion and illusions lighting the way to the manifestation of a new day.

    “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” ….

    Conscious mind awakes collecting bits and pieces of memory fragmented by the divide between reverie and reality then places them back into the puzzle of existence…the new day begins.

    Liked by 1 person

  7. Replacing The Empties

    Woken by summer’s early light
    I heard the chug of a milk- float
    down the road. It rattled to a stop
    outside our house, the milkman
    unlatched our wooden gate
    and bounded up the path.

    A chime of glass and he’d replaced
    the empties, left two full bottles
    on the front step. Pasteurised
    for my porridge or custard,
    sterilised(long-lasting and thin)
    for Mum and Dad’s tea.

    The door opened and closed.
    Mum had brought the milk inside-
    time for me to yawn, stretch,
    go back to sleep for another hour.
    Downstairs, Mum brewed a pot
    of tea for Dad’s work- flask.

    She made sandwiches, wrapped
    two slices of cakes in greaseproof
    and packed them in his rucksack.
    After he’d left, she topped up the pot
    with fresh water, opened the stera.
    and sipped the best cup of the day

    Liked by 1 person

  8. Like The First Morning

    Break, morning, and fly to me,
    be my golden songbird.
    Lift me from huddled sleep,
    tuck me between your wing
    and sun-dappled breast
    and carry me over the rooftops.

    Break, in all your new colours.
    Wrap me in scarlet flame,
    ease my bones and warm my heart
    against your own as you soar
    above mountains and pine trees
    spooled with silver mist.

    Break, morning, as though
    you were the first to unveil
    creation’s radiant face;
    teach me your glory-unto-him
    psalm of sunlit waking:
    and breaking, from night’s heft.

    Liked by 1 person

  9. Here’s my response. I’ve mailed you my photograph and bio. Thanks!
    Beginnings

    I occupy a crevice
    that night has burned and
    day has not yet filled
    where Earth is stilled until
    the first bulbul chimes its
    two-toned announcement
    of another dawn

    the ageing cat takes precedence
    over frozen morning feet as I
    hobble to touch a trembling purr
    on bony flanks of fading flesh
    to replenish a feeding bowl and
    scrub flecks of meaty morsels
    off the floor

    to carefully strain a litter
    by a single yellow lamp
    and start the day with twosome
    caring and a daydream
    flickering in both minds of
    many more such mornings
    to come

    we move on padded paws to keep
    the brittle hush from snapping
    and squinting without spectacles
    I see the glowing crucialness
    of beginnings

    August 2019

    Liked by 2 people

  10. alarm

    as i hack
    through the unliving
    with my broadsword
    there suddenly comes
    into my dream
    tinkling cloying music
    worse than zombies
    for it snatches
    me from glory
    and its purpose
    into the mundane
    drab and dismal
    day to day

    Liked by 1 person

  11. third….

    . the theory .

    that feeling, that . arrives unexpected from darkness, some winters’ mornings, opening the door to the sound of one black bran bird calling. track four repeated. that comes on waking finding peace and comfort bound.

    it is a fine line we walk, gently avoiding peptides, only just a theory, yet used independently, alongside honest work

    reading how the body works, you will have a better understanding, yet they do not teach of this

    at school. they teach of clever yoghurt in adverts, i did not know microbes fancy food, move our choices.

    the play continues, some of the old cast, new actors oblige, ideas on lack of addictive ways. simple days without receptors. singing under breath, numbers.

    have you been to the counting?

    lines ruled to stop

    vertigo setting in.

    two

    three

    four

    five

    two

    three

    it is a fine line we walk, gently avoiding peptides, only just a theory, yet used independently, alongside honest work.

    Liked by 1 person

  12. Thanks Jamie….

    .upper rooms.

    some mornings while drifting

    i see the writing in my head

    come patterned, neat lines balancing

    dancing with the rain

    at the window

    on waking

    yesterday we remembered blancmange

    and jelly, ideal milk and water

    pineapple that split cream

    food that touched

    yesterday we remembered our granmas

    our mothers

    bundles of cotton with colours

    required for mending always

    yesterday she explained to sew

    the four holes in synchronicity

    tight

    on linen

    yesterday the words came easily with labels

    and names

    today on brightening

    forget

    Liked by 1 person

  13. peace love and gratitude from LA thanks for the opportunity ❤

    ZORYA

    there she is
    bright bold with golden arms
    the lady who comes to purify my blood
    just 2 hours and 34 minutes in the past
    did the he moon with his mariachi suit
    cry with me because he is a gentleman
    we had clinked tequila glasses
    while he kissed my hands
    but with each step Zorya takes toward my window
    i’ve come to prefer the strong espresso roast
    dark heavy smoldering like your heart
    you prefer to sleep
    after quaking and quivering through my mounds
    and when your eyes come open wide your armor
    will cover you again
    as i remain the faithful wench
    in the china cup where to gold has chipped off
    filled with mud and some manipulative tears
    my cigarette will drown in sorrow
    so i walk into the bathroom
    to wash your sheep’s odor
    off my she wolf fur

    Liked by 3 people

  14. Love the mornings! Here is mine:

    ON AWAKENING

    Betrayal!
    Don’t like to sleep
    But actually slept
    For a few hours
    No hypnagogic images
    No dreams
    Just … nothing
    Two dogs snuggled in
    Trying to take over
    My pillow
    My place on the mattress
    I leap from the bed
    (Well, an aging woman’s leap)
    Dash into the kitchen
    Grind the coffee
    Swallow the BP meds
    And this Morning Aries
    Tugs open the sliding glass door,
    Joining the joyful dogs
    Noses to the ground
    Following the scent of
    The wascally wabbit
    Impossible possum
    Wrecking my palm tree
    While the early birds
    Peck at the feeder
    Too lazy to find the worm
    While the feral cat
    Safe from the dogs
    On the other side of the fence
    Yowls to be fed
    And I say
    Thank you to the Cosmos
    For giving me another day…

    Liked by 2 people

  15. Can a love, you don’t name
    Can be love
    On awakening, a poem ask
    Answer me, if you have to die
    How can I quit eating
    ‘over salted pie’

    I feel happy, and dead
    (On awakening) I visit your profile when

    Go, look at your profile views ….yeah
    I find myself on a porn 😭 when
    I tap on link to know more 🤔
    Answer me
    Can a love, you don’t name
    Can be love

    I feel happy, and dead
    (On awakening) I visit your profile when

    I am an effeminate ….yeah
    At night late *so what*
    I visit your profile
    You are a vamp …..yeah
    I find myself on a porn 😭 when
    I tap on link to know more 🤔

    I feel happy, and dead
    (On awakening) I visit your profile when

    Can a love, you don’t name
    Can be love
    Look at my photo then
    Answer me, if you have to die
    How can I quit eating
    ‘over salted pie’

    Liked by 1 person

  16. Hi Jamie,

    Here’s my fourth response:

    A Tom Tit

    Suddenly awake I hear
    milk float electric whirr, his
    bottles rattle in their baskets
    the clink as milkman delivers.

    “Fetch milk in”, mam sharts.
    I open our snowed door to find
    Blue Tom Tit has been at it
    again, claws stood on the lip,
    beak strips the silver foil top
    for a sup and winter sip.
    I am not a milksop
    “Tit’s been at it again, mam!

    Liked by 2 people

  17. Hi Jamie,
    Here’s my third response:

    Her Fur Elise

    I awake to Beethoven as Mam taps the upright
    piano downstairs in the through lounge

    where morning light highlights dark brown dining table
    and varnished coffee table both polished

    with Pledge until you see yourself. Later
    chemo will make her petite fingers fat,

    Fur Elise break into fragments as disease progresses
    and piano sold as her hands come to rest.

    Liked by 2 people

  18. Hi Jamie,

    Here’s my second response:

    Rain Is Awake

    when it falls
    hits the snuggled earth
    with wet caresses

    Conscious movement
    rippled determination
    to move forward
    once a route is found,

    knows it must find rest
    a place to sleep
    but other droplets insist
    on movement forward

    Liked by 2 people

  19. Hi Jamie,

    here’s my first response:

    The Hyperbolic Poet Awakes

    My eyelids open
    are two worlds unfettered by cloud.

    I splash the seven oceans
    On the continents of my skin.

    Rake the tombstones inside my mouth.
    Tumble downstairs is scree down a mountain.

    Open the wooden doors of delight,
    Recover the pottery of ages,

    Pour an avalanche of muesli
    Farmed on sunny hillsides,

    Crushed by the quern.
    Grab the milk hosed out

    By gargantuan herbivores,
    Refined in their udders of heaven.

    Wash and restacked pottery,
    I stride over the open threshold
    A veritable colossus.

    Liked by 3 people

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