From the beginning, Son you were our most profound joy, a fresh poem finely etched in old gold, holding fast to beauty and grace, faithful to your own gentle spirit
Just yesterday
I retrieved my soul at last,
moved by the placid persuasion of a psalm
reminding me of my rootedness
in the archives of heaven
In earlier times
life lay ahead, a rhythm of reciting tones,
a paced chant before all that somber news
and facing facts and the quiet homely work
of peacemaking for your sake
But this morning
I awoke a fading mendicant nun,
reading my own rich requiem Mass,
a celebration of my heart’s trove
and your constant love
Another breath or two
and I’m a whisper in your ear,
just an old story of someone who birthed you
now melting into the ground of Being
leaving only our hallowed cord
Listen now, Son, to the voice in the wind. . . . . .Listen, Son –
How love whooshes and swirls, encircles and fills,
echoing from our small Beginning
into the great Forever
Write a poem for your child or grandchild or a niece or nephew and share it or a link to it in the comments section below. If you are new to Wednesday Writing Prompt, please send a photo and short bio to thepoetbyday@gmail.com. It will be shared along with your poem/s by way of introducing you to readers … and to me. 🙂 Work shared on theme will be published here next Tuesday. All are encouraged to participate: novice, emerging or pro. You have until Monday, April 16, at 8 pm PDT to respond.
does it bloom, this horror,
from my nonEuropean roots
from the scent of cinnamon in my blood?
the brown and yellow tinges of my skin?
or is it just your old soul and mine and
this intuition we share on the ground
of one another’s battles, witness the fuming
anger feeding disenchantment in the street
and the acquisitive tendencies of the elite,
cowardly saber-rattling, cut off from authority,
from that innate expressively honest power
of our erotic selves, our instinctive selves,
the non-rational knowing that embodies
strength, nothing weak or pornographic
in its expression, a profound antithesis
to the pornography of war and hate that,
in the end, is about impotence, about the
emboli of narrow minds, grasping oligarchs
fomenting tribal dissents for their own ends
or dropping bombs like a child bangs pots –
to overwhelm the fear of thunder, a game
of chicken, of the hawk-hawk play
toward a mutually assured destruction . . .
just a matter of time
as we stand the ground of one another’s battles
where peace would be revolutionary and
the unholy alliance of wealth and fear-mongering
might burn itself out, find its way into justice,
but here we are, once again, in thrall to the
sociopaths, they have us bloodied and bound ~
their eyes are the aged face of clockwork orange,
numb to the obscenities of maim and murder …
where is the will of the cup to overcome
the sword? time for the temple whores to
sleep with insanity and take the war out of it
Where is the will of the cup to overcome the sword? Why aren’t we succeeding in our efforts to bring wars and other violent conflict to an end? Share your thoughts … perhaps inspiration … in poetry. Leave your work or a link to it in the comments section below. All are invited – encouraged – to participate: novice, emerging or pro. Works shared on theme will be published here next Tuesday. If this is your first time participating in Wednesday Writing Prompt, please send a brief bio and photograph to thepoetbyday@gmail.com. This will be used to introduce you to readers. You have until Monday, April 9 at 8 p.m. PDT to respond.
behind the paced metallic clatter of nursing rounds
the mind migrates to a place where solitude is light
and the man in the moon is silent and stubborn, like
the stars refusing to speak english, though old sun,
a free sprit, speaks love in every language
come morning
i awaken to gusty bursts of citrus colors,
lively yellow ginkgo leaves boogie-woogie in the wind,
with pen in claw, a grumpy old crow signs my discharge papers . . .
i’m ready to go ~
my carryall carries nothing
every journey, i have learned,
is a leg on the journey home
There are many reasons why place is important to poets and writers. The reasons include not just inspiration – though that may often be primary – but also to evoke mood, to underline theme, and often even as a “character.” Write about a place you find particularly beautiful, meaningful, evocative or compelling in some way. Post your poem(s) or a link to it/them in the comments section below. If this is your first time responding to Wednesday Writing Prompt, please be sure to email a photo and brief bio to thepoetbyday@gmail.com so that you might be introduced to readers. This weekly theme-based prompt is all about exercising the writing muscle, showcasing your work and getting to know other poets. Please feel free – encouraged – to join in no matter the status of your career: novice, emerging or pro. All work shared in response to this week’s theme will be published next Tuesday.
Jamie Dedes' THE POET BY DAY Webzine 