by 
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
Warning by Jenny Joseph
What’s it to me? …
A knotted and nasty old poet of introverted time
wearing five-dollar sweats
dressing in black on black like a fly
with silver earrings tinkling softly in the winter breeze
What’s it to me? …
A Madwoman, a Madonna, a Medusa
Traipsing neighborhood streets, city parks and country lanes
Nibbling on sharp yellow cheese and glossy red apples
Sitting down on some wayward curb to sigh in wonder at
noisy birds and children, wizened old men, whiskered grandmothers
Dogs walking their humans by the side of the road
Feral cats scratching out a living of pigeon stuffed with stale bread
Muttering, muttering, whispering, watching, writing
Writing long poems and short about what it was to be us
through clocked days trapped in pointless, punctilious youth
Enjoying now the wild, gnarly randomness of life
and the music of our dusty blue souls jingling as we walk …
What’s it to me? What’s it to this so lately untamable me?
© 2013, Jamie Dedes
WEDNESDAY WRITING PROMPT
Aging has its many downsides. We’re not going to explore them this week. Instead we’re going to explore the joys. For me this would be feeling free to honor my inner eccentric. How about YOU? What are the joys you find in aging? If you’re still young, use your imagination. Tell us about the joys of your aging in your poem/s.
- 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
PLEASE NOTE:
Poems submitted through email or Facebook will not be published.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, November 25 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.
Jamie Dedes. I’m a freelance writer, poet, content editor, and blogger. I also manage 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 and encourages activist poetry. Email thepoetbyday@gmail.com for permissions, commissions, or assignments.
About / Testimonials / Disclosure / Facebook / Medium
Recent and Upcoming in Digital Publications: Jamie Dedes, Versifier of Truth, Womawords Literary Press, November 19, How 100,000 Poets Are Fostering Peace, Justice, and Sustainability, YOPP! * 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
Jamie Dedes' THE POET BY DAY Webzine 
Hello Jamie!! I am on time to join this week. I have missed participating! Here is my submission entitled “When I Am An Old Woman”
I want to be
A old woman
With a squishy tummy
From having babies and eating chocolate chip cookies
I would have wrinkles in all the right places
I would wear my grey hair the same way as I wore it when it was my black hair
I would wear a bright print top
And swingy pants made of linen
I would sit in my rocker
On my front porch
Under a retractable awning
A glass of sweet tea on the table next to me
With a battery powered fan next to it
Just in case it got too hot
I’d have my knitting in a bag
But I wouldn’t take it out
Instead
I would watch the street
I would watch the sidewalk
I would wave to the kids as they walked to school
I would give the stink eye to unfamiliar cars
I would greet the UPS driver and chat up the mail carrier
I would chide the dog owner who didn’t pick up what their dog put down
I would smile to the mama with the sleeping baby
I would listen to the birds and the squirrels, the ambulance and the fire trucks
I would only glance at the air planes overhead
And when the sun is high enough, I would pull back the awning
And let the sun kiss my un-sunscreened face.
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Welcome back, Irma!
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So glad to be back! Although I didn’t realize my poem so closely resembled that of “Warning” – I had not read the full poem until you posted it (although I had heard of the Red Hat Society since my mom joined a group). Ah well – imitation is the sincerest form….
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LOL! No worries. Interesting story behind that, huh?
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Lol! With my poem, I just needed to get my creative juices flowing again and I just started writing. This poem was the “best” section from that writing and totally unedited.
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Respected Jamie Ji
Something It Is To Me Surely,
Something it is to me surely,
something is
my shirt hangs loose and long
from the shoulders, I have no worries
I am smart, silver streaks do not bother
I still wear the ‘jhumka earings’ I can smile
I cover my head, no hairstyle, am free of the
chair and clip in the hair
Wow what freedom has come-
I am free. I have nothing to hold
I am more bold, when cold, I wear socks
as I please,
I am a bit old, not much for
I can sit of the floor, need not reach for
the stick, nor for the bottle ‘on the rocks’
no cigarettes please, just coffee hot
Something it is to me surely
something is
dark glasses help me to see, what I
wish, what fun to be served and waited upon
Old is gold, and Grand and Great Grand
I am soft and stern at the same time
I am there among laughter and hugs
I am a bit old not much
I am just seven with a zero I say
I am fine my wrinkles may show
I am now eight with a zero I say
I still love am loved how lucky I say
Without me, value me-
something it is to me surely something is
It is love and respect as I love all and bow
and I pray and I pray and soon I may not be
If I have been good, I will be young as seven
and I will not grow old again, for I will be in heaven
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endgame adjustments
it’s easy to have a blast at 65
just don’t do it in your pants
for your once reliable digestive tract
is now a trickster
and sometimes pretends one substance
is another
so be discreet
hie thee to a bathroom stall
and relax
and enjoy
one of life’s unsung pleasures
unless…
your tract reaches into its bag of tricks
and inexplicably delays the countdown
and subsequent blastoff
and then you must wait
r e l a x
pretend you have all
t h e t i m e
i n
t h e w o r l d
except you don’t
and if the parcel is still
on the loading dock five minutes on
it is time to go fishing
with ernest hemingway
marlin fishing
for the extreme rocking motion
papa uses when he has a marlin on the line
sometimes is a sufficient propellent
for the contents of the large intestine to offload
so catch that marlin
but that doesn’t always work
so it’s time for desperate measures
make yourself laugh
cough like a firefighter
find something to sneeze at
still…unmoved?
in this extreme
i must refer you to Project DJT
and ask you to form
the most real image in your mind
of Inauguration Day 2021
and…
(ogodno)
DONALD TRUMP TAKING
THE OATH OF OFFICE!!!!!
now, if that
doesn’t Scare You Shitless,
NOTHING will!
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Hilarious!! 😂😂 Although the ending is indeed scary and would not be laughing matter. 😳
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Agree. Thanks for your nice comment!
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Bliss
One summer
night, after
a trip to the
American West,
and comfort in seeing family
and an old
friend,
a contentment
prevailed.
The torch was now passed
to the next generation,
and we’d lived to be
witness to the 30 years
onward that we’d
travelled to arrive at
the current nuptial.
Unanticipated and fleeting,
the gladness
when it appears
sometimes in the aftermath,
can be all the more memorable.
–Olive Branch
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My first response Jamie ●
OLD EYES *
When my old age comes
I”ll not be upset
Thinking I too have to leave this world
Keeping my old eyes on the velvety sky
I will count innumerable stars
I know that this counting will remain incomplete
Though time goes on
There is an impression of events
While counting stars I will remember my left days of past
Then I will come to my mirror
Reflection of sunrays on it will make my existence happy
I will recall my glorious past
And collect a jug of honey
With full of vivacity
Thus I will be a sparkling beauty of innersense .
Kakali Das Ghosh
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Purple
Noiseless as autumn footfalls,
clematis vines reach higher on
the trellis into the blinding
sun. The season unravels gently
preserving a trail of beliefs from
the echoes of coral jasmine gathered
in two orange-smudged childhood
baskets of burnished brass, reserved
for practising faith with garlands
and incense, to the intrinsic
rituals of coral jasmine itself:
simple beginnings and growth. The
flamboyant carpet of bauhinia petals
below my feet (now past its
prime) coils into rich chains
of understanding, edging unbroken
days and nights towards reflection
on natural systems and those
flashes of purple autumn stillness.
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Growing old I enjoy it
WHAT’S YOUR PROBLEM
Ah, when I get off my bed I rub my back
You don’t find it annoying
I am too old
I need rest, and medicine ….yeah,
I raised a good, and gentleman
YOU CALL HIM SON
I am old but who are we kidding?
WHAT’S YOUR PROBLEM
if only there were just one
I cough with half my mouth
Son, I can’t stay in the air for a long long time
Well, you treat us like we are dying ….yeah
Growing old I enjoy it
WHAT’S YOUR PROBLEM
Ah, when I get off my bed I rub my back
You don’t find it annoying
I am too old
I need rest, and medicine
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To Biddy
Scatter radiances of milk
on her icy sod.
Let each brightness warm her earth.
Broadcast flames of oats
on her waters, stoke embers of fish.
Let her waves be ablaze with shoals.
Brush and scrub your home for her visit.
Put her bread and butter on windowsills.
Make her a bed of twigs for her rest.
Waxing light polishes
her crone wrinkles
into maiden’s roundness.
Make her a doll
out of primroses
and snowdrops.
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love and gratitude from LA
-cheveux indisciplines-
i love the color of my hair
brown red and in some places pink
my tired legs and lined filled hands
eyes that stare flat beyond the sky
and a mind that has lost the hard shell
of youthful indulgence and inexperience
i love my lips still round and plump
and the new found freedom
of spouting my own thoughts
that are crafted with the filigree of wisdom
i love my face
oh those expression lines
that will never be usurped by botox
my cheek bones high and tight
to frame a genuine smile at the wind
i love my hair when she gets wild
and i walk the streets of Beverly Hills
stroll in the Rolls Royce isles
worn out Chucks with the strategic tears
where the toes are too tight
salesmen follow me with Lysol cans
and their neat white gloves
that eradicate the traces of the hoi polloi
the hair a right of passage glorious
furious bright riot
reminding me that my agedness
is a catalyst to the third eye lens
from where i can finally see
the dimensions of the world
the good and the bad
and really only give a dam
about the moments that matter
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ELLIPTICAL
(Clarissa Simmens)
In secret grasses
Wild flowers thrive, watching me
An aging Goth Granny
Freely pedaling
Tiring easily
Suddenly seeing
I’ve become paprika
A shadow of cayenne
O, but the beat
The music thrums
Through overloud speakers
Legs moving faster
Lungs gasping
Singing voice rasping
Sure will pay for it
Tonight when the yard is
Moonlit
But worth every moment…
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UNRECOGNIZED/WINTER DISGUISED
(Clarissa Simmens)
Following middle of the night
Poetry ideas
Into oblivion
Darkness magics the words
So Stygian
Yet moonlight
Like blankets
Shields and comforts
Transforming a stressed face
Into a softened glow
As the mask melts
Lost in a
Mythology unrecognized
Although semiotically using
Correct signs, symbols and
Elemental scents
Winter disguised
It is the unrecorded that
Fascinates
Separating historically
Asking the clouds rhetorically
Who will I be this decade
Because I certainly don’t know
That other person from the last
And moving back in time
Across an invisible line
Is a very different
Woman
Young adult
Teenager
Child
And I think
To my great surprise
I like this old one best…
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. yes we come older .
I just copy and paste
the whole thing,
they can take it or leave
it.
i do find that
much does not
matter now,
all that fiddly stuff,
all that desiring
things, when all around us
is ready.
i like the birds
and such like
little things.
glad of the heal.
yes a sensitive soul, when all is quiet,
small sounds, voices interrupt
the day.
is best we listen.
just now the planes fly over, the dog runs out looking up, barking.
it is pleasant here again today,
a piece of mind.
sbm.
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My Friction Ridges
Seventeenth week of mam’s pregnancy
my fetus friction ridges fully form
arch, loop and whorl,
My basal layer buckles and folds
in several directions, forces complex shapes.
Not barkskin growth rings
light and dark, a seasonal response.
Rather as if someone thumbs out my face
or mine tbeirs, erase facial recognition
on a photo, stain the image
with sand dune ripples, tropical fish stripes,
convecting fluid patterns,
von Karman vortices, air or liquid currents
move in opposite directions, curl clouds.
Insects speed and manoeuvre
borrow energy from their wing made
von Karman vortices,
this blotted face buckles and folds
with age.
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Old Are Young
My wrinkles disappear,
No more crow’s feet.
Knees lack pain when I get up,
or walk stairs. Mind so pin sharp
it hurts. Touch my toes,
cartwheel, run marathons.
I’ve had to throw away my false teeth,
As I’ve grown new ones.
Age means less struggle.
Life should be struggle.
Age means less pain .
Everything should hurt.
I tell my wrinkled grandkids.
Never grow old. Wish it on no one.
(From “A World Where”, Nixes Mate Press, 2017)
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Hi Jamie,
Here’s my First response:
My Decrepit Is Good
Bring on grey hairs turn to silver.
Bring on sharp pain in the knees
as I hobble downstairs.
Bring on memory loss
as I know no different.
Bring me my stick,
my arrow of desire.
Bring it all on, fuzzy brain,
misty sight, zimmer frame,
adult nappy’s, oxygen through
plastic tubes, a knowing.
Bring on wrinkles, laugh lines,
tang of autumn, radical spice
of spring, footskate winter,
wild summer, all natural process.
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..we are older now..
may be i am soft like
gentle ways.
we went to the mountain
sat at the base chatting,
looking up.
walking the path, the sun
caught our shoulders,
at the salmon leap, we paused
at the lack of fish.
grass grew greener,
we are older now,
happy.
enough.
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