Our children often surprise us and always delight us. Write a poem about one of your children or other child in your life.
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 following Tuesday. Please do NOT email your poem to me or leave it on Facebook. If you do it’s likely I’ll miss it or not see it in time.
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, December 3 by 8 p.m. Pacific.
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.
Poet and writer, I was once columnist and associate editor of a regional employment publication. I currently run this site, The Poet by Day, an information hub for poets and writers. I am the managing editor of The BeZine published by The Bardo Group Beguines (originally The Bardo Group), a virtual arts collective I founded. I am a weekly contributor to Beguine Again, a site showcasing spiritual writers. My work is featured in a variety of publications and on sites, including: Levure littéraure, Ramingo’s Porch, Vita Brevis Literature,Compass Rose, Connotation Press, The Bar None Group, Salamander Cove, Second Light, I Am Not a Silent Poet, Meta / Phor(e) /Play, and California Woman. My poetry was recently read byNorthern California actor Richard Lingua for Poetry Woodshed, Belfast Community Radio. I was featured in a lengthy interview on the Creative Nexus Radio Show where I was dubbed “Poetry Champion.”
“What if our religion was each other. If our practice was our life. If prayer, our words. What if the temple was the Earth. If forests were our church. If holy water–the rivers, lakes, and ocean. What if meditation was our relationships. If the teacher was life. If wisdom was self-knowledge. If love was the center of our being.” Ganga White, teacher and exponent of Yoga and founder of White Lotus, a Yoga center and retreat house in Santa Barbara, CA
“Every pair of eyes facing you has probably experienced something you could not endure.” Lucille Clifton
Thank you for sharing your love of words. Comments will appear after moderation.
“Sometimes you see a man in a restaurant reading while eating — a very commn sight. He gives you the impression of being a very busy man, with no time even for eating. You wonder whether he eats or reads. One may say that he does both. In fact, he does neither, he enjoys neither. He is strained and disturbed in mind and he does not enjoy what he does at the moment, does not live in the present moment, but unconsciously and foolsihly tries to escape from life.” What the Buddha Taught, Walpola Rahula
These are the responses to the last Wednesday Writing Prompt, In March, Flowering, November 21, which challenges our poets to dip their pens into stream of consciousness, a narrative style that gives the impression of the mind at work. I think Buddhists might be inclined to call this “monkey mind,” a mind that is restless, capricious, whimsical, confused, tortured, out-of-control. From a spiritual perspective, we want to still our minds, to be at peace. That’s why all our wisdom traditions encourage regular periods of prayer and meditation. In terms of writing though, I think giving in to the jumping monkey may work well. If you find yourself blocked when you write, it’s likely that you are trying to write and edit at the same time. You’re like the man in the quotation above, really not writing or editing at all. That’s why some teachers give the advice to “just write.” Write anything that comes to mind. Why? Because this takes you out of your edit mode and sets you free on the road to writing. Plenty of time to edit when your first draft it done.
I enjoyed the creative responses to this prompt. Thanks to Paul Brookes, Irma Do, Jen Goldie and Sonja Benskin Mesher. Thanks also to Irma and Jen for value added for me and other readers with their commentary. In addition to their words, I’ve included links to blogs or websites where available. I hope you’ll visit these poets and get to know their work better. It is likely you can catch up with others via Facebook.
Enjoy! … and do come out to play tomorrow for the next Wednesday Writing Prompt.
Clamped
Clamped in the upright station of the world
Drowned in the come uppance daylight
Hunkered half light knowingness
Hefts hollow along kerbside
Ferret the mammal heart of the world
Become harsh chandeliers
Become rude shoeless adjectives
verb your character into business
letteropen an alphabet of fire,
a draining board of desire
a kitchen cupboard of flesh
a knifeblock of words
unseating themselves
Griddle down lightning days
Heavying nights moisten to open
Forgiveness in a handshake of trees
a massage of fields amid the nursery
Of war
record visual media
stand to attention wall
mounted retreat into hill
stations of past lives
lived hands free
autobot rainbow of perception
Tinker, tinker with children’s toys
repair your own gored scars
fix bro
ken and Barbie cars without
wheels pieces
lost toothless jigsaw
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.
Thoughts of all the things I should have done today
That I didn’t
Thoughts of being in bed with you
yet writing and writing
the writing is getting in the way
but I have to get down these thoughts
still so many have escaped
I can’t write while I am driving
I can’t write while I am parenting
I can think of what to write but if I can’t get to the computer
if I can’t get to the pen and paper
The thought runs away
Probably the one that would have gone in that lit mag
in that e-mag
the one to win that accolade
It’s so fleeting the good words and phrases that come
In and out
I need to catch them
I need to hold them
I need to write them
I need to sleep
I need to pay attention to the children
and to you
and the laundry
Ugh I hate the laundry
and the dishes
I’m supposed to do these chores out of love for my family
But I don’t love the chores
It doesn’t mean I don’t love my family
I can show them love in other ways
by ignoring them so I can write words of love
To them for them of them
Or cooking
I love to cook
or snuggling
I love to snuggle
Or sleeping
Choosing writing over sleeping over you
But the deadline is tomorrow
There is no deadline for chores
or family or lovers
Or is there…
This stream of consciousness poem is the first I have ever written. I must admit it was a difficult write for me! I guess I usually edit my thoughts long before it reaches the paper – thinking about the words, phrases, rhythm before I even begin to type with my thumbs. Maybe because I do so much of my writing in little bits during the day on my phone, that I am loathe to edit once it’s already down. Can I blame technology for my writing style?
I wrote this piece around 2 am with a sick child who had kept me awake. I couldn’t go back to sleep since I was thinking about this prompt. I had tried a few other times to write something but kept getting interrupted or writing something that I knew wasn’t exactly stream of consciousness since I had already thought about what to write (I don’t cheat on these prompts!). It took an overtired brain to get to this un-filtered point! If I hadn’t fallen asleep, I wonder where else it might have led or if my words would have continued to perseverate….
This is ecstasy,
This is love and lunacy,
This is the Artist.
The true artist is everyman,
Is any man,
Has a child’s sensitivity,
And knowledge only age can bring.
Unfettered of his earthly ties,
Sings through the ages,
Touching hearts, Touching minds,
And,
Creating joy and sorrow,
In the lives
of those he meets…
I had a marvelous Professor who stressed “Stream of Consciousness” as a method of writing. My first awakening to this was looking at a tree. Simply a tree. I hadn’t realized why I love images of trees until just now. He emphasized being in the moment, which is so fleeting. If the moment moves you to write. You MUST write! “I saw the Moon tonight! It shone down like a beam from heaven. And made the stars more bright.” Its the moments that most people miss in life. A poet cherishes those moments, and from what I’ve seen so far, all of the people who have graciously shared their moments with us have been “In the Moment”.
Sonja Benskin Mesher, RCA paintings (This is her Facebook page, so you can connect with her there as well as view photographs of her colorful paintings.)
Poet and writer, I was once columnist and associate editor of a regional employment publication. I currently run this site, The Poet by Day, an information hub for poets and writers. I am the managing editor of The BeZine published by The Bardo Group Beguines (originally The Bardo Group), a virtual arts collective I founded. I am a weekly contributor to Beguine Again, a site showcasing spiritual writers. My work is featured in a variety of publications and on sites, including: Levure littéraure, Ramingo’s Porch, Vita Brevis Literature,Compass Rose, Connotation Press, The Bar None Group, Salamander Cove, Second Light, I Am Not a Silent Poet, Meta / Phor(e) /Play, and California Woman. My poetry was recently read byNorthern California actor Richard Lingua for Poetry Woodshed, Belfast Community Radio. I was featured in a lengthy interview on the Creative Nexus Radio Show where I was dubbed “Poetry Champion.”
“What if our religion was each other. If our practice was our life. If prayer, our words. What if the temple was the Earth. If forests were our church. If holy water–the rivers, lakes, and ocean. What if meditation was our relationships. If the teacher was life. If wisdom was self-knowledge. If love was the center of our being.” Ganga White, teacher and exponent of Yoga and founder of White Lotus, a Yoga center and retreat house in Santa Barbara, CA
“Every pair of eyes facing you has probably experienced something you could not endure.” Lucille Clifton
Thank you for sharing your love of words. Comments will appear after moderation.
“The worst thing you can do is censor yourself as the pencil hits the paper. You must not edit until you get it all on paper. I you can put everything down, stream-of-consciousness, you’ll do yourself a service.” Stephen Sondheim
an exercise in stream of consciousness
Redwood City, City Hall
In March, flowering
It’s so palpable, I can
pick it, I think, from
a break in the concrete,
like an intrusive dandelion
Pluck it, from the air,
like a feather . . . .March!
It’s a good month here,
anything not in bloom is in bud
The Peninsula will strum a rainbow
with extra green on St. Patrick’s Day
The clover in Wendy’s front yard
is mutant, half the span of a hand
at the old place, the deer come down
in season, waiting for the apples
They owned that tree and
Their hunger is honest, don’t you know
a bit of Henry Miller there
They only eat on empty
Human take note!
I need a joke for the poetry reading ~
Did you hear the one about Descartes?
He walked into Milagros near City Center
The waiter asked if he wanted salsa
“I think not,” said Descartes
and promptly disappeared
How about the one on Dante?
[a Robert Pinsky fave]
Dante at the Dodge Poetry Festival:
“I have three poems to read.”
brilliant verse
[first self-deception of the day]
Paces to the rhythm of my steps,
[lost amid the scattered thoughts and my craving for coffee]
Husband #1 – poor guy
would have rolled his eyes and said …
“Mind like a sieve!”
That might be why I left
Or did he leave me?
Can’t say I remember,
having abandoned marriage
and domestic suffocation ……..to breathe like this!
during early morning walks
in March, flowering
“As we take, in fact, a general view of the wonderful stream of our consciousness, what strikes us first is this different pace of its parts. Like a bird ‘s life, it seems to be made of an alternation of flights and perchings.” William James
As a writing technique stream of consciousness was named by May Sinclair – appropriated from William James’ idea – in her review of Dorothy Richardson’s Pointed Roofs in which the technique was used. It was brought to us, perhaps most infamously by that prodigal Irishman James Joyce, and by the French Marcel Proust, the American James Thurber and the English Virginia Woolf among others. Though more a novelist’s tool than a poet’s, one March I decided to experiment with stream-of-consciousness as I went digging for a poem on my morning walk. Now I pass the challenge to you.
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 following Tuesday. Please do NOT email your poem to me or leave it on Facebook. If you do it’s likely I’ll miss it or not see it in time.
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 26 by 8 p.m. Pacific.
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.
Poet and writer, I was once columnist and associate editor of a regional employment publication. I currently run this site, The Poet by Day, an information hub for poets and writers. I am the managing editor of The BeZine published by The Bardo Group Beguines (originally The Bardo Group), a virtual arts collective I founded. I am a weekly contributor to Beguine Again, a site showcasing spiritual writers. My work is featured in a variety of publications and on sites, including: Levure littéraure, Ramingo’s Porch, Vita Brevis Literature,Compass Rose, Connotation Press, The Bar None Group, Salamander Cove, Second Light, I Am Not a Silent Poet, Meta / Phor(e) /Play, and California Woman. My poetry was recently read byNorthern California actor Richard Lingua for Poetry Woodshed, Belfast Community Radio. I was featured in a lengthy interview on the Creative Nexus Radio Show where I was dubbed “Poetry Champion.”
“So I don’t think I’ll make Poet Laureate, but I swear I’m not twisted and bitter, If finely-wrought talents don’t weigh in the balance, I can always write haiku on Twitter.”
In addition to their words, I’ve included links to blogs or websites where available. I hope you’ll visit these poets and get to know their work better. It is likely you can catch up with others via Facebook.
Enjoy! … and do come out later today for the next Wednesday Writing Prompt. All are welcome including beginning and emerging poets. Poems in languages other than English are welcome as long as they are accompanied by a translation into English.
My Obsess
Your blue eyes
So deep but surged
I wished to swim
and be merged
I longed to play with you
But they called me shameless
Withered all my flowers were
Their clutches -my obsess
I longed for wings
I desired for a blue sky
They tied my dreams
and bade goodbye
Why I’m so confined
Should I now be blind
Why do they blame me
I just tried a Freedom to find
I was a 50’s child. We were fairly sheltered no doubt, because of the hardships our elders went through before us. I was lucky, pampered and did not do without. But as I grew up and the 60’s and 70’s crept in, I heard Chants like “MAKE LOVE NOT WAR”. Although I was not perceivably effected by this, or knowingly effected, I must have been. I wrote prolifically as I grew to be aware of the world around me.
-DID I SAY IT WAS SWEET-
In all reality the fight is never the reward,
If reward there be.
They take the good times when they find them,
They step on those who could intentionally
Destroy them.
They never enjoy the good times but for themselves.
They would take the bread from your plate;
They would see you starved and boiled for oil
when they needed light. They never want to give.
The loss they suffer is their humanity
And sense of joy.
They are Dark People with shining faces.
They would challenge your integrity to win a fight.
Fortunately, they do not live around every corner.
If they did, God help us all.
The war would have begun and ended Mankind,
Long ago….
Sonja Benskin Mesher, RCA paintings (This is her Facebook page, so you can connect with her there as well as view photographs of her colorful paintings.)
I am a dew drop in your desert
You are a pearl in my ocean
In this groaning world
It’s either dust or turbulent waters.
You’d die of thirst
I’d wish to die in a raging flood
But long ago the flood found me
By deceit I was swept away
By this neoliberal world.
Unveiling its darkness
Three bullets besiege our souls:
Overwork
Stole our precious time
“Bang”
Reload, two more rounds
I miss that I don’t read anymore
I’m subserviant to those who make the time
For personal growth, artistic reflection on self
Still as rocks we cannot be
Chipped away or burned to ashes
Awaiting Einaudi’s Divenire?
What will we become?
As Queen Bohemian’s Rapsody
Carries me by the headphones away
Part of me sees hope in surrender to the mundane
The other part of me only defeat
Amid the storm and its crashing waves
Hardened
Multilayered skins?
Each layer is a bullet fired
Against their system.
Layers of art and poetry lines
Our little raindrops in the desert.
I am a raindrop in your desert.
But unfortunately I cannot provide
All the rain a friend like you would need.
No rainy day friend.
If I could just make it rain
As it did yesterday in my town
After so many months of silence
I felt its sound and cadence
The humid touch on my skin.
This would be the rain
For a no rainy day friend.
Yet I am still a raindrop in your desert.
Dyed my hair red passion today
As I would just dye the wide ocean
And red would be the love we all need
Where three things must always be:
Your willpower, your talent and
The third, the most difficult
Of all the things to achieve, is
The opportunity,
Someone’s willingness, as you say
A world that mentors that love.
Marta wrote this poem in collaboration with Donald Standeford. She recommends his blog.
O for whom the blood flowed first
when we were the young children
we knew by which enemy for what
cause reason or division of landwe lost hundreds and hundreds then
we got the land for faith and peace
we knew the flag and leadership
but down the line,lost was the grip
somewhere entered the evil mind
slashing loyalty leaving faith behind
everything further divided destroyed
killers shooters n enemies employedlife became money and money life
race to be rich in struggle and strife
a freedom attained became enchained
freedom protests in free country life-strangest demand with song n dance
putting the children young in a trance
once again we know the enemy for sure
but a nation dead, not alive anymore–when beauty salons and fashion grow
destructive decline of civilizations show
O people where did you lose the way?
is faith weak, have we gone astray?For whom the warm blood flows now?
gold of hemlock have we drunk
growing greed broken kin ships
how deep have we, in Lethe sunk?
what does it mean in a world, free?
are we free, then still ask, to be free ?
why palestinian people every day die,
blinded with pellets are the kashmiris ?
but death is rampant brutal and rude
we have forgotten Aad and Samood
death will visit again,who knows
to separate lives, leave bodies in pain
smiling young innocent laughter
quietened for ever in every country
grieved, shocked at butchering blows
O For Whom,the blood so young flows ?
helpless I feel but write I must
wake up faith, let us be just
rise repent, follow the true path
before as dust, we all return,to dust.
پہلے کس کے لیے خون کے دریا بہے ،
جب ہم بچے تھے ،
ہم جانتے تھے دشمن کو پہچانتے تھے
کس نے زخم لگاءے وار کیے وطن کو کاٹ دیا بانٹ دیا ،
سینکڑوں بچحڑ گےء قرباں ہوءے
امن و ایمان کی خاطر ، ہم اپنے جھنڈے کو سمجھتے تھے ،
اپنے قاعد کی دل سے عزت کرتے تھے
مگر افسوس ، کیا ہوا ؟ وقت کا دریا طوفانی رہا ،
قاتل دشمن لٹیرے فریبی جھوٹے لالچی لاتا رہا بناتا رہا
جب فیشن اور اراءش و جمال کے ادارے بڑھیں
تو قوموں کا زوال ہوتا ہے ۔۔کہاں راستہ بھولتے گےء
اب کس کے لیے گرم خون بہایا ؟
کیا سونے کا زہر پی لیا ہم نے ؟
بھول گءے قوم آد و سمود ،
کیا دنیا آزاد ہے اور پھر بھی آزادی کی طلب گار ہے ؟
کیوں کشمیر جل رہا ہے ؟
فلستیں کا خون بہ رہا ہے؟
موت ہر طرف پھیل رہی ہے ؟
کیوں ظلم ہو رہا ہے ؟ اور رک نہیں رہا ہے .؟
کیا انساں کا کھیل بن چحکا ہے ؟
ظلم و ستم چوری اور لوٹ مار بس
بے قصور مسکراہٹ سرد ہو رہی ہے
ہر قوم ملبے تلے دب رہی ہے
اب کس کے لیے خون بہ رہا ہے ؟
بے بس ہوں مگر بے حس نہیں ہوں میں ،
آواز اپنی اٹھاوں گی ، لوگوں کا ایماں جگأو نگی
جاگو جاگو ایماں والو سمجھ بوجھ اور عقل والو
اٹھو استغفار پڑھو سیدھی راہ پے چل نکلو
اس سے پہلے کہ خاک سے بنے
خاک میں ملے پھر واپس خاک ہو جاوء تم
مالک نے بنایا انساں کو اشرفلمخلوقات نرم حلیم ابتر
کیوں انساں بنا اک خون پیتا قتل کرتا ظالم خونخوار جانور
دنیا کی تباہی جنگ و جدل چور بزاری کا حسین پیکر
کیا مالک نے ایسا ہی سوچا اس پیاری دنیا کا منظر ؟
Jamie Dedes' THE POET BY DAY Webzine 