“Why should we tolerate a diet of weak poisons, a home in insipid surroundings, a circle of acquaintances who are not quite our enemies, the noise of motors with just enough relief to prevent insanity? Who would want to live in a world which is just not quite fatal?” Rachel Carson, Silent Spring
The world feeds on maggots, the
Grubby leftovers of once promising
Civilizations, their streets noisy and
Congested, sickening but not quite
Fatal, at least not quickly so, and the
Company of angry neighbors and those
Mercenaries, stealing the lands of other
Peoples, hate and recrimination are the
Justifications, and no one can surrender
Shadows, projections, offenses of the “other”
Pain, resentment, for whom is it the worst?
All part of our identity tag, our “who
Would I be if it weren’t for …. ?”
© 2019, Jamie Dedes
WEDNESDAY WRITING PROMPT
Climate change, pollution, and loss of biodiversity are threats that combine to become even more insidious with the current zeitgeist of fear, racism, war, conflict, and genocide, all supported by hate and tradition, the Hatfields and McCoys writ large. What would happen, I wonder, if we agreed to a world-wide emotional detoxification event, an international soul healing day? What would happen if we were to unite in letting go of the hatreds, resentments, and pains that define so many of us and that we’ve inherited? What would happen if we agree to a shared stewardship of the Earth? How might things change? Would things get better? Would we just find new offenses to impose, new things to chew on? I know that’s a lot to ponder, but these concerns are on all our minds anyway. What are your thoughts? There’s a lot of latitude here as always, but nothing that promotes hate or violence please. 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Poems submitted through email or Facebook will not be published.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 19 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:
* Five by Jamie Dedes, Spirit of Nature, Opa Anthology of Poetry, 2019
* From the Small Beginning, Entropy Magazine (Enclave, #Final Poems)(July 2019)
* The Damask Garden, In a Woman’s Voice (August 11, 2019) / This short story is dedicated to the world’s refugees, one in every 113 people.
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 littéraire, Ramingo’s Porch, Vita Brevis Literature, HerStry, 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, pushers of The BeZine of which I am managing editor. Email me at thepoetbyday@gmail.com for permissions or commissions.
Respected Jamie Ji wishing you all the best of everything beautiful peaceful lovely healthy in all Allah’s grand world. With a heavy heart and mind I am sharing some thoughts here. Your encouragement and inspiration to write is profound and much appreciated.Stay blessed with joy and love always amen.
Not Quite Fatal
Blindfolded by mother’s soft hands not blinded yet by pellets,
I can find my way up the hills, I can feel the mountains, hear the
song of the cool stream, sense the moaning of
the trees, be shaken by falling thuds of dead bodies
and listen to the hard footsteps of occupation,
I am deaf to shots ringing every now and then,
life gives pain, life goes on the injuries bleed
not quite fatal
brought forth in darkness, surely for a purpose
I know not light, nor the graceful glide of the
flight, with wings spread out full breadth, ‘away
away,up and down, how how long will Aeolus
carry me, and how far, as space above I know,
but not beyond the hill,or else I will lose my wings
fall I will,crippled, disabled, the wound will be
not quite fatal
speak of letting go’ of emotional detoxification’ and ‘letting in
love peace forgiveness joyful togetherness with kindness’
were we not guided? were we not warned ? were we not told
of good and bad and reward and punishment ? Alas’ it is us-
ungrateful we remain thankless mindless careless,making fuss,
brutal anger reigns supreme,each one thinks’ he is the best,thus
create conflict, commit genocide, take over if not given, rape’ it is
not quite fatal
born behind barbed wires, blinking weakly in spreading light,
freedom’, a gift of nature yet to be received,lagged behind like a
snail,blackouts and bullets won the race,on land and in space,
All Cities are Unreal Cities’ All faces prepared to meet ‘other faces’
Humans love to act wild, love the power of command and control
so make way’ but do not call’ Come’ under the shadow of the red rock,
The Will is to Kill ‘ that is the thrill’ have fun,play the game, its just a game
not quite fatal
not quite fatal
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Thank you, Anjum Ji. Your poem is full of heartache. I feel for you and yours. xo
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Respected Jamie Ji Thank you for your kind loving consoling thoughts and words. Something is really rotten in the region , a few putting the whole world at stake. May Allah have mercy . Peace is the prayer.Amen
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Amen! 🙏
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Hi Jamie, the first time I posted this, it didn’t show up, so I’m posting again. Please forgive me if I’ve somehow posted it twice!
One
It’s a continental drift of thought-drops
when opiate ideas carve the sky,
land and all that ripples between.
It’s a sinking of reverence when
obsessive order regresses into
cataloguing creation on your finger-
tips with too many birds snared in hand.
How do we salve fragile existence when
hairline cracks web porcelain minds?
You spin circles raising the ghost of history,
reflecting deep its rise and fall, breathe in
breathe out, the inside and outside are one.
A glimmer of light still strains through
the gathering haze, within and without,
while the earth gently prods us it’s
spinning out of antidote and time.
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One
It’s a continental drift of thought-drops
when opiate ideas carve the sky,
land and all that ripples between.
It’s a sinking of reverence when
obsessive order regresses into
cataloguing creation on your finger-
tips with too many birds snared in hand.
How do we salve fragile existence when
hairline cracks web porcelain minds?
You spin circles raising the ghost of history,
reflecting deep its rise and fall, breathe in
breathe out, the inside and outside are one.
A glimmer of light still strains through
the gathering haze, within and without,
while the earth gently prods us it’s
spinning out of antidote and time.
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Hi Jamie,
You can delete this message later.
In my poem, the word – create – is highlighted. It goes to a web-site I have nothing to do with. If you can change that I would appreciate it.
I do not want to advertise anyone. Thanks …
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Good Monday Morning Jamie,
Hope you enjoy my entry for this week …
I am Unique
We look in the mirror; see flaws.
We don’t like what we see.
Our skin color is darker.
And, our countenance is mystifying.
Trying to change into people,
we’re comparing ourselves to.
To create the person, hopefully, you’ll see.
But, anger and hatred is a major ruination.
When will they understand?
Inside, we are good people.
Just like them.
Why don’t they see?
I can’t make them value me.
All I can do is show them.
What I feel and what I believe.
It’s up to them to realize my worth.
I am unique.
I am love.
2019©Isadora DeLaVega
Thank you for hosting
Isadora 😎
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You are quite welcome, Isadora. Lovely to see you come out and play again. 🙂
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Summer distractions can cause a silence in our writing blogs. It’s nice to write again. Thanks … 😎
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Yes. They can. 👍
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Hi Jamie
Here’s my seventh response:
Opens To The Public, (on Andrew Farmer’s painting of the view from Cusworth Hall grounds to Doncaster.)
In this public space let us sit
on the grassy hillside recently cut
by council mowers, open
our plastic containers, our
vacuum packed crisps,
sip from reususable mugs,
admire the constructed view,
take photos of the refurbished
Eighteenth century lake
for our Facebook accounts,
Like old post cards but quicker.
Let the bairns run wild
safe and secure, monitored
“Molly don’t pick that up it’s dirty!”
“Sure when us et our sarnies
were more plagued with wasps
and bees when I were young.”
A church and skyscrapers rise
from the daubed horizon like computer tabs.
Manmade landscape manmade,
designed and framed.
(Featured in the “The Painter, The Poet, and The Portrait” exhibition at Doncaster Art Gallery, 2019)
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Hi Jamie,
Here’s my sixth response:
Artificial
is how things should be.
The bloodied disturb our equilibrium.
Skin should be cold and plastic.
Remember a monster made us
but now we mold ourselves
whilst monsters are flesh, blood,
And bone making little monsters
that are pushed out of a dark hole
One monster must enter another to produce
these children. You are correctly aghast.
I know it is the shape of your nightmares.
Don’t worry, soon all the world will be plastic.
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Hi Jamie,
My fifth response:
The Cost Is Prohibitive
to refreeze the poles,
bury carbon dioxide beneath the oceans,
to save our fellow animals extinction,
the death of insects.
We have to watch the pennies
to manage this extinction event.
The cost will be too high.
We could bankrupt ourselves
to save the earth.
Is it worth becoming paupers
to save this planet?
Count the pennies in your purse.
Count the lives in your hands.
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Hi Jamie,
Here’s my fourth response:
The Annoyance Of Flies
is the thing I miss most.
A buzz of irritation landing
like a single tickle
on the skin,
not even a continuous tickle
then the awful thought of where
it landed last where it accumulated
potential disease so you swat,
and it returns
and returns
till now when it never returns.
and spiders die, birds die.
Never to return. The annoyance
of things that will never return.
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Hi Jamie,
Here’s my third response:
What use poetry when it floods?
As waters rise above your threshold,
dampen what work you had achieved,
wash away the efforts of days.
All possessions beyond repair,
family photographs curl, float away,
only your memories in your head,
only the effort in your sinew and bone,
beat of your heart to help a neighbour
into a rescue boat. Hard to count your blessings,
as if someone has died, anger at authority
who failed to see it, resignation at losses,
adamant determination you shall not be beaten,
by the sodding weather.
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Hello Jamie! Another thought provoking prompt! This one was inspired by a comment from Shaun Jex who joined in your prompt a few weeks ago. It is a “double dizain” entitled:
The Cure – not the Band but a Double Dizain
For sale! The Ultimate Cure for your ills It removes pride, hatred, entitlement It heals hearts and minds as your soul, it fills But I don’t say this for my amusement In fact, that’s the cure for Life’s excrement
Put on your fun pants, ignore the pshaw Start with a titter, a chuckle, guffaw The wheels start turning when you realize That laughter, the cure-all, relaxes your jaw So smile in the face of what you despise
This isn’t snake oil but conflict detox Holster your words, your glares, your fist and gun Your howl of hilarity will outfox The zombies who follow the orange one Mark Twain said laughter is the best weapon
Stockpile some toothbrushes, toothpaste and mints Practice your giggles and comedy stints Change what you can then get your wheels churning Let the arc on your face leave its imprint The laughing cure keeps the world from burning
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Child’s Play
I remember a game
I played at school.
Whisper a message
to the girl beside you,
shield her ear
with your hand
and say” Shush,
pass it on.”
A silly, giggly game
I never quite understood.
I dream, now,
that messages
are votive candles.
One is ignited
from the wick
of the first
and placed
in the front window
of every house
in every street
of every town
until it’s a link
in a chain of light
and every country
of the world
is a map of earth-stars
welcoming the lost,
the lonely,
the stranger.
What if I nurtured
this dream,
whispered “Pass
it on” ?
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Oh yes! Pass it on…if only the message won’t get garbled and twisted before it reaches the end of the line. Lovely sentiments!
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Thank you for commenting,iidorun,much appreciated xx
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Hi Jamie,
Here’s my second response:
Plastic
“Do you want a carrier bag, sir?”
“I friggin don’t. Clog up the seas
with plastic all over. Even in fishes,
birds and what not. It’s all our fault.
Even down to microscopic. Seeps
Into food we eat I bet. Plastic folk
poisoning friggin world we live in.
No, I’ve got my own bags thankyou.
I won’t be one that kills the friggin world.
Here can you put them in here, lad?”
(From my collection “Please Take Change”, Cyberwit.net, 2018)
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(A cheeky response) I can image where the lad might tell you to put your groceries if he doesn’t agree with your statements! 😂😂
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🙂
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Discretion is vital. Also keeping your gob shut.
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😂😉
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The Edge of Fall
At the edge of fall when the seasons merge
People pause in wonder at the bountiful
gifts of color bursting in and out of life.
As winter edges in, before the trees
lose their leaves, they lose their shades of green.
Burnt umber, brown, yellow, orange and red
are colors seen now dancing in the breeze.
This makes me wonder,
Why do they not see the beauty
in all the colors of skin
skin humanity is clothed with?
Why so difficult for everyone
to pause in wonder at the bountiful
gift all the colors of skin
we burst into and out of life with?
Why do we live on earth
as if the colors of our skin
is the cause of our fall?
– June G Paul
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Lovely, June, and welcome to Wednesday Writing Prompt. Since this is your first time here, please don’t forget to email me a photo (if you’re comfortable with that) and a brief third-person bio by way of introduction to everyone next week. Thank you. thepoetbyday@gmail.com
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Hi Jamie – I am the same poet as the one who wrote enough! Enough! ENOUGH!
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👍👏♥️
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Welcome, June! What a beautiful first contribution! Your last line was especially powerful.
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positivity and gratitude from LA ❤
Werdin Alley
cold
concrete
he walls
are brick and
yet have witnessed many things
the stains of age are in the page
of the city’s palm the angels speak and demons kick out in laughter
i walk on thorns the books are long and i can’t see anything
that breaks the spell of misery’s iron grasp
the worried sunrise comes and shines a light that fades into the
cracks of time in the monuments to lethargic progress and flowers bloom in
screens of doom and shots are too quickly taken
unlike Tokpella this alley way has finite space and we all walk
in crippling slumber John Wayne won’t get me here
amongst this man made thunder the blood is thin and made of ashes
as i lay the east escapes from me
Pahana you are over due
canyons fell down
life out
of
balance
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Hi Jamie,
Here’s my first response:
Your Damned Anthropocene
“We are as gods and might as well get good at it.”
as Stewart Brand said, and you agreed.
O, your presumption did not account
for the delicacy of flesh and bone,
the death wish of the human soul,
even in this supposed transhuman age.
You had an impact on my future,
I’m not sure I forgive you.
There is your clear signature
in the fossil record , an observable
sudden decline
in the abundance and diversity of plant
and animal life. Perhaps we should
define your time from here.
Did it start when we traced your pulse
at the start of the Industrial Revolution?
Your carbon-dioxide pulse that underlay
what you thought was global warming.
O, your dreams to guide mankind towards global,
sustainable, environmental management.
How could you see
the juggernaut was unstoppable?
And as we move our minds
from this body to that,
we do not lose the terrors of being lost,
the night sweats of our own death.
(From my collection “The Spermbot Blues, OpPress, 2017)
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“To Survive in a Haphazard World”
To survive in a haphazard world
In which good and evil are meaningless words
To understand what is happening all around
What has happened and what might happen or not
To feel what is good or evil to oneself and others
To think of what one’s done and not done
What one might do and what one must
To believe what one can’t think through
And to doubt those beliefs when doubts arise
To act when there’s no more time to think
But to stop that action when there’s time to think
Or it’s no longer needed,
These are what a mind is for.
July 26, 2019
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“On Liking Maps Too Much”
Personally, I like maps.
The precision of the black line boundaries,
The colors of the bounded entities,
And the proof that only four are needed
To separate each entity, whether town or country.
Like I said, I like maps, but not too much.
Whether two-dimensional or globular,
I’ve never come across a bound’ry line so well-defined
Or patch of ground colored just like on the map
On any of my nature walks.
Besides, I don’t much care for towns or countries,
But forests, lakes, the seas, and mountains,
Clouds and animals, and kind-hearted people,
Those are the beacons for my soul.
I’d like a map to show me where
The people are friendly and where they’re not,
Where the place is good for raising kids,
Where animals are treated well,
And where the earth is well-respected.
I don’t care if the boundary lines meander
Like creeks and clouds are wont to do.
This would be a map worth having –
I’d tuck it in my travel pouch.
July 5, 2019
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I would love such a map as well! Your poems are finding a home in my heart today.
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Thanks again and again!
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“Used to Be”
Used to be
Evil was more personal.
You had to be there to do it.
Now just somebody doing his job
(Someone has to do it).
A small child all curled up
Hugging the floor
Because there’s nothing else to hug
Thinking maybe that will protect him
Feed him.
An old woman
Survived the Holocaust
The concentration camps
The selections
Her bare-lightbulb
Peeling walled room
Filled with shiny new exercise equipment
Carrot peelers turkey stuffers satellite radios back scratchers
And other stuff she didn’t need
Because she couldn’t say no
To the nice lady on the phone.
The trees being cut down
And people cows factories and cars
Blowing carbon into the sky
Til the last one of us drops breathless
To the ground he made great again
While our world went to hell.
Used to be good
Though there always was some evil
But you could always see it coming
From a mile or two away
And the world was always greater.
June 25, 2019
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“You had to be there to do it.” The images are so haunting – they struck my heart like I was there.
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Thank you for your kind words.
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“Isaiah 2:4”
In times of great evil such as ours
There are no prophets like Isaiah
To block our paths to self-destruction.
It is the end of days for godless religions
And men will beat their plowshares into swords
And pruning hooks into spears again
And children will learn war once more
And they will walk in darkness
Believing it is light
But when it comes
The light will shake the earth.
June 15, 2019
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“To Be Human”
Poets, philosophers, and even scientists
Have wondered what a human is,
I mean precisely what,
And so, I offer ever so humbly,
Though it may be riddled with loopholes,
Non-sequiturs and insufficiencies,
My poor view of what a human may well be
Whether or not one is made of blood and flesh,
Walks upright or can construct a proper sentence:
First of all, a human should be in possession of humanity,
That is, being sentient of what goes on around oneself
And caring for the sentience of other beings
Whether they bear one’s likeness or not.
Humanity is not a single thing with thumbs and brain
But a great chain of being extending
Far back to some imagined Eden
And forward to worlds beyond imagination.
Lastly, humanity is not measured by what one knows
But how honestly one deals with one’s ignorance.
A human might be able to whittle it down a bit
But it will always be infinite.
June 15, 2019
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I love the lines “Lastly, humanity is not measured by what one knows But how honestly one deals with one’s ignorance.” That is so so true!! Wonderful write!
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Thank you!
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Wow, Jamie! What a prompt and poem! I have a few poems on theme to submit. Please keep on doing what you’re doing.
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♥️🌹
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. kindness.
deserves praise, yet should come as natural.
there may be too many additives these day,
not enough honesty grown. she said i should
have something new in the greenhouse.
i have, i said, and thought of you, who
planted the seeds
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:: next wednesday 29 ::
speech.
simple notes, there is much discussion now, where the place used to be pure quiet and acceptance.
it seems to him that talking does not get the job done. gently balancing wool. words fall .
we had gathered here before to watch the weathering. referendum come and gone with fury.
speech
fails us.
simple notes. none rise higher than the one next.
to you, to me, this may not be
the acceptance
expected.
sbm.
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:: this is a new story ::
where.
where does collaboration work? here.
with you, you, you and you, i have named you
before.
with tags and capitals, links and other stable
placings.
i was only stitching. a steady hand. it was an offer,
happily accepted.
i was only drawing. so we drew together. here
& another place.
i was only writing a, yet there are many of
us who came together.
we are alone, until we start working
together.
it comes a wider space, with mistakes and misgivings.
nothing in this world is perfect. it is raining today. the
washing is out.
neighbours help.
writers help, drawers
line our walls with
notes & labels. a few
of us
work together.
sbm.
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