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“.end games.” . . . and other poems in response to the last Wednesday Writing Prompt

“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.”

Rosy Cole, The Twain: Poems of Earth and Ether



A bit behind here due to recuperating from an unexpected and rather protracted hospital stay (thanks in part to California wild fires), but here we are at last: These moving and deeply felt poems are in response to the last Wednesday Writing prompt, the flautist wears a shaman’s headress (on the chaos in the world, the configurations of cruelty), November 14. Thank you to Kakali Das Ghosh, Jen E. Goldie, Sonja Benskin Mesher, Marta Pombo Sallés, and Anjum Wasim Dar for sharing their thoughts and talents, including photographs.

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

© 2018, Kakali Das Ghosh


“The price of order is dictatorship.
The price of democracy is chaos”. Jamie Dedes

To this I have to say:

There is a shadow
in my light,
That wants to
take away the joy,
the naivete,
and sense of security,
That I have had
in Mankind….

© 2018, Jen E. Goldie

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….

© 2018, Jen E. Goldie


.end games.

women of everywhere help each other talk clearly and predict the state of the sea

women of dolgellau are strong define them selves

the problems

x

a wonder you are not worried sitting there quite nicely watching politics again you are not shaking you were last week

x

one hundred years

x

some of us have changed our thinking to suit our life

end games

© 2018, Sonja Benskin Mesher

it is raining today
quite hard .
sounds constant.

we are dry, safe ,
lucky in our lot, to be born
here.

i have heard the news today.

it is so bad.

there will be gusts of 35 miles
an hour moving north.

© 2018, Sonja Benskin Mesher

some days my world is small here, so….

.. today across the lane..

he is splitting logs & sawing

in the sun

they will go at the back where the wind

blows round

kenny says they take years to dry

he knows his stuff

i broke the mower & have two

strimmers that work

cut the paths

tenderly leaving the flowers to grow

we try not to go out here bank holiday

week ends

so a rest indoors now

with

ARTURO MARQUEZ – DANZÓN Nº 2; GUSTAVO DUDAMEL
in blue writing

as if

it is important

you see

© 2018, Sonja Benskin Mesher


violet white flower

A Raindrop In Your Desert

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.

© 2018 Marta Pombo Sallés (Moments)

Cruelty, Thy Name Is Blood

gaza
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                                  IMAG0266
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

IMG_2286

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 ،
پانی اس کا خونی رہا ،
کشتی بھنور میں پھنستی رہی ڈو لتی رہی
کہیں شیطانی زہن جاگا وفاداری دفناتے ہوے ء
لوٹنے کا جال بچھایا ،
ایمان کو روندا ،تباہی پھیلاءی
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 ؟
نہیں نہیں نہیں نہیں

© 2018, Anjum Wasim Dar (Poetic Oceans)

 

the flautist wears a shaman’s headress, a poem … and your next Wednesday Writing Prompt

img_3350

“As Democracy is perfected, the office of the President represents, more and more closely, the inner soul of the people.  On some great and glorious day, the plain folk of the land will reach their heart’s desire at last, and the White House will be occupied by a downright fool and a complete narcissistic moron.”  H.L. Mencken, The Baltimore Evening Sun, July 16, 1920


gone mad, gone mad
but for the flautist in shaman’s headdress and
the first violinist wearing a necklace of skulls,
praise the intuitive, the holy, the gentle chanting
of the faithful …

defy the bassoonist 
blowing brazen notes over Syria
and the cellists hidden in caves; succour the sad sweet
violins of Aleppo, Palestine, Kashmire crying salt tears
for their lost lands, pulses weakening, and there’s
that drummer who 
down-beats from North Korea

China harps on the fumes of its discontents,
the Ukraine is loud with crashing cymbals
and the snap pizzicato of Russian preying,
while the angel of Germany hosts a symphony,
or tries to, & here in America parties are discordant

[the price of order is dictatorship
the price of democracy is chaos]

politicians out of tune, sections out-of-sync,
oligarchs charge themselves with theatre management

poor acoustics preclude hearing the chorus …
. . . and all the world’s a stage,
the men and women are not mere players

© 2013, poem and illustration, All rights reserved

WEDNESDAY WRITING PROMPT

The configurations of cruelty have changed a bit since I wrote this poem in 2013 but the cruelty is still with us and often seems worse than ever. And, it certainly turns out that Mencken (quoted above) was prescient.

So how about you? How do YOU see today’s world? Tell us in a poem or poems.

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 19 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.


ABOUT

Poet and writer, I was once columnist and the associate editor of a regional employment publication. Currently I 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 PorchVita Brevis Literature,Compass Rose, Connotation Press, The River Journal, The Bar None GroupSalamander CoveSecond LightI Am Not a Silent PoetMeta / Phor(e) /Play, and California Woman

* The BeZine: Waging the Peace, An Interfaith Exploration featuring Fr. Daniel Sormani, Rev. Benjamin Meyers, and the Venerable Bhikkhu Bodhi among others

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

“Licking Wounds Ain’t Penicillin” . . . and other poems in response to the last Wednesday Writing Promp

“Austerity is theft, the greatest transfer of wealth from poor to the rich since the enclosures.” Fuad Alakbarov, Exodus

“Remember when nurses, carers, teachers and students crashed the stock market, wiped out banks, took billions in bonuses and paid no tax? No, me neither.”  Fuad Alakbarov, Exodus



A stellar response to the last Wednesday Writing prompt, Some Kind of Hell to Pay, November 7. Thank you to Gary W. Bowers, Irma Do, Jen E. Goldie, Sonja Benskin Mesher, and Anjum Wasim Dar for sharing their thoughts and talents. Special thanks to Irma and Anjum for including illustrations and to Irma for sharing further thoughts. Well done eveyone and welcome to Ursula Jacob with her aware and deeply felt poem.

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.


Licking wounds ain’t penicillin, No
It ain’t dinner cause you feed me a line.
Don’t lower the bar, gift me keys to a car
I swear ya’ll tryin to keep a girl blind!

I have seen poverty
Handed down
Heirlooms

Abuse and affliction
But I tell you, little sister,
We must start a fire

Burn it down
Oppression
In the guise of assistance

Oh, I am talking revolution

Handed down
Inner fire, explosive impact
Knowledge of your worth

© 2018, Ursula Jacobs 

URSULA JACOBS has taught journaling for healing in shelters and jails.  When not busking as a cellist and providing resources to the indigent, Ursula, her husband, and cat Tilly, call the Piney Woods of Texas their home. She is an emerging poet that has been published by The BeZine and is working on a chapbook of poetry.

 

 


in order

in order for us to afford you
a chunk of you must go to war
a chunk will return
with some chunks gone and yearn
for the nonhellish sweettimes of yore

thus we make and deploy stocks of ordnance
and our colonels and sergeants show spine
for their new marching orders
defending the borders
and plumping that fine bottom line.

© 2018, Gary W. Bowers (One With Clay, Image and Text)


Once Slice of Bread

Uncle, why only one slice of white bread?

Something is happening, what is it I dread?

Oh dear, don’t worry, it will all be just fine.

Just do as you’re told and toe the line.

But Uncle I see others have food on their plate.

And yours, above all, looks deliciously great.

Look, I need more sustenance than you.

Do you realize all the work that I do?

Now go to bed and do as you’re told.

Nothing will come from you being bold.

Uncle, what do those letters say?

I need to read if I am to stay.

Who says you’re staying, impertinent imp!

School is expensive, we just have to scrimp.

But Uncle I am working hard, too.

I pay for my clothes and give my extra to you.

Of course you do, that’s the only way.

How else can we live if you don’t slave away?

Now go to bed. That is not a choice.

I’m starting to get really annoyed at your voice.

Uncle, it just doesn’t seem fair.

I put in my time. You know that I care.

But it seems that I am the only one

These austerity measures will make me undone

Well, if that happens, it’s your own fault!

You’re not strong enough, clearly not worth your salt.

It’s because of you that we need these measures today

Always wanting to help others who have lost their way.

But Uncle, that was the right thing to do!

Shouldn’t we share with those who have few?

We have so much, but you’re saying we don’t.

Yet you still seem to be able to buy all you want.

Those are things that are my due.

I deserve more things than you.

Look at me! Why can’t you agree?

All you want are things for free.

And that’s why these cuts are your burden to bear.

Being in the middle, you should be aware.

Now go to bed, let these issues unfold.

Just be glad only a few things need sold.

Oh Uncle, why did you sell your soul?

For personal wealth, was that your goal?

I came to you with stars in my eyes.

I thought you were strong and honest and wise.

Together, we could have done so well!

But now I fear we will both go to hell.

Uncle Sam you ask so much of me.

I have so much less, yet you ask for more austerity.

What about healthcare, a decent wage and fair representation?

Or respect for my genders or religious affiliation?

On my back, you’ve created this fantasy,

And now you still just want to grab my pussy?

I’ve had enough. I won’t go to bed.

I deserve much more than one slice of bread.

This was a difficult poem to write for Jamie Dedes’ Wednesday prompt of “austerity measures”. She writes “The phrase “austerity measure” isn’t used as much now as it was when I wrote this poem, but that injustice by other name or unnamed is still an injustice and it’s one that is happening all over the world.”

I had never heard that term before reading Jamie’s poem. I had always associated austerity with something that saints did, something positive, like sacrificing or doing without for the greater good. The term “austerity measures” is actually a financial term to denote an action by government to decrease its debt by increasing taxes while cutting spending on wages and programs (usually for the poor). So it’s something government imposes on its populace with those who are most in need, shouldering the burden of these measures. I will add that the financial definition does note that the tax cuts should be for the wealthy, however, I have a “feeling” that those cuts would depend on who is in government.

Families also implement austerity measures. I know my family did – growing up and being immigrants here, however, I know my parents took the brunt of those measures and did without, so that us children would not need to know that we were financially struggling. Of course, as kids, we still knew that other people had more than we did, but it wasn’t a hardship, just what our family did to live within our means.

Money has so many different meanings for different people. Our attitudes towards money, saving/spending are shaped by our upbringing and experiences. I wonder if austerity measures would be less of an injustice if it wasn’t imposed, if we all agreed to tighten our belts a little for the good of all. Whether a family, a company or a country – could there be compassion in financial matters?

©️ 2018, Irma Do (I Do Run, And I Do a Few Other Things Too)


The Bottomless Well

The rush of racing society,
The red, bloody riots,
The protesting children,
And teetering wars,
On an eternal
Merry-Go-Round.

On the stretching streets,
Lonely, curious, needy,
Men, Women and Babies,
The need for survival.
See the inquiring eyes
Plucked out.

Oh Run! Grasping
the veil of ignorance,
The hurt is stinging,
and
Stomachs are Pits of Hell!
Hide Society’s shame,
In Histories
bottomless well…

© 2018, Jen E. Goldie

Time Will Tell

You say you don’t
want war,
Yet happenstance
could take you there,
Like a whispered phrase
passed from one to another,
becomes a monster in the end.
Time will tell if perchance
we fall again
into another hell……..
With fear to guide them
instead of Peace….

© 2018, Jen E. Goldie

The Answer I Fear

Who are you
that seeks supremacy
by discarding your soul,
and condemning
men, women and children
in aid of your success.
Is it your fear?
Your fear of threat,
That leads you to chance?
And your sons and daughters
to starvation and death?
The Answer I fear is YES………..

© 2018, Jen E. Goldie


. no comfort .

squirm with fear and emotion, at what is written.

freeze at the next sentence, it has nothing to

do with you.

laugh yet is it with nervousness?

these are new remarks, a new way to learn.

a group of friends here, it is the new laws

that cause discomfort.

the type of coffee is reduced,

all in lower case.

© 2018, Sonja Benskin Mesher

..irony..

oddly rhymes with posterity

austerity

the irony

how can they make such rigid stuff
from soft wools

take the thing then
harden it.

they say it will last a lifetime

hold its own

tradition

in the cold frozen

the code will not work,

nor will the counting with interruptions

austerity rhymes

with irony

not posterity

© 2018, Sonja Benskin Mesher


Alas! Lost Is the Identity

Urdu and English

 

 افسوس  کسے  رہی  پہچان‪barmecide supper‬‏ کیلئے تصویری نتیجہ

جہاں سے بے خطر  آتش نمرود  میں کود پڑے عشق 
افسوس کیسے  رہی  پہچان  اس  عقل ے لبے  بام  کی

نقش  کییے چھوٹے سے پردے  پر سبھی ،دل سے
نہیں ،کیمرے  سے کی عزت اس عزت افزا  مقام کی

جب رشوت  سے ہی  ہر کام پورا  ہو جانے  لگے تو
آرام ہی کر لو  کیا ضرورت  ہے  سچے  کام  کی

الله کا وعدہ رزق  و روزی  زندگی و موت  سبھی
پھر بے حساب  خواہش  کیوں کی  رزق  حرام  کی

بے مقصد  تعلیم سے  کہیں  بہتر  خدمت  خلق کرنا ہے
خوش رہو  سادگی  اپناؤ  بد نامی نہ کرو نیک گمنام   کی

بےحسی  ظلم  و تکبر  لالچ و فریب  کا  راج  ہے
غربت میں اموات  طفلے کثیر امیری میں فکربس طعام کی 

امن  امن اور بس امن چاہے  دنیا  میں جنگ و جدل نہین
کیوں  انسانیت کے دلوں  کو  دکھی کرے خبر قتل عام کیی

سنجیدگی  سادگی خود انکاری  کا راستہ اپناؤ اور چلے  چلو 
کسی سے نہ انصافی  نہ ہو ،کرتے رہو  فکر اپنے انجام کی 

  مسلو نہ کوئی گلاب  نہ روندو پیروں تلے اک کیڑا بھی
یہ  نازک سی  جانیں  تمہارے لیے جہنم نہ بن جایں کہیں 

اک حسین  دھوکہ  ہے  یہ ساری  کائنات  انجم جاگتے رہو
پنجرہ  ے  خاکی  میں  دعا  ے خیر  ہوتی رهے،گردشے ایام کی 

unflinchingly  faith plunged in Nimrod’s fire, alas
no one remembers the fringe of discerning wisdom

all  sacred images captured on the mini screen,not
from the heart, but from the camera clicked  respect

when bribery gets all work done , why not rest
and relax , is there a need for  truthful honest work ?

God has promised food and  sustenance, life and death
then why do human beings desire  forbidden wealth ?

serving humanity is better than  aimless education
be joyful in simplicity  disrepute not unknown ones

apathy  cruelty pride greed deception reign supreme
in poverty children perish, in richness nothing but food

peace peace and peace should prevail,not war and strife
why the hearts of humanity be hurt by mass killing of life

follow the path of solemnity self denial and simplicity
no injustice for any soul,  just beware the consequences

do not crush an insect nor pluck a beautiful scented rose
in beauty and minuteness hell may visit unseen, asking for pay’

enlightened be anjum, counter delusive Barmecide’s feasts
with constant spiritual prayers for safety from the unforeseen

© 2018, Anjum Wasim Dar (Poetic Oceans)


ABOUT

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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 PorchVita Brevis Literature,Compass Rose, Connotation PressThe Bar None GroupSalamander CoveSecond LightI Am Not a Silent PoetMeta / Phor(e) /Play, and California Woman. My poetry was recently read by Northern 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.”

* The BeZine: Waging the Peace, An Interfaith Exploration featuring Fr. Daniel Sormani, Rev. Benjamin Meyers, and the Venerable Bhikkhu Bodhi among others

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

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Some Kind of Hell to Pay, a poem . . . and your next Wednesday Writing Prompt

Breadline
Breadline

“Rich Lazarus! richer in those gems, thy tears,
Than Dives in the robes he wears:
He scorns them now, but oh they’ll suit full well
With the purple he must wear in hell”
Richard Crenshaw (c.1613-1649), English cleric, teacher, metaphysical poet, Steps to the Temple. Sacred Poems, Delights of the Muses (1646)



the unconscionable dance in the canyons of power,
lined with megalithic buildings, the edifice complex
of the spin-meister’s lie, that the demigods can do
anything – anything – walking this asphalt valley

a parade, flailing lemmings trussed and trusting their
die-cut dreams to the pitiless whim of the military/
industrial/medical alliance, whose war-cries are of
greed and arrogance, believing they’ll live forever,
today’s sovereignty, tomorrow’s guarantee. But it’s

all delusion – cultures die and the hope-crushing
architects of cuts and austerity measures are like
the rich man in the Lazarus story, there’ll be
some kind of backlash, some kind of hell to pay …

© Jamie Dedes

 © 2010, Jamie Dedes; photo credit,1930 breadine sculpture at the FDR memorial courtesy of Peter Griffin, Public Domain Pictures.net

WEDNESDAY WRITING PROMPT

Theme: Austerity Measures

The phrase “austerity measure” isn’t used as much now as it was when I wrote this poem, but that injustice by other name or unnamed is still an injustice and it’s one that is happening all over the world.

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 12 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.


ABOUT

Poet and writer, I was once columnist and the associate editor of a regional employment publication. Currently I 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 PorchVita Brevis Literature,Compass Rose, Connotation Press, The River Journal, The Bar None GroupSalamander CoveSecond LightI Am Not a Silent PoetMeta / Phor(e) /Play, and California Woman