Rising Up, You Poets – a poem … and your Wednesday Writing Prompt

 “I knew – had long known – how poetry can break open locked chambers of possibility, restore numbed zones to feeling, recharge desire. And, in spite of conditions at large, it seemed to me that poetry in the United States had never been more various and rich in its promise and its realized offerings. But I had, more than I wanted to acknowledge, internalized the idea, so common in this country, so strange in most other places, that poetry is powerless, or that it can have nothing to do with the kinds of power that organize us as a society, as relationships within communities.  If asked, I would have said that I did not accept this idea. Yet it haunted me.” Adrienne Rich in preface to her book What Is Found There, Notebooks on Poetry and Politics (W.W.Norton and Company, 1993)



You bare witness to the spirit of the times,
recording the minutes, building monuments
with your soft technology of healing, elevating
consciousness, What joy you feel in rising up!

Rising up, you Poets, from silence and solitude,
from ear to the ground, observation is your
spiritual practice, you’ve all been oppressors and
oppressed, now use words to change the world

© 2019, Jamie Dedes

WEDNESDAY WRITING PROMPT

Seamus Heaney once famously said that a poem never stopped a tank. It would appear that certain governments around the world and throughout time would disagree. Why else have poets been censored, imprisoned, under house arrest, exiled, and even murdered? What’s your thought? Does poetry make a difference? Does it expand the imagination of the moment, elevate the spirit of the times? How? If not, why? 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Poems submitted through email or Facebook will not be published.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 26 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 

Jamie Dedes. I’m a Lebanese-American freelance writer, poet, content editor, blogger and the mother of a world-class actor and mother-in-law of a stellar writer/photographer. No grandchildren, but my grandkitty, Dahlia, rocks big time. I am hopelessly in love with nature and all her creatures. In another lifetime, I was a columnist, a publicist, and an associate editor to a regional employment publication. I’ve had to reinvent myself to accommodate scarred lungs, pulmonary hypertension, right-sided heart failure, connective tissue disease, and a rare managed but incurable blood cancer. The gift in this is time for my primary love: literature. I study/read/write from a comfy bed where I’ve carved out a busy life writing feature articles, short stories, and poetry and managing The BeZine and its associated activities and The Poet by Day jamiededes.com, an info hub for writers meant to encourage good but lesser-known poets, women and minority poets, outsider artists, and artists just finding their voices in maturity. The Poet by Day is dedicated to supporting freedom of artistic expression and human rights.  Email thepoetbyday@gmail.com for permissions, commissions, or assignments.

Testimonials / Disclosure / Facebook

Recent and Upcoming in Digital Publications * The Damask Garden, In a Woman’s Voice, August 11, 2019 / This short story is dedicated to all refugees. That would be one in every 113 people. * Five poems, 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 * Three poems, Our Poetry Archive, September 2019


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


34 thoughts on “Rising Up, You Poets – a poem … and your Wednesday Writing Prompt

  1. Here’s my response, Jamie.

    Poetry

    Poetry is what you hear when
    you open yourself up to the
    vibration of the universe
    what you feel when patterns
    twine and intertwine until
    your pulse harmonises

    it abounds in the patient
    slump of a grey heron’s back
    master fisherman who mas-
    tered the zen of waiting, the
    arch of a dancer’s sole aching
    on a hardwood floor, rocks
    that funnel a singer’s voice
    into the clouds and blot out
    city lights, profuse purple heart
    that traps your feet and your
    path, the curve of creation

    if you can reflect a strand of
    the world as it is, with the frag-
    ment of glass you’re given,
    slant its lustre into minds that
    receive, a poet’s work is done

    August 2019

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Respected Jamie Ji
    Sorry it would be more work for you but these lines all came during the night.Sharing with you for You Inspired me profoundly.I had to put the thoughts on paper. It is up to you now, perhaps they may be placed in a better or more suitable column or just left aside for a better time

    Ode to The Power of Poetry

    O Thou, Heavenly Hellenic Linguist
    What tales did unfold inside caves
    what stories uncloaked, in waves
    Of signs symbols and patterns, sets
    of lines dashes, seen in lit lanterns, all
    in a balance, all in rhythmic meters net,
    deciphering letters, forming words, shaped
    into a ‘made up thing’ named poietes’

    You stepped in tracing transforming
    making joys into journeys, voices into
    voyages on high seas, revealed monsters
    demons, deities wise and goddesses naïve,
    unraveled kingdoms, inspired feats of
    Herculean strength touching the grandeur
    of Rome, magnificence of emperors, racing
    gilded chariots, defeating Troy, killing Achilles.

    You made the Great Islands overflow with
    linguistic jewels, Regained Lost Paradise, restored
    the monarchy, transitioning to the wonders of
    Renaissance. Your revelation of Epics of Art and Word
    led to the great Enlightenment, as civilized Empires
    spread across the Sahara Deserts. You related lines
    and lines of mighty battles, shining armor and victories
    These tales inspired millions to adopt your style and diction.

    You laid the foundations of recording fact and fiction,
    ‘the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings’ that all
    humans are kin to, you gave the theory of ‘ to see the thing
    in itself as it truly is’ ‘the velvet footsteps of Spring’ that
    softly touched the senses and brought forth Romanticism.
    Encompassing other branches of the lingual system your
    great adventure gave birth to Persian and Urdu in the South
    Asian region. You caused the chain of change’with all charm.

    You were present in the Courts of Kings and Emperors and
    emerged as the Ghazal form representing love romance and
    social reflection. People enjoyed the expression recitation and
    expression as new phrases devices and techniques converged.
    With your power nations experienced the change of fate and
    blessing of freedom when Dr Allama Iqbal Poet of East’ instilled
    the spirit of ‘Self’ Discovery, awakening the Muslim nation
    to the true realization and strength of faith and the Right Path.

    He wrote
    Koi andaza kr sakta hai uss ke zor e bazoo ka
    Nigah e mard e momin se badal jati hain taqdeerein
    can anyone even guess at the strength of his arm?
    by the glance of a true believer even destiny is changed

    You changed the state of the human world every time it
    was in pain grief and segregation, you gave hope, uplifting
    suffering souls, bringing them together , creating peace –
    You are a bridge of sustenance comfort and positivity
    your makers are now more, more than a hundred thousand
    You have proved the function that is your special feature
    To inspire, motivate, provide catharsis, instruct and delight
    your need was never ignored nor ever felt urgent as of today-

    Come it is almost September the World awaits you –

    Your Coming is sacred and holy, the planet is burning
    smoke is rising, war threatens innocent generations , they
    look up to YOU- Lead Them to The Long Awaited ‘CHANGE’
    with Peace and Togetherness, as you did in the past-
    Poetry Your Power To achieve The best for this world
    will never be in doubt- September is the season of apples
    let us raise our hands in prayer thank the Almighty and
    with joy happiness and forgiveness , fill all the barrels.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. The Long Dark Night
    stuff bottled inside
    about to shatter
    world going crazy
    does it matter?
    so much violence
    so much strife
    desensitizing human sensibility
    help!!!
    turn up the music
    let harmonic sound abound
    oldies but goodies
    sooth harm and hurt
    “ride sallie ride”
    ride throughout the earth
    “unchain my heart set me free”
    free the words inside of me
    free calming words
    free soothing words
    free encouraging words
    let them ride with mustang sally
    speeding in space
    emitting messages of tranquility
    that reverberate throughout the cosmos
    let the balm of Gilead perfume the atmosphere
    soothing all fear
    ride sally ride
    ride through the USA
    declaring this a day of harmony and serenity
    ride sally ride
    ride through Africa and Asia
    declaring this a day of a peace to release all animosity
    ride sally ride
    ride through Europe and Australia
    declaring this a day of communication and restoration
    ride sally ride
    ride through South America, North America, and Antarctica
    ride throughout the world
    ride on the road of time
    eradicating eons
    filled with hatred
    filled with wars
    filled with a power-hungry lust
    that never trusts the source of light
    that invites mankind into a relationship of love
    a love that shines from above encompassing all
    who choose to be stars through this long dark night

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Hi Jamie,

    Here’s my second response:

    A poet is not silent, bowed, complacent.
    A poet is not cowed into submissiveness.
    A poet must see clearly, highlight abuse,
    A poet sees into the corners,
    behind closed doors,
    through the language mist thrown out
    to disguise intention.

    A poet always does the difficult thing,
    climbs the impossible, holds the hand of the lost.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Dear Jamie Ji

    Plato

    banished poets
    would not be happy
    seeing so many

    writers thinking
    and writing poetry

    Poets,

    writing

    are not fighting

    nor are they blasting

    nor putting innocents

    to eternal sleep

    Poets

    Tempted
    by inspiring prompts

    may repair wrongs

    in lives and lines

    making people strong

    poets….

    change lives

    for the better

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Dear Jamie Ji
    Sharing an old poem written for a prompt by Poets United

    A Fool For Poetry ?

    O How cool
    it feels to be walking in the rain
    than to hide in the cellar
    for fear

    It is hot the ball of fire
    does no harm to the
    gallinule
    I love to be the fool
    to stay away from the pool

    I am not Icarus
    in my ring I have a boule
    I proudly say, ‘I am from Goole’
    its no secret going to the shul’

    O I love to be a fool for words’
    words are but words’
    a fool is wise of the wisest
    for truth he speaks in jest

    for nothing comes of nothing
    its sweet but more sweet
    makes the papule
    and I love the fool in me
    for I have sweet words

    someone said ‘poetry writers
    are they nerds?
    No Dear Ones they are
    The True Shepherds
    Plato banished them
    But I am a fool for all such herds’

    I am a fool for clouds
    I love to play hide and seek
    I love the sun as it takes a peek
    and allows the vapors to roar
    rumble grumble and then pour

    then I am not a fool for I see wisdom,
    shine and the sun becomes mine
    for I am the fool of a star
    that waits all night
    for I know the sun will light
    my way after the dark night

    Liked by 1 person

  7. Dear Jamie Ji
    some more lines

    Plato and Banished Poets

    Poets,

    writing

    are not fighting

    nor are they blasting

    nor putting innocents

    to eternal sleep

    Poets

    Tempted
    by inspiring prompts

    may repair wrongs

    in lives and lines

    making people strong

    poets….

    change lives

    for the better

    But perhaps Plato
    would not be too happy sighting
    so many poets, not now banished
    thinking and writing Poetry

    Like

  8. Respected Jamie Ji
    Some Lines for you

    Poetry is Faithful

    Oceans are faithful and so is poetry

    when emotions awake,waves arise

    stilling exciting the mind and eyes

    stirring the soul when beauty manifests

    sinking into the spirits fathoms within

    creating storms or filling joy,then

    search for truly real words,begins

    surging surfing receding waves on crest

    settle as thoughts so formed, come to rest

    Liked by 1 person

  9. Hello Jamie! A Pantoum for your prompt this week;

    “The Caged Bird Caterwauls”

    I know why the caged bird sings
    Sour sweet melodies of human maladies
    Vibrating out into the fractured world
    There is no accompanying harmony

    Sour sweet melodies of human maladies
    Poetic squawks implored yet ignored by broken ears
    There is no accompanying harmony
    When the free birds don’t want change

    Poetic squawks implored yet ignored by broken ears
    She caterwauls until the cage shatters
    When the free birds don’t want change
    Her powerful voice portends the power of action

    She caterwauls until the cage shatters
    Vibrating out into the fractured world
    Her powerful voice portends the power of action
    I know why the caged bird sings

    Liked by 2 people

    • Jamie – apologies – the last line of the poem should read:

      This is why the caged bird sings.

      I went back and forth between keeping true to the Pantoum form versus making a statement about why poets/poetry is important. In the end, I went with the latter. Hope my poetic instinct is correct! Thanks for noting this change.

      Liked by 1 person

  10. Arousal
    ………………………
    The day dawns in my courtyard ,
    As the silent sunrays play on the green grasses ,
    The shy squirrels run squeaking on the tree branches nearby ,
    Slowly I open my window to see the world beyond…

    Activity resumes in my neighbouring avenues ,
    As the street dogs play among themselves
    The morning walkers gather at the tea stall, gossiping

    Speeding crowds upsurge along the city roads,
    As monsoon clouds cluster and collide thundering across a serene sky,
    A soft tender morning opens out to full bloomed day

    I am too , part of these busied goings ,
    Rushing through a road jampacked with whistling cabbies and colourful crowds,
    The hills, the horizons and the vibrant earth
    Resonate in my heart and in my poetry ,
    Poetry that rouses me
    Rising in me,
    To the living moments
    ©®Bishnu Charan Parida

    Liked by 1 person

  11. Give Sorrow Words

    Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart
    and bids it break. Macbeth Act 4 Scene 3 William Shakespeare

    And if your throat turns dry
    let ink flow from pen to paper.
    Write grief into the light.
    Name it purple or black, fevered
    or frosty, pulsatingly loud
    or snake-soft and hissing.

    Give sorrow its voice.

    Let words trace the tangle
    of your heart and someone
    you’ve never met will read,
    exclaim: I, too, walked
    alone in the rain and wept.
    I too, hid in the nearest shop

    to avoid a friend who always
    asked how I felt, suggested
    we went for a coffee/watched
    a movie/met up for lunch.
    I, too, preferred the company
    of strangers and empty streets.

    Lay old hurts to rest.

    But when they’re new, bare
    them; share them, rawness
    to rawness until they’re held,
    and understood and verses arc
    across the page beating towards
    that tiny” thing with feathers”.*

    *From Hope by Emily Dickinson

    Liked by 4 people

  12. “The Lips of Infinity”
    (Raanana, May 16, 2019)

    And he welcomed them,
    The children, the old ones, the infirm,
    The youth, the busy young men and women,
    The forsaken and excommunicated,
    The doubters and disbelievers,
    Agnostics and atheists,
    The doctors, the scientists, and technicians,
    And, yes, philosophers and poets,
    From all over the world,

    And he spoke to them in the one language
    They all understood, the language of silence and action,
    And this is what he said:

    I am not descended from David
    Or the son of anyone but my father.
    My only credentials are the truth of my words,
    Which are your words,
    If you would only be silent long enough
    To hear them inside you.

    I have not come to tell you
    What to believe,
    Whom to love or not to love,
    Or what to do.

    I say only these things:

    For your own sakes, believe in someone or something
    Because belief gives you strength to go on
    In an uncertain world,

    For your own sakes, love someone or something
    With abandon and utterly,
    And don’t mete love out parsimoniously
    As though you might use it all,
    Because love lifts you up to the lips of infinity,

    For your own sakes, do what you must
    To follow your belief and protect your love
    Like a wavering flame in cupped hands,
    And the rest do with empathy and concern
    To cause the least evil possible.

    They left as they came,
    Saying among themselves,
    Not much of a message,
    And each went his separate way

    But when each arrived home
    And was alone and silent,
    He heard the words inside himself
    And knew they were true.

    (c) Mike Stone 2019

    Liked by 2 people

  13. “What If All the Nations of the World”
    (Raanana, March 29, 2019)

    What if all the nations of the world were
    Imagine-nations?
    We’d be kings or queens of our imagine-nations
    With big armies that always won
    With more money than we could spend
    And all the people would love to serve us.

    Me, I’d imagine my nation
    Without kings or queens
    Or rulers of any sort
    Without an army big or small
    Or money since all’d be free
    And all the people would also be free.

    We’d call our world the world
    And the only borders would be
    The borders between the land and sea
    And we’d call the land a wander-land
    That we’d wander through wondering
    What would come next to please our eyes.
    Where we’d stop to rest,
    We could build a shelter along the way
    As long as it didn’t sadden
    The rivers and forests
    And when we were done
    We’d return what we’d borrowed
    Including the flesh covering our souls
    To our mother, our starship,
    Our world.

    Liked by 2 people

  14. “Don’t Hang the Poets ”
    (Raanana, January 23, 2018)

    By the time you read this
    I’ll be long gone,
    Not in a sad sense
    But in a hit the road sense.
    Did you think I’d stick around forever?
    I’ve got universes to create
    And people to make.
    Besides, I’m infinite and you are finite.
    Do the math.
    You can’t count up to me
    And I can’t subtract myself to get to you.
    Everything you do or say is finite.
    I do nothing, yet it is done.
    I can’t know or care about every hair on your heads,
    Nor every cell or atom in your bodies.
    There are so many worlds and galaxies,
    Yet they are finite.
    Yes, my prototypes,
    I knew them well enough.
    No, I wasn’t angry when she bit the fruit of knowledge
    And offered him a bite.
    What parent would?
    And I didn’t kick them out of Eden.
    They just took up responsibilities
    And fended for themselves.
    Eden was their childhood
    But then they were adults.
    These books you so revere,
    The Bible, Quran, and others like them,
    You should know I had no part,
    Men forged My name and that is all.
    They quoted what they wrote for
    Ungodly purposes I assure you.
    Don’t let them lead you
    For they know not more than what you know.
    There have been wise men
    But you seldom had the wisdom to follow.
    I didn’t make you master over My creation,
    You are just a part of a wondrous whole
    Where every part is necessary
    Or the whole is diminished.
    One more thing before I close:
    The poets, please don’t hang the poets
    For I was one once, my words were worlds,
    From them will come your soul’s salvation.

    Liked by 2 people

  15. “Hiding behind the Truth”
    (Raanana, October 3, 2016)

    A poem is a wild thing
    Untamable, it never tasted bit or reign,
    A naked thing
    You’d never take to church
    Or have to Sunday dinner.
    It uses an outlandish language
    And it’s always true although
    You’d be hard-pressed to say just how.
    It’s true because
    The poet with nowhere else to hide
    Hides behind the truth,
    But it’s the poet who is the wild thing
    Untamable
    The naked thing
    Who cannot help but tell the truth
    Hoping you won’t understand
    But love him for outlandishness.

    Liked by 1 person

  16. “The Emperor’s New Changes”
    (Raanana, September 11, 2016)

    A hundred thousand poets for change
    That’s us.
    That’s what we called ourselves last year
    And the year before.
    So they’ve stopped lynching the poets in Arabia?
    They’ve stopped stoning the raped women in Kabul?
    What about the mutilation of genitals of young girls?
    So they’ve stopped burning down Black churches in Bama?
    Stopped desecrating the lands of our Sioux brothers?
    How about the carbon they’ve dumped in the atmosphere?
    Did they stop that?
    Do they believe now the earth is too warm to live on?
    Are philosophers kings yet?
    Are kings philosophers?
    I don’t mean to be cynical
    But it doesn’t seem like much has changed since last year.
    We’ve read a few poems,
    That’s all.
    Come to think of it,
    Have we really changed,
    Except for getting a year older?
    If that’s change
    Then we better change change
    So that it’s palpable
    So that we can feed people with it
    So that people can walk tall from it
    So that people can protect themselves with it
    So that people can make love to it
    Until change is done changing
    And the world is all the Republic we need.

    (c) Mike Stone 2016

    Liked by 2 people

  17. Roads and leisure
    Blood rising ……huh,
    Shops and marketing in: when
    I give a shout ‘I have no coin’
    in a slither of sweat ‘legs join’:
    My cheek gets cut. Her rights bleed
    Holding on tight I urge
    Rising up, you poets – a poem will be fine.
    I give a shout ‘I have no coin’

    PLEASE HELP _/\_

    Like

  18. peace and blessing from LA thanks for the opportunity

    oracle

    it’s not that i am being difficult Majesty
    my people have no food to eat
    not a pond to wash their tired feet
    and my sons they squabble in vain
    my daughters they struggle in pain
    Majesty all i‘m saying is that my words
    should not offend you as you have told
    me always speak truth
    but i have realized that i
    do not agree that my tongue should be tied
    and my soul deprived of freedom
    to be who i am to soar to the heavens
    or to delve in the deep
    i do not agree that my limbs
    should be caged if i have to
    wage war against the enemies of my innocent babes
    i don’t mean to be ungrateful
    and rebellious at times
    but when my children are cut down
    by your Princes and clowns
    i have to attack with my voice and my heart
    through words that are poison
    to your ego fueled mind
    the sergeants of time
    will slowly creep by
    and carve out a zone
    where i might just languish
    in your punishing hate
    but don’t turn your back
    on those who adore you the most
    because with every flower and offering
    and purse full of coins
    that they render to you
    will only weigh you down
    to a perdition of soul of spirit and crown
    you can shut my lips and burn my body down
    but it’s just a body a bag made of vanishing flesh
    however Majesty you cannot neglect
    the truth in their eyes
    the strength in their breath
    the beauty in their spirit
    their righteous battle call
    when the war rages out
    the wicked will fall

    Liked by 5 people

  19. WHAT USE?

    I imagine the opposite, where poets break
    their pens, clamp silence on their tongues,
    where every line of verse has been erased:
    blank pages, empty screens.

    I imagine then a desert where remorseless
    dunes have buried waterholes and trees,
    where no one dares to irrigate or plant,
    where the wind no longer carries voices.

    What is a land without rain?
    What is one voice against the censors
    and the engineers of souls?

    I sing because I must.
    Somewhere a flower may bloom,
    induce the implacable
    to hesitate
    as the words uncoil and move
    through eye and ear to the heart,
    to reconsider.

    Somewhere another voice may sing
    and another and another
    and another and another.

    CRAFTWORK

    We shuttle, like spiders,
    between the fractured, anguished days
    and the leap of the heart
    in the transcendental moment,
    weaving our threads in the sway
    of wind and rain, patient
    for the time when the light
    will play on the captured dew
    and the passer-by will pause
    as we wait behind the curling leaf.

    Liked by 6 people

  20. Log out of Bullying School

    We all disapprove of bullying in schools
    that seems to be clear to everyone
    at least on a theoretical level.
    Yet we never fully log out.
    And you ask me why?
    Why do we consent shouting
    at a school sports competition?
    What about a neighbors meeting
    where we yell at each other?
    Introduction to Fast and Furious,
    driving carelessly, unaware of the shouts,
    our children sitting at the back of our cars.
    What about whatsapp messages
    sending all kinds of insults because
    we didn’t like another person’s opinion?
    Why are we reproducing and creating
    all kinds of male chauvinist jokes,
    racist jokes, homophobic jokes?
    What about the pranks still played
    on first course university students?
    No, computer games are not made
    by our children but they trivialize violence
    like those violent movies and series
    our children watch. Therefore,
    it is unacceptable that who governs
    and dictates justice allows all this
    to happen without impunity.
    We may have wonderful antibullying programs
    in our schoools but meanwhile
    society tells our children:
    “Be aggressive and you will succeed in life!”
    So, please, here I tell you:
    “Log out of bullying school,
    for coherence because
    we need to live together
    respecting each other and
    we need to fight harassment.”

    © 2015-2019 Marta Pombo Sallés

    (inspired by a newspaper’s article written by educational advisor Juanjo Fernández)

    Liked by 4 people

  21. .regards.

    maybe connections are missed the link dismissed. metaphors faint as my flimsy whispers symbols do you deny me peace? perhaps you utter the words constantly? look closely

    or brush it regularly. talk about birth. stand during the rain fall. regard the chimney. take it off to return it. sometimes we need to commit a while, until we don’t no more

    this is not a word i have used much recently, if i did it will be related to plants i expect. adjective. i may use plush in regard to velvet clothing, cloth, clothed. another adjective.

    it could have been simple, days of sewing crosses. red. eight thiry till five. it could have been easy, yet there were issues of the electronic kind meaning wasting time with wires and connections

    she suggested that i write a novel, when i noted that she walked briskly to the post box, dressed suitably. i do not copy plagiarise or write about my friends

    Liked by 5 people

  22. .bone house.

    no words to describe the mass, the danger of it all, the hate that rises. the parallel, the home, the black chair. power house. bone house.
    5
    the power house looms ahead. they pray for peace and family, their lovely homes and salary. pigs. work for the people supposedly.

    6
    power house

    has no hold over me now

    Liked by 5 people

  23. tankstoppers

    a walking poem
    stood his ground in tiananmen square
    and a tank ground to a halt.
    a russian poet
    used a poetic silence,
    having been ordered to fire
    in his submarine,
    to prevent nuclear conflict
    in 1962.

    on another submarine,
    years before,
    the sub commander,
    the last man topside,
    ordered the man at the hatch
    to “TAKE HER DOWN!”
    that three-word poem
    killed the skipper
    and saved his crew.

    a poem
    is often not
    words on a page.

    a poet
    may compose with sacrifice
    or with a timed caress
    or with a knee on the ground.

    if that is not poetry
    what would there be to codify?

    Liked by 6 people

  24. This poem was written as a tribute to the booksellers at AL Muttanabbi Street in Iraq, a street where a lot of booksellers lost their lives by a car bomb in 2007. Poets world wide have responded and here is my contribution which I read at an event entitled ‘Al Mutatanabbi Streets Start Here’ in Glasgow Scotland.

    Phoenix
    Mangled , strangled, blood, ink
    blood red, ink black colours dripping on
    asphalt tracing strange patterns
    blood red, ink black fuse -indigo-
    ripped pages curl up in the smoke,
    book bindings melt, leather tomes
    the gilt spines blackened, words lost
    or are they?

    like a phoenix rising, the blue-black
    red-tinged words fly high up in the sky
    the world over. Al Muttanabbi Streets
    forge ahead in shiny new pages of white
    brown, hues, the palette of colours
    rich as the artists and writers of the world
    as they birth verses, sketch a new world
    to replace pain, loss. The shock and awe of love
    reinvigorates, unites and creates.

    Liked by 6 people

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