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that clock ticking in time to our hearts beating
our muscles flexing, our topsy-turvy living of lives
while moon drips pewter mist below the hemispheres,
the stars are numberless and dependable and the
sun rises and sets and rises again, a hope-filled forever

tick tock, the heart,
no more beats in time
cardiac arrest

what then, I wonder,
probably just another day,
a day like any other

with the moon spilling golden light across the galaxy,
the stars unaccountably brilliant, cut and polished gems
and you in the Light always ascending, forevermore radiant

“Like the sun, only when you set in the west can you rise in the east.” Rumi

© 2017, poem and photograph, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved

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1933 his mother spoke in fairy tales
as they put his dad to rest at St. Blaze,
the cemetery where all the Cruz’ lay
.
1944 he killed a girl in Europe, though
she wasn’t the enemy, and in 1950 he
buried his first wife under a tract house in
Levittown, she wasn’t the enemy either
.
in ’52 a son born, a kitten without claws,
was by 1960 well-nigh crushed by
the red raging bellicosity of his father
a man is a man is a man, he’d preached, as
he made his way through life in armor plate

© 2017, poem and photo, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved

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ABOUT THE POET BY DAY

• The Poet by Day, an information hub serving poets and writers
• Coffee, Tea and Poetry, Simple Pleasures for Body, Mind and Spirit … “I say let the world go to hell, but I should always have my tea.” Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Notes from Underground
• Testimonials
• Disclosure
• Facebook
• Twitter

over the woman’s left shoulder
your breath hummed
a background dirge…
for the echo of her lonely feet
plodding the snow-covered streets
to St. Elizabeth’s Hospital,
dripping shame with her broken water
while you wed another in the Byzantine manner
No used-goods for you though you were the user
The child born saw the mote in your eye
growing like Pinocchio’s nose
when, as kin to a secret vice,
you kept her in your dresser drawer
to be pulled out on a whim and a whisper
Is anyone looking?
You missed the wedding
and the short tortured marriage …
You were never there
to teach her how to be with men…
and you weren’t there
when the sweet boy was born
Then, one year,
in honor of Father’s Day,
they dug up your casket
popped the lid open
and set themselves free at last

© 2017, poem, Jamie Dedes; Phoenix Rising photograph courtesy of morgueFile

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Jamie’s THE WORDPLAY SHOP: books, tools and supplies for poets, writers and readers

ABOUT THE POET BY DAY

• The Poet by Day, an information hub serving poets and writers
• The WordPlay Shop: books, tools and supplies for poets, writers and readers
• Testimonials
• Disclosure
• Facebook
• Twitter