Photograph courtesy of Sebastian Unrau, Unsplash

Nothing in the cry
of cicadas suggests they
are about to die

A rooster’s crow echoes in the hallowed halls
Of a mind as unfettered as the sun hitching
A ride across the day sky and dying without
Angst into dusk and lunar magic, shinning on
Sea waves wearing away stone, pine needles
Rotting into detritus, decomposing into food and
Housing for small residents of busy ecosystems,
Like the bodies of sinners and saints, one moment
Clay and the next starlight, a sacred unharvest for
Wholly spirits, clinging to nothing, single minded
Evolving and devolving, reinventing and recycling
An etheric trail across the great galaxy of mystery

© 2020, Jamie Dedes



An old friend of mine is fond of saying that nothing is lost in the Kingdom of God – nothing really dies, she says –  but all things are in a constant state of reinvention. I agree. I would even suggest that we reinvent ourselves in the sense that we often have to in response to life events. So that’s the challenge for this week. Write about reinvention from any perspective you choose 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 on theme in the comments section here will be published in next Tuesday’s collection. Poems submitted through email or Facebook will not be published. If you are new to The Poet by Day, Wednesday Writing Prompt, be sure to include a link to your website, blog, and/or Amazon page to be published along with your poem. Thank you!

Deadline:  Monday, May 4th 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:

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  1. She said…
    My birth was a reinvention, nature’s just intervention,
    against worldly desirous selfish, the spirits conspired.

    Ever since I opened my eyes and saw Land Ahoy’
    my caretaker’s faces fell, Oh it’s a girl, not a boy’

    O boy, O boy, how I lost all attention, in the newly
    found dimension, and to adapt to the Earthly code

    I was reinvented from a ‘star’ to the human mode,
    Life was all peaceful joy, lots of frolic and fun

    Books pens and colors, my best teacher was a nun,
    all good till I grew a bit, life then pointed a loaded gun

    Not a golden buttercup, nor a bed of red roses, life was
    a journey with hypertension and little comprehension

    Flashes of love, commands, reprimands, and countless
    demands, as ‘you girl, stop romping like a tomboy, restless’

    Reinvention began early in skin and bone , a change enforced
    had to leave and move away from the personal comfort zone.

    Repeated bouts of illness drenched me in sweat and pain
    I came under the surgeon’s knife again and again and again.

    So she said

    Destined to shine in a constellation up high, for a purpose,
    sacredly pure, nature tested experimented me for sure

    Called ‘short’ in height and low on the scales, actively smart
    at home with three sisters I became ‘The prince of Wales.’

    The young carefree part was over too soon, reinvention
    returned to transform me into a bride, wife and mother.

    What people saw was a lucky lady, sari clad laden with gold
    what my inner self felt was a commodity invented, and sold.

    Reinvention did not stop, as roles and health kept changing
    from bride to wife, to mother cook , a total maid in the making.

    ‘We are such stuff as dreams are made on’, all revels will end,
    Earth’s surface is emptied, humanity to isolated lock down, sent.

    People are reinventing a whole new digital life, a fresh slice,
    but this time a tube a mask a cane or wheelchair may not suffice.

    So she said

    Reinvention is the art, part of life, it is in nature from the start
    For all in this world, a role to play, a duty, before we depart.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Hello Jamie! Here is my submission for this week. Inspired by a (Zoom) reunion with some sorority sisters. It is titled: Red Cup Revisited

    The red cup – a fixture in pictures
    My focus yet blurred in my mind
    Strong and sweet – the fake message
    Scared and silenced – the truth
    It matched everything
    Or so I thought
    I can
    Toss the cup
    Where can I drown
    This fear of living
    Who can I reinvent?
    Lost for so long in the mix
    I need to climb out of the rocks
    Where is the hand holding the red cup?

    Hope you are doing well and are safely tucked into your abode during this time.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. Respected Jamie Ji
    Some Lines

    I am but a label in a category
    of diverse species, of humanity
    surrounded by crows, chicken
    and cats,visited by cows, in
    company with a grey African parrot,

    Sun’s changed position gives light
    moon sometimes peeps through the
    window at night,silence distorted by
    barking dogs, wonder they are angry
    or happy at humans locked down.

    Unseen ecosystems decaying or
    surviving, green or brown,one moment
    wood, the next misunderstood, sprayed
    netted drowned in fathoms bottomless,
    nature changes forms, reinvents, recreates
    all terrestrial on Earthly plane, all celestial
    in the Milky Way-

    and I say
    ‘All life is forever to be-
    O Lord Thou hast made me-
    shall thy work decay?’

    Liked by 2 people


    Desperate to avoid reality’s sharp spears,
    the walls of his world closing in,
    he thought he’d apply for the role
    of Schrodinger’s cat. He’d read a bit
    about it, liked the idea of being at the same time
    somewhere and nowhere.

    He thought he’d seen an advert inviting
    applications, in a paper or on-line,
    he wasn’t sure. He dug around
    on the world-wide web, learned that Schrodinger
    had died. Or so it said. But how could they be sure?

    To be a cat, sure of its identity,
    pampered master of the household!
    To have nine lives! He’d need those, or one
    at least if they sealed him in the steel-
    walled chamber, give him for company
    an atom, which might decay or then
    again might not. And if it did go off, triggering
    the deadly charge of cyanide or bomb,
    then his other self would be elsewhere
    outside the chamber, observing the scientists
    or safely ensconced in Harrogate.

    He dreamed of this happy feline state.
    To be and not to be, that indeed
    was the question, inside reality
    and outside. It might lead on, perhaps,
    to a part in Cats: Eric, the quantum cat.

    He fell asleep, humming the Great Escape,
    replete with dreams. Until a worm
    of doubt began to slither and ruffle
    his grey, drowsing cells, led him, nearly,
    to the edge of a fundamental question.

    Liked by 2 people


    Shall I compare thee to a pile of dung
    Left, still warm and steaming, by my horse?
    So graceful, so well groomed, so well hung.
    I describe the creature not myself of course
    And pray my words may not, my darling, cause dismay.
    Oh forgive a fool whose ardour outruns his tongue.
    Should my simple similes offend thee what can I say
    But that ’tis from untrimm’d spontaneity they’ve sprung.
    If thou wrinkle thy nose at the smell, even sight
    Of manure let my lips bid you reconsider the conceit.
    Coming upon such ordure to the gardener is a delight
    To be shovelled up and carried away tout de suite
    For forking it into a bed is surely only but meet.
    Without such sustenance would a rose smell so sweet?

    Liked by 3 people

  6. “Long Night’s Journey Into Montana”

    Barely cognizant of the college town
    just clinging to the jagged western edge
    of Big Sky Country
    the way a hostage hangs on to hope,
    I’d never been to Missoula.
    But at three-thirty a.m. last Thursday,
    inspired by filtered internet images
    and a kind wrestler in a cowboy hat
    raised in the region,
    I bought a one-way ticket,
    concluding that this
    must be a place capable of
    incubating a fugitive from
    stultifying status quos
    who’s ghosted
    his foot-gazing gait
    and pizza-packed paunch,
    swapping them for tight-fitting togs
    and a swagger that surfaced
    once he split from
    toxic sap staining a family tree
    and a metropolitan apartment
    polluted with the vibrations of
    vicious self-vilification.

    So I spend the plane’s descent
    placing a faded denim jacket
    over broad, bony kneecaps,
    extracting a pocket spiral notebook
    adorned with the address of a
    and noting down a new name
    that spontaneously becomes
    my own.

    Liked by 1 person

  7. .reinvention, day one.

    so we have no internet, the

    tv went off, we slept lovely.

    woke to pouring rain and i

    am still in pyjamas,

    not a bit angry.

    was hoping to write grevious

    and nasy, yet without the spell

    check i am as nothing.

    it is later now, a slight


    Liked by 1 person

  8. …reinvention, another day…

    seems i have reinvented

    everything quieter than before.

    wet autumn days or is it winter,

    the change comes


    i dreamed a cloud of

    falling leaves, awake to find it is so.

    it is so very quiet here today.

    Liked by 1 person


    Names define, like locales and culinary delights,
    Faith’s too and the practices demanded,
    Routines set, manners and etiquettes,
    Arriving at ports of who the outside says we are,
    See how the tides disagree,
    With the silent wind howling and sweeping,
    Knocking sense of old forts down,
    Hear the rhythm of anxiety drive leaders to tears,
    See the rise of questions over old biases,
    Notice the flattening of hills of divisions,
    Depths are shallowing with new eyes,
    Everywhere a new dawn speaks,
    Deference is no longer business as usual,
    Indifference is learning a new thing,
    Every truism is called for re-evaluation,
    Hearts are matching with a light lense,
    One not trained to pay allegiance to differentiate,
    Reprograming the senses to acknowledge more,
    We are back at the drawing board of humanity,
    And shocking results bear witness,
    That all we held prestigious is hollow,
    And those we thought minions are angels,
    And that material can be so valueless in times of need,
    And that humanity needs a higher power to pull it out of it’s own mess,
    Leading fact being,
    It’s taken a tempest to teach us to be human again,
    Harshness has sent us to observe,
    Ever so carefully,
    That either,
    We reinvent our collective treatment of Earth and earthlings,
    Or, tragically,
    Man walks the dinosaur road.
    Everything teaches.
    Let agony teach us repentance ,
    Forgiveness and fair play.
    Respecting life and it’s sustainer.

    Nancy Ndeke
    @April 2020

    Liked by 2 people

  10. In the Shadow of Covid 19

    In the garden
    daffodils wilt; blossom falls.
    Some may see today repeating
    like a wind-up toy, while
    what may seem hum drum,
    the hum of the fridge,
    a ticking clock,
    the science fiction silence outside,
    is the world renewing itself
    in each dying moment.
    And we too, while honouring
    the bitter taste of each
    remembered mistake
    can fall apart again and again.

    Liked by 2 people

  11. “Body and Soul”

    All things physical were once naught,
    Became, changed, continued changing,
    And will be naught once more,
    Whether it is a living breathing thing,
    A skyscraper or a star,
    And if it was once beautiful
    That will also change,
    But Plato spoke of ideals,
    Perfect and so unchanging,
    Untouched by the experience of time,
    So impossible in the world of physicality
    Yet so real as only souls can be
    Where time never was nor will be
    And if a soul is beautiful
    Then beautiful it will always be.

    January 3, 2020

    (c) 2020 Mike Stone from “The Hoopoe’s Call”

    Liked by 2 people

  12. “Hope and Despair”

    There are but two futures to portend:
    Hope is one, despair the other.
    Despair comes to you from the western horizon
    Bearing a large sack on his hunched back
    And kerplatzes his fat tuches on your chest,
    Plucking reasons why you can’t or shouldn’t
    From his heavy sack.
    Hope is not a safety net to catch you if you fall
    Unless first you put one under you.
    Hope comes to you from the east
    Bearing nothing but her thin light
    To dispel the western darkness.
    Hope softly persuades you to change
    What you can and must.
    She gently pushes you over your nest’s edge
    Impossibly high off the ground
    So that you may fly
    Or die.

    December 7, 2019

    (c) 2019 Mike Stone from “The Hoopoe’s Call”

    Liked by 1 person

  13. “Creating a Language”

    I had a thought one day:
    Why not create a special language?
    After all, it has been said that
    Languages shape the way we think
    And likely what we think,
    And since we can do whatever we do want,
    I would like to change our language.

    I would start by getting rid of certain words,
    The hateful, hurtful, shameful ones,
    The ones we wish we’d never said or heard:
    Killing, hurting, raping, stealing,
    Cheating, lying, disrespecting,
    Boasting, pointing fingers,
    Singing na-na na-na,
    Warfare, torture, threats, and frightening,
    Anger and self-righteousness.
    There’s probably more, I’ll let you know
    When I think of them.

    I wouldn’t get rid of sad words
    Since sadness is the other side of happiness
    And nothing has just one side.

    Then I’d add some brand-new words,
    Some words we wished we had but didn’t:
    Words that tell you how I really feel,
    Rainbow words with all the gradients of feeling,
    Like different grades of love,
    Powerful words that can do what they say,
    Single words that say everything,
    Words that make you lift your head to hear them,
    Different lengths of silence, like rests in music;
    These are words I’d like to add.

    November 24, 2019

    (c) 2019 Mike Stone from “The Hoopoe’s Call”

    Liked by 1 person

  14. “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

    (c) 2019 Mike Stone from “The Hoopoe’s Call”

    Liked by 1 person

  15. I loved your poem, Jamie, and the haiku by Basho. It reminds me of the D. H. Lawrence quote “I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.”

    Liked by 2 people

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