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

Find Anjum here:

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“Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.”
Matthew Arnold, Dover Beach and Other Poems



“THE BeZINE” CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS thebezine.com is open for the upcoming June edition to be published on June 15, deadline June 10. This is an entirely volunteer effort, a mission. We are unable to pay contributors but neither do we charge for submissions or subscriptions. The theme is sustainability. We publish poetry, fiction, creative nonfiction, feature articles, art and photography, and music videos and will consider anything that lends itself to online posting. There are no demographic restrictions. We do not publish work that promotes hatred or advocates for violence. All such will be immediately rejected. We’d like to see work that doesn’t just point to problems but that suggests solutions. We are also interested in initiatives happening in your community – no matter where in the world – that might be easily picked up by other communities. Please forward your submissions to bardogroup@gmail.com No odd formatting. Submit work in the body of your email along with a BRIEF bio. Work submitted via Facebook or message will not be considered for publication. We encourage you to submit work in your first language, but it must be accompanied by translation into English.

SUNDRESS PUBLICATIONS seeks an Editorial Intern. The application deadline is June 1, 2019.

REMINDERS:

  • THE RAYMOND CARVER SHORT STORY CONTEST closes in just two days, May 15. Entry fees. Cash award. Details HERE.
  • THE MASTERS REVIEW, A Platform for Emerging Writers flash fiction contest closes on May 31. Entry fees. Cash awards. Details HERE.
  • THE MASTERS REVIEW, A Platform for Emerging Writers New Voices call for submissions is open year round and there is no submission fee. Fiction and narrative non-fiction to 7,000 words. Paying market. Details HERE.
  • ELECTRIC LIT call for submissions to The Commuter closes this evening. Details HERE.

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“My mother: She is beautiful, softened at the edges and tempered with a spine of steel. I want to grow old and be like her.” Judi Picoult


Dedicated  to moms everywhere and in every time

I live in the United States where we traditionally celebrate Mothers’ Day in May, but the acknowledgment of mothers, mothering, and maternal bonds is not unique to this time and place. Simply put, Mothers’ Day in the U.S. reminds me to do something special and always this recognition includes all those fathers and grandfathers, aunts and uncles, older siblings and family friends … sometimes even teachers or neighbors … who fulfill the role of mother for those children who have lost theirs.

Truth to tell, this is an accidental edition of The BeZine, totally spontaneous. I asked our core team if anyone had mom material at the ready. I was thinking in terms of one or two blog posts. Some did and, as though my mind was read, a couple of writers coincidentally contacted me asking if I would publish a poem they’d written for their mother or for Mothers’ Day.  Why not? I put out a call to a few other gracious people and voilà! … an unexpected delight.

These are largely poems of love and gratitude (grab a hankie) including a sweet and well-written poem from Kennedy Stewart, our youngest contributor yet. Please enjoy this charming and thoughtful compilation and forgive me for making a quick and casual job of it.

Thanks to all our devoted, generous, and prescient contributors.

Illustration courtesy of Mohamed Mohamed Mahmoud Hassan, Public Domain Pictures.net

On behalf of The Bardo Group Beguines,
and in the spirit of love (respect) and community,
Jamie Dedes
Founding and Managing Editor

TABLE OF CONTENTS

How to read this issue of THE BeZINE:You can read each piece individually by clicking the links in the Table of Contents or you can click HERE and scroll through the entire zine.

The Ballad of Stabat Mater, John Anstie

His Mother Bellows, Paul Brookes

Magnum Opus, Natalie Baltuck

Disjunction (in English and Albanian), Frank Buzhala

Your Magic, Loving, Linda Chown

Out of the Womb of Time, Jamie Dedes

A Separate Peace, Jamie Dedes

Tribute, Sharon Frye

Those Before Me, Sharon Frye

Letter to My Mother: The Only Inhabitant of Heaven, Iulia Gherghei

Conflict, Silva Zanoyan Merjanian

“Broken Homes” … Single Moms, Remarkable Son, Gil Scott-Heron

The Apple and the Tree, Kennedy Stewart

Mothers’ Day, Different Thoughts, Anjum Wasim Dar


The BeZine: Be Inspired, Be Creative, Be Peace, Be (the subscription feature is below and to your left.)

Daily Spiritual Practice: Beguine Again, a community of Like-Minded People

Facebook, The Bardo Group Beguines

Twitter, The Bardo Group Beguines

SUBMISSIONS:

Read Info/Missions StatementSubmission Guidelines, and at least one issue before you submit. Updates on Calls for Submissions and other activities are posted on the Zine blog and The Poet by Day.

“I think this to myself even though I love my daughter. She and I have shared the same body. There is a part of her mind that is a part of mine. But when she was born she sprang from me like a slippery fish, and has been swimming away ever since. All her life, I have watched her as though from another shore.” Amy Tan, The Joy Luck Club



Note: This is the third in a three-part series celebrating Mothers’ Day, which is today in the U.S.. All the pieces were published some time ago – here and/or elsewhere and it just feels right to publish again this year. I hope you’ll enjoy this short series … And Happy Mothers’ Day to all the mothers and to all the dads, aunts, uncles, grandparents and older siblings who are covering for moms who are gone.

sometimes …
near impossible to see past the manic crowds
or to lift our eyes to look at the wholesome
trees inscribing their calm upon the sky

sometimes …
we record our fears with writing utensils,
call them weapons, coloring the margins
of our books with the dry dust of martyrdom

sometimes …
the children use their pages to blot away their
mothers’ tears, turning backs on the old refrains,
hearing their own souls speak, deaf to their fathers

sometimes …
those children fell trees, transforming them
to paper and well-sharpened pencils, their lives
written in the manner of their own separate peace

“Everything has to evolve or else it perishes.” John Knowles, A Separate Peace

Originally published in Brooklyn Memories

© 2013, poem, Jamie Dedes; illustration courtesy of Dawn Hudson, Public Domain Pictures.net

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