rain, with love and blisses, a poem… and your next Wednesday Writing Prompt

“Petrichor (/ˈpɛtrɪkɔːr/) is the earthy scent produced when rain falls on dry soil. The word is constructed from Greek petra (πέτρα), meaning “stone”, and īchōr (ἰχώρ), the fluid that flows in the veins of the gods in Greek mythology.” Wikipedia … we have John Anstie (My Poetry Library) and friends to thank for an introduction to this word: “Petrichor Rising” and How the Twitterverse Birthed Friendships that in turn birthed a poetry collection 



evening rain patters about, plays the
rooftop like a kettle drum, taps a code
on window panes, spills itself and
the scent of petrichor rises from
mud puddles and rain-carved rills

sly stars caper in a game of hide and
seek, shy clouds spoon in the smoky
quartz of a subdued moon, a late
dawn will rise in subtile pewter light

Oh!

how they steal our sleep
these, the beloved nights  
so rich in comforting blisses

© 2019, Jamie Dedes; photograph, U.S. Department of Agriculture, public domain

WEDNESDAY WRITING PROMPT

The challenge this week is to write about the emotions rain engenders in you. For me it’s joy (and perfect weather for writing), although I’ve never experienced rain to the point of flooding and I don’t have rheumatoid arthritis as so many of my friends do, so no pain or anger. For some people rain is depressing. How about you?  Tell us in your own poetry.

Share your poem/s on theme in the comments section below or leave a link to it/them. All poems on theme are published on the first Tuesday following the current Wednesday Writing Prompt. (Please no oddly laid-out poems.)

 No poems submitted through email or Facebook will 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, May 27 by 8 pm Pacific Standard Time. If you are unsure when that would be in your time zone, we recommend using ​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. This is a discerning non-judgemental place to connect.

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


ABOUT

“She Hurt” … and other responses to the last Wednesday Writing Prompt

“Gender equality, equality between men and women, entails the concept that all human beings, both men and women, are free to develop their personal abilities and make choices without the limitations set by stereotypes, rigid gender roles and prejudices. Gender equality means that the different behaviour, aspirations and needs of women and men are considered, valued and favoured equally. It does not mean that women and men have to become the same, but that their rights, responsibilities and opportunities will not depend on whether they are born male or female. Gender equity means fairness of treatment for women and men, according to their respective needs. This may include equal treatment or treatment that is different but which is considered equivalent in terms of rights, benefits, obligations and opportunities.” ABC Of Women Worker’s Rights And Gender Equality, ILO, 2000. p. 48.



The last Wednesday Writing Prompt, I Am the Answer, May 15 was a call to write about the need for girls and women to be treated as fully human with the same rights, responsibilities, and opportunities as men.   We have dramatic examples throughout the world of how whole families are pulled out of poverty when women are educated, treated with respect, and not forced into marriage and how boys and men benefit as well as girls.

mm brazfield, Paul Brookes, Irma Do, Renee Espriu, Jen Goldie, and Anjum Wasim Dar, share their observations, experiences, and pain. The ironies will not be lost on anyone, most profoundly so in mm brazfield’s poem only her and in Paul Brookes poem Liberty.  

Thanks to all these poets and special thanks to Irma, Renee, and Anjum for the added value of their illustrations. Anjum has also gifted us with the poem Lament by the Indian Poet Sahir Ludhianvi via video in Urdu. You’ll find the English translation below the video. 

Readers will note links to sites if available are included that you might visit these stellar poets. The links for contributors are always connected to their blogs or websites NOT to specific poems.

Do join us tomorrow for the next Wednesday Writing Prompt, whether you are a beginning poet, emerging or pro.  All are welcome – encouraged – to come out and play and to share your poems on theme.


only her

you can close me off with fences

imprison my children

the tropics of virtue

you can ban me from freedom

steal my breath

you can poison my lakes

kill my volcanoes

destroy my mountains

spill all of my seas

imprison my clouds and the stars too

deny me the gods and saints

burn my trails

deny me the field

you can turn off my sun and the moon

abort my miracles and all of my flowers

certainly you can hurt me

and finish off my children

cut my eyes cut my veins and exploit my riches

you can deny me the heavenly secrets

and a simple drink of water

but you will never conquer the love of a mother

© 2019, poem (English, Spanish, Portuguese), mm brazfiled (Words Less Spoken)

Solo Ella

me puedes cerrar llenarme de bardas

encarcelar a mis hijos

los trópicos de virtud

me puedes prohibir libertad

robarme el aire

puedes envenenar mis lagos

asesinar mis volcanes

destruir mis montanas

derramar todos mis mares

aprisionar mis nubes y las estrellas también

negarme a los dioses y santos

quemar mis veredas negarme el campo

podrás apagar mi sol y la luna

abortar a mis milagros y todas mis flores

cierta mente puedes herirme y terminar

con mis hijos enyerbar mis ojos

cortar mis venas y explotar mis riquezas

podrás negarme los secretos celestiales

y un simple trago de agua

pero nunca vencerás el amor de una madre

só ela

você pode me fechar me encher de cercas

aprisionar meus filhos

os trópicos da virtude

você pode me banir da liberdade

roubar minha respiração

você pode envenenar meus lagos

mate meus vulcões

destruir minhas montanhas

derrame todos os meus mares

aprisionar minhas nuvens

e as estrelas também

negar-me aos deuses e santos

queima minhas trilhas me negam

o campo você pode desligar meu sol

o lua abortar meus milagres

e todas as minhas flores

certamente você pode me machucar

e terminar com meus filhos

meus olhos cortar minhas veias

e explorar minhas riquezas

você pode me negar os segredos celestiais

e uma simples bebida de água

mas você nunca vai conquistar

o amor de uma mãe


She Hurt

cradled in their arms her pain
gets up and swims around the room.

It swims from her head, beneath her skin,
Her skin is the yellow ocean that bleeds.

Fish rises in the sky a summer
Fish dives under the earth a winter

Her mother drips breastmilk into a cup
to feed her hurt baby.

Many hands wish to hold the pain,
Lift up the wounded body.

Wishes are wrapped in colour.
Yellow ghosts look on beside
plants ready to flower.

From Paul’s forthcoming collection Fish Strawberries

© 2019, Paul Brookes (The Wombwell Rainbow / Inspiration. History. Imagination.)

Liberty

is a woman holding up a torch
in a harbour whilst she is not free
in certain states to have control
over her own body.

Justice

is a woman who holds the scales
blindfolded and dumb.

I am not a statues so carry the torch with my words

and clearly see my future
decided by me.

© 2019, Paul Brookes (The Wombwell Rainbow / Inspiration. History. Imagination.)

In Charge of Her Own

body.
Her womb no longer
the property of the law.

No longer cut
and shaped by knives.
between her legs

Her voice not silenced.
Her opinions not downplayed
as over emotional, unreasonable.

Sometimes she does not feel
in charge of her own body
as it changes, but reminds herself
she knows how to find the answer
to the questions her body asks.

© 2019, Paul Brookes (The Wombwell Rainbow / Inspiration. History. Imagination.)

To And Fro

the iron
over bedsheets, his shirts,
as she stands three hours

hot poker of pain
in the small of her back,
lists what else to do,

take down window nets,
wash and iron,
vax front room,
lug it upstairs for bedroom,
carpets,
hoover front room,
lug it upstairs for bedroom
carpets,
clean windows inside
to and fro,
to and fro
polish beneath knick knacks
bought on holiday,
to and fro
strip and remake beds,
make his tea,
always meat and two veg

He arrives home and says,
“What have you ever done for me?”

© 2019, Paul Brookes (The Wombwell Rainbow / Inspiration. History. Imagination.)

Paul Brookes, prolific Yorkshire poet

FYI: Paul Brookes, a stalwart participant in The Poet by Day Wednesday Writing Prompt, is running an ongoing series on poets, Wombwell Rainbow Interviews. Connect with Paul if you’d like to be considered for an interview. Visit him, enjoy the interviews, get introduced to some poets who may be new to you, and learn a few things.

The Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Jamie Dedes

  • Paul’s Amazon Page U.S. HERE
  • Paul’s Amazon Page U.K. HERE

More poems by Paul at Michael Dickel’s Meta/ Phore(e) /Play


This Female Body – A Trijan Refrain Poem

Born into this female body
So sweet was my first cry
I should have screamed like a banshee
For no princess was I
It may not seem my role in life
But fate has lead me to this strife
It may not seem
It may not seem
My strength and persistence is rife

Born into this female body
But told it’s not my own
I primp and starve and stare blankly
And let your seed be sown
I know you think I chose this role
But I hate not having control
I know you think
I know you think
But you don’t know what’s in my soul

Born into this female body
I vote for my free will
I am more than breast, womb, booty
My voice is loud and shrill
Listen to me – I’ll not abide
It is your turn to be denied
Listen to me
Listen to me
I won’t let you push me aside

This is a new poetry form I am trying – it’s called a Trijan Refrain. I discovered it through LadyLeeManila’s blog with her poem “On My Red Bike”. I was intrigued by the repeating refrain and the rhyme and meter constraints, so decided to try it out.

Jamie Dedes at The Poet By Day, inspired the topic for this Trijan Refrain. Her challenge was to write a poem about what it would be like if women and girls were seen everywhere as “being fully human”. I don’t know if I have fully captured the scope of this challenge. I do know that women are needed to use their voices and their votes to stop the reversal of rights and advances that our foremothers worked so hard to secure for us in the United States. I also believe, that around the world, uplifting women improves their lives as well as that of their families and communities.

I have often wondered what the world would be like if women did truly rule the world, on their terms, not those stipulated by our current patriarchal society. The role of women have been erased throughout history and today, women have been reduced to the role of hidden helper, silent supporter or thing-to-be-objectified. Is it because they are afraid if we regain our power, we will show how brightly we shine and fear getting burned with our brilliance?

©️2019, words and illustration, Irma Do (I Do Run, and I do a few other things too)


The Truth of Hindsight

Hindsight is always better it is said
always invoking in me the transgressions
in my past of the egregious kind

conceived into an ethnically diverse family
curious of the differences, yet both drawn
and repelled like a moth to a flame

one of only a handful of such families
in an all-white neighborhood
though I did not distinguish it
then

my reddish skinned father and white mother
craving more but for unspoken reasons
spoken in private understanding

she from impoverished beginnings
he in accepting only European roots

agreeing upon only one thing in union
the dictates of societal norms for me
a child of the female persuasion

that marriage is best accepted sooner
than later & children are part of the
sanctioned outcome

but mind you if such an arrangement
is not a path upon which you wish to tread
then only professions of nursing
and teaching will suffice

for creativity in writing or artistic endeavor
will never sustain you in living
and you would know this
in hindsight

now in hindsight I only understand that
not everything that comes before
is better than that which
comes later

in hindsight I wish I had known that
choosing the passion of your heart
over being accepted
is what my path
Should
Have
Been

© 2019, poem and illustration (taken from Public Domain Pictures and Created as Art) Renee Espriu (Angels, My Muse & Turtle Flight and Inspiration, Imagination & Creativity With Wings / Haibun, ART, Haiku & Haiga)


Had You Been A Boy

Had you been boy we’d have called
you Jeff. I was sorry for the theft
that resulted in a nest, while her past
desires, the freedom, the joy, the
dancing, all arrested by not so gentle
a man’s theft, and repeatedly attested
to, while unpaid, unearned damages left,
a girl’s desire not to conspire to the same
mistakes, yet though a mark was left.
I am Woman, I am Strong, my mind
and body my own, lessons learned
from the nest. I harken, to my own drum,
unlike others like our mother’s, that we
will never forget, and that singularly
innocent, yet flippant remark,
“Had you been a boy.”

© 2019, Jen Goldie (Jen Goldie and Starlight and Moonbeams … and the Occasional Cat )


It’s a Girl

It’s a girl,
O’hurry put her beneath the sand
Oh, no one can stand or understand
this creature, soft and tender
I wonder why ?
when life is so grand.
Girls ,mothers daughters
sisters and wives,
Can life move on without these five?
The land of Faith The land of oil
Did they really bury their daughters
alive?
Girls are the lively spirits
of a home or castles at heights
girls are Goldilocks Cinderellas
and Snow Whites
They are Queens Ranis and First ladies
blacks or whites-
When girls are born moods are forlorn
bringing up a burden in a teacup , a storm,
Then sold tortured and finally given away
Where is a girl’s real home, to stay?
Born buried and barred,
are they really so bad
and scarred?
Girls are sweet loving and kind
I wish we would be soft tender
and caring for them in
our hearts and mind.

© 2019, Anjum Wasim Dar

It’s her ’ and no one smiled, soon  abandoned,
just a heap of rot, despised, hated,maddened,

In many lands, born of any caste or creed,
not differentiated, nor separated just negated

cashed song composed without G Minor,
a fifteen to a forty niner, old miner, young niner

might as well dig earth, cut grass or carry bricks
face negligence, bear torture, meet injustice, get kicks

lift the latch anywhere and  find, cracks in the door
scarred traces burnt faces, signs of hot tempered rackets-

sad sorrowful echoes of screams slaps and strikes
in the tender dwellings of  fearful famished femininity-

whose chest is crammed with refrains of ugly curses
profane, drafted with hatred,unreasonable, mundane-

beauty’s blend for care, created for eternal company
stays abused, enslaved, spared not, restrained,  why?

who will cut the strings of  human bondage cruel,of
lacerant tortured, suffering, darkened, silent jewel

What was ancient unknown ignorant  and abolished
made eloquent graceful revered  and superbly sacred

current in countless fetters slowly, visibly, tabescent
is played with, raped, harassed, crushed as deficient

‘why’ is the question? life for her, made a punishment?
if disobedience be sin, hasn’t man first, set the precedent?

© 2019, poem (English and Urdu) and illustration, Anjum Wasim Dar

کویؑ مسکراہٹ نہ رہی باقی
چہرے مردہ خاموشی سے تکنے لگے

لڑکا نہیں  لڑکی  ھے

کیوں کویؑ خوشی نہ رہی باقی

چھپا دو  کہیں بھی ان نفرتوں کے ڈھیر کو
پیار کیا کرنے کو  اب  کچھ  محبت ہی نہ رہی باقی

زات عقیدہ رنگ و نسل  کے فرق کی بات نہیں
اب تو خواہش  اولاد ہی نہ رہی  باقی

اک سر  جو  راگ  سے  کٹ گیا  نغمہ فزا میں بکھر گیا
گیت بنے گا کیسے کہ دھن ہی نہ رہی باقی

انصاف نہیں غفلت و تشدد  و  دامن داغدار رھے
جینا ایسے تو کیا جینا جینے کی تمنہ ہی نہ رہی باقی

بچپن رک گیا  بڑھاپے سے زبردستی جڑ گیا اینٹیں اٹھاوؑ
گھاس  کاٹو   اپنا گھر اپنی باغبانی ہی نہ رہی باقی

کس کی چاہت کیسی عزت  کیسی رکھوالی زنجیر ہی
پڑے گی پاوؑں  میں  غلامی لکھی ھے آ زادی نہ رہی باقی

کون کاٹے گا یہ نفرت کی بیڑیاں سب کچھ تو جل گیا
الاہ کا قانون یاد نہیں کوؑلہ بنی ھے ، چمک ہی نہ رہی باقی

سوال ہیہ ھے ،یہ ظلم کیوں گناہ کیوں عزت کیوں نہیں
ماں بیٹی بہن بیوی کا مقدس رشتہ کہاں ؟ عقیدت ہی نہ رہی باقی

Lament

Woman gave birth to men
And men gave her the marketplace
To crush and trample at will
To reject and cast off at will
Woman gave birth to men…

She is weighed somewhere in dinars
And sold somewhere in bazaars
She is made to dance naked
In the courts of the debauched
She is that dishonored creature
Who is shared out between the honorable
Woman gave birth to men…..)

For men, every torment is acceptable
For a woman, even weeping is a crime
For men, there are a million beds
For a woman, there is just one pyre
For men, there is a right to every depravity
For a woman, even to live is a punishment
Woman gave birth to men……)

The customs that men created
Were given the name of rights
The burning alive of a woman
Was decreed to be sacrifice
In return for purity she was given bread
And even that was called a favour
Woman gave birth to men…..)

Woman is the destiny of the world
But she is still the one abased by fate
She bears reincarnations and prophets
But she is still the Devil’s daughter
Woman gave birth to men…..)

© Indian Poet Sahir Ludhianvi

Translation courtesy of Musical Rainbow

Find Anjum here:

ABOUT

I Am the Answer, a poem … and your next Wednesday Writing Prompt

“Girls are one of the most powerful forces for change in the world: When their rights are recognized, their needs are met, and their voices are heard, they drive positive change in their families, their communities, and the world.” Kathy Calvin, United Nations Foundation President & CEO



They come like thistle and thorn,

and write their rage upon my body.

They come like locusts and

feed on the fields of my soul.

Like an angry storm, they drown me.

Like the desert sands, they sufficate me.

They see me, a little person of

little consequence …

a girl.

Just a trinket, a toy, a receptical.

Something to sell, buy, and trade …

a workhorse.

– But hear me –

I am the answer.

I am the calm after the storm.

I am the antidote to your stone heart

and desiccated soul.

I am the future, the present, the past.

I am the hope, the dream, the reality.

I am authentic.

I am human.

I am the answer.

~ As the women go, so goes the world ~

© 2010, Jamie Dedes; illustration courtesy of Mohamed Mohamed Mahmoud Hassan, Public Domain Pictures.net

WEDNESDAY WRITING PROMPT

“There are more than 500 million adolescent girls living in the developing world today. Every one of them can potentially help break the cycle of intergenerational poverty, with ripple effects multiplying across her society.” Anthony Lake, Executive Director of the United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF)

In November 2010, I wrote I Am the Answer for a Universal Children’s Day event sponsored by UNICEF. It’s not that men don’t make constructive contributions. It’s not that boys and men don’t suffer.  It’s just that we’ve seen what a difference it makes in the lives of all children and the grown-ups they become – no matter the gender – when women are respected, educated, and not forced into marriage. What difference would it make if women and girls were not looked down upon within their cultures, religions, the workplace, and government? What difference would it make in the world if girls were always and everywhere seen as fully human. Tell us in your poem/s.

Share your poem/s on theme in the comments section below or leave a link to it/them. All poems on theme are published on the first Tuesday following the current Wednesday Writing Prompt. (Please no oddly laid-out poems.)

 No poems submitted through email or Facebook will 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, May 20 by 8 pm Pacific Standard Time.

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. This is a discerning non-judgemental place to connect.

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


ABOUT

The Annoyance of Flies … and other poetic responses to the last Wednesday Writing Prompt

Once upon a time at the San Mateo Country Fair Grounds

Who Has Seen the Wind?

Who has seen the wind:
Neither I nor you.
But when the leaves hang trembling,
The wind is passing through.
Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I.
But when the trees bow down their heads,
The wind is passing by.

– Christina Rossetti, The Complete Poems (Penguin Classics)



The last Wednesday Writing Prompt, Foraging for Blackberries, May 8 was a call to write about observations of climate change. It’s a timely topic in a sadly constant way.  Gary W. Bowers, mm brazfield, Paul Brookes, Irma Do, deb y felio (Deb Felio), Jen Goldie, and Sonja Benskin Mesher have risen to the occasion and deliver a conscious compilation. 

Readers will note links to sites if available are included that you might visit these stellar poets. The links for contributors are always connected to their blogs or websites NOT to specific poems. If the poets have no sites, there’s a good chance you can connect with them on Facebook.

Do join us tomorrow for the next Wednesday Writing Prompt, whether you are a beginning poet, emerging or pro.  All are welcome – encouraged – to come out and play and to share your poems on theme. All poems on theme will be published here on the following Tuesday. You are also encouraged to share your work in your first language, but it must be accompanied by an English translation.


fickler

weather fickler
than a fratboy
teaser tickler
doff yer hatboy
pack maniacal
if you’d venture
through varietal
storm’s indenture

witch by threesome
micro coven
preheat gleesome
solar oven
then go breezy
cool and steady
due to easy
whorly eddy

species halving
oceans rising
ice sheets calving
ill advising
earth the icebox
earth the griddle
close the spice box
solve the riddle

© 2019, Gary W. Bowers (One With Clay, Image and Text)

As some of you know, Gary is multi-talented, combing visual art with poetry or prose narrative.  He is also a potter. A sample of his work is pictured here. Gary’s pottery is available for purchase.  Further details HERE. Note the business care. We appreciate Gary’s wry humor.ter. A sample of his work is pictured below. Gary’s pottery is available for purchase.  Further details HERE. Note the business card. We appreciate Gary’s wry humor.


Werdin Alley

cold

concrete

the 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

© 2019, mm brazfield (Words Less Spoken)


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.

© 2019, Paul Brookes (The Wombwell Rainbow / Inspiration. History. Imagination.)

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.

© 2019, Paul Brookes (The Wombwell Rainbow / Inspiration. History. Imagination.)

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 Paul’s collection The Spermbot Blues (Oppress, 2017)

© 2019, Paul Brookes (The Wombwell Rainbow / Inspiration. History. Imagination.)

Prolific Yorkshire Poet, Paul Brookes

FYI: Paul Brookes, a stalwart participant in The Poet by Day Wednesday Writing Prompt, is running an ongoing series on poets, Wombwell Rainbow Interviews. Connect with Paul if you’d like to be considered for an interview. Visit him, enjoy the interviews, get introduced to some poets who may be new to you, and learn a few things.

The Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Jamie Dedes

  • Paul’s Amazon Page U.S. HERE
  • Paul’s Amazon Page U.K. HERE

More poems by Paul at Michael Dickel’s Meta/ Phore(e) /Play


Climate Schlimate

Animals dying
Habitats going
To pot
The ice is melting
Oceans are rising
It’s hot
Countries are drowning
Yet people thirsting
For what?

Science believing
Your eyes deceiving?
It’s not
Deniers lying
Oh so frustrating
The lot
Stories need sleuthing
Do some researching
A thought!

Our earth is crying
Who here is trying
To stop
Cars keep polluting
Factories spewing
The rot
More than recycling
Money resolving
Boycott

Now what’s our ending?
The land needs tending
We ought
Who are we saving?
People not caring
They’re taught
World’s for the taking
No one is sharing
Distraught

Another Lai Poem, this one written for Jamie’s Wednesday Writing Prompt at The Poet by Day. Her request: What are your everyday observations of the fallout from climate change. Or, maybe you don’t think climate change is for real. Tell us why.

I believe that climate change is happening at an alarmingly fast rate due to the negative impact of human consumption and disregard for conservation of our natural resources. We try to do our part to lessen our carbon footprint, however we can only do so much within the systems that don’t support this mission. For example, where we live they have stopped recycling paper except for cardboard, stopped recycling plastics and only recycle glass and metal. These recent changes have been due to China’s refusal to take garbage from the United States (read about it here, here, here and here).

Are we destined to become like the society in the movie “Wall-E”? As a mother, I do worry about the condition of this planet that my children will inherit. You would think that other parents/grandparents would feel similar however the prioritization of profits and a “not my problem” shortsighted attitude seems to derail this concern. At this point, if we don’t actively combat climate change, our future doesn’t seem that great.

©️2019, words and illustration, Irma Do (I Do Run, and I do a few other things too)


What is Climate

temperatures boil in hot headed shooters
caring ices in well financed legislators
floods pour into memorial services
droughts claim childhoods

man/woman/ somewhere in between

right/wrong/somewhere in between

family/stranger/somewhere in between

leaders/liars/ somewhere in between

freedom/fatality/ somewhere in between

protector/predator/ somewhere in between

school classroom/shooting gallery/ somewhere in between

future/funeral/ somewhere in between

climate change / everywhere

climate change / nowhere

climate change / always in between

© 2019, deb y felio (Writer’s Journey)


Letter to Bluejay

Peanuts no longer lure
your cries I used to hear,
I long to see your aquamarine,
your cerulean presence.
It is the time of year, yet
no elder firs, nor ancient
maple lure you back to nest.
Perhaps you’ve found
a cooler place to rest
with your cousin Cardinal.
P.S. they say:
“THE DEADLY EFFECTS OF GLOBAL WARMING HAS BEEN METICULOUSLY RESEARCHED. IT’S STILL NOT TOO LATE BUT THE WINDOW OF OPPORTUNITY IS QUICKLY CLOSING.”

© 2019, Jen Goldie (Jen Goldie and Starlight and Moonbeams … and the Occasional Cat )


.…early summer…

we noticed it that day and found it omninous.

february 2019

the sea is quiet as we have never seen it

sun as hot as it gets

like summer

they gloried in it

the bathers

the media

we watched

while the ice melted.

© 2019, Sonja Benskin Mesher

.. clearing the jungle..

google, i get pictures of the amazon and related places,

being scoured, and a dead

horses head.

he said that some are lying on their ages.

I expect sir if you were there, so would

you.

the politician.

the jungle in calais.

© 2019, Sonja Benskin Mesher

IMG_20190413_123519
                Photo Credit : Anjum Wasim Dar  © CER   2019

Clouds Cry

Say, “Have you considered? If your water drains away,
who will bring you pure running water?”

For long, now we hear ‘something is happening
valleys shrinking, rivers running dry, green trees
vanishing, insects dying, snows frozen,  melting
sun seems closer, worries of bees and the breeze

who has cut the trees and blocked the waters
and built houses and plazas in every quarter
who has increased the dumps n heaps of waste
now are holding seminars for solutions in haste

The earth seems tired of turning and spinning
making day and night warming and cooling
and now when air is so blackened n thickening
mankind is screaming that climate is changing’

now when I see clouds gathering in the sky
they come rumbling  I wonder why they are
grumbling? raising a storm , hue and cry!
are they showing a fire, frowning on a

sinful desire? warning of The Heaven’s Ire?
or  to cool the bonfire? I wonder if their thunder
is a song a celestial choir? praising moist sapphire,
dust we see, dust we are yet the particles conspire,

to relieve us from our misery cooling comfort
we do require, I know they come to admire
and blessing us, will soon retire to  the ocean
home entire,leaving a message, a purifier !

be at peace and mercy,be not a crier or a liar
be like us without any fuss, a graceful high flyer-
in rain we sing n shout n play but break the law,
then face the bolt, stormy weather is Gods’ Wrath ?

remember the rains and the flood!  beware when
deserts will be green, sandy regions will be rivers
Change is ordained Change will come, time and age
make life’s stage, cut short by man or by divine nature

Oh Clouds Gather in the sky ! And I don’t wonder why
they are lonely up in the sky, does it rain or do they cry
they cry when water is not used as it should be, it is not
saved, it is not stored, it is ignored, it is wasted…day by day,

when it is polluted hour by hour, and  stolen moment by moment ,
drop by drop and when it is controlled by selfishness and possessed
by power, when allowed to flow away,becoming a cause of quarrels
when  used as means of showing aggression and stressing suppression

Clouds cry then, they are  on duty for the plants and living beings
to spray water to wash away the filth and clean the atmosphere
to quench the thirst, fill the ponds, make land fresh again, Stop’
I say think  and  become aware,waste not,  the danger lurks near…

Clouds cry for they  have fears,
should we try now, to wipe away their  tears ?

© 2019, Anjum Wasim Dar

“POETRY PEACE and REFORM Go Together -Let Us All Strive for PEACE on EARTH for ALL -Let Us Make a Better World -WRITE To Make PEACE PREVAIL.” Anjum Wasim Dar

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