Featured this week: Paul Brookes, Irma, Sonja Benskin Mesher, and Carol Mikoda,
I hope you’ll visit participating poets and get to know them. It’s important for us to support and encourage one another in our art and in our solidarity around concerns for the social and ethical issues we care about, even if we disagree. Respectful discussion is a healthy thing. I’ve linked in blogs for each poet and for your convenience. If the poet doesn’t have a blog, it’s likely you can catch up with her/him on Facebook.
Paul Brookes
FYI: Paul Brookes, a stalwart participant in Wednesday Writing Prompt, is running a series on poets, Wombwell Rainbow Interviews. Five in the series are already completed and posted. Worth your time. I believe Paul has ten planned altogether and I’m honored to be among those that are upcoming. So visit him, enjoy the interviews, get introduced to some poets who may be new to you, and learn a few things.
Join with us for the next Wednesday Writing Prompt. All are welcome – encouraged – to join in: novice, emerging or pro. It’s about exercising our imagination and our writing muscle, showcasing our efforts and getting to know other poets. This is a safe discerning place to share.
An Open
hand this petal an invite
to the best party
where laughter is plenty
walk through this wood,
let your cityself take same walk, see
buildings as lone trees,
homeless hostel
is an oak, butchers
a willow that bends
down over the stream
where jammed traffic swims.
A dead bird breathes
animated by flies
is a man in the corner who sings
the blues to passers.
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.)
profoundly subtle cricket silence
that is not really
silence might not even
be only crickets but
powerful trigger of nightmares
deeply delicate evolution of leaves
first red maples edging
marshes eventually stunning yellow
of tall singular poplars
keenly subdued morning light
reaching resistantly sleepy eyes
intensely indistinct chill spice
of damp morning air
Poet and writer, I was once columnist and 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 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.
Thank you for sharing your love of words. Comments will appear after moderation.
“I do not feel obliged to believe that the same God who has endowed us with sense, reason, and intellect has intended us to forgo their use.” Galileo Galilei, Letter to the Grand Duchess Christina
A thought provoking response – and rather wide-ranging in terms of focus and perspective – to the last Wednesday Writing Prompt, Our Evolving, August 15. Enjoy! this collection courtesy of newcomer (Brava! and Welcome!) Susan St.Pierre and of Gary W. Bowers, Paul Brookes, Deb y Felio (Debbie Felio), Irma, Frank McMahan, Sonja Benskin Mesher, and Carol Mikoda
I hope you’ll visit and get to know these poets. It’s important for us to support and encourage one another in our art and in our solidarity around our concerns for the social and ethical issues we care about. I’ve linked in blogs for your convenience. If the poet doesn’t have a blog, it’s likely you can catch up with her/him on Facebook.
Read on and be with us tomorrow for the next Wednesday Writing Prompt.
Knots of Time
Believe.
Evolution insists upon changes
Physically rearranges
All but our memories,
Experience.
Random threads of finite days
Weave one single maze
A sui generis emerges,
“I’m a ‘nearly’ retired family day care provider. I have invited (often 6) children into my home 5 days a week for approximately 10 hours a day since 1975. It’s been the most enlightening, humbling, and messy experience!
“Meanwhile, my husband and I raised two children and have gained two granddaughters. I have two blogs, which I’ve neglected for a few years, but this Fall will open up my day for much more “me” time. Hopefully, that will include writing time. Besides finding the company of kids and pets inspiring, I also enjoy Nature, painting, drawing and reading. I don’t know how well I’ll do in moments of quiet, though. My best work has always been accomplished among clutter and chaos!”
Evolving Door
In goes a lungfish
And out comes an outcome.
Pop go the measles
And wipe out a tribe.
Lenny heard Zug Nicht
And wandered about some.
Thundering Diesels
Suggest we imbibe.
In goes a notion
And out comes an essay.
Guidelines and labels
Give sojourning ease.
Spit in the ocean
And spite minks and sables.
Laissez-faire less, eh.
And conquer displease.
Tuppence for pleasantries;
Cheese-whizzed parcheesi
Challenges wellsprung
Make Autumn to mold.
If you’re uneasy,
Dear Reader, nor well hung,
Take ye some evolvement
Out doorways to freedom
And bed and break strictures
To push through the membrane;
Grow pairs not of testes
But peregrine wings.
upright, you can see further,
and in the sand prints
of your own feet, and others,
smaller, differently shaped,
Now you would say these are scratches
on pages, distinct signs in a forest,
or plain, each holds itself a tell, a map,
of sense and season and root.
smooth your hand over gnarled
stick of then that supports your weight
when you stride forward to follow
the beckoning of others tracks,
inhale the freshness from the waves,
that tastes salty to your tongue,
the sweetness from the inland trees,
and smaller flimsy coloured leaves,
and a bitterness, a stink gets stronger,
as you trace the tracks other
than your own go inland, broken
leaves. How many feet does it have?
Now accused of techno anomie
because you refuse others access to your senses,
your avatar still in the forest, on the plain,
walks without aid beside the everwaves .
said the 2 year old to his mommy
and tripped on the untied shoelaces
falling to the ground and waited
for his mommy to pick him up,
dust him off, and set him right
so he could once again insist,
“I can do it myself!”
A yacht sails in summer, northwards to the Pole.
A slush of gelatinous grey greets its bow
as it makes its ambivalent journey.
On Admiralty charts a woman replaces islands,
sketches new sandbars, reefs marked with buoys,
while their people are moving into legend.
Lines of footprints cover deserts; jackals, bones,
eyeballs. Driven from shelter to shelter, children
ailing and confused, half-filled ditches,
refuse tips: where will the unborn live as
their families take flight?
A gig
was once a party, an impromptu concert
in a corner pub, a mingle of music, sweat
and beers.A world of miasma now,
of beck and call for paupers’ pay, waiting
to be plucked like a lobster from a tank.
Yes, yes, the richest should have more,
more tax-breaks crammed into their maw
until they vomit gold, excrete jewels and mansions,
super yachts and private jets, smearing
earth and airwaves
with their self-obsessed banalities.
In shadowed lobbies, their hired hands work
on dispossession, the cutting of common bonds,
democracy just one more acquisition.
Anthropocene.
Swallowing the future
Is the corporate plan.
We know enough
To stop and turn and heal
Our poisoned planet.
Are we enough
To gather now together?
The moon scatters the light it has stolen
out of vanity, cycling round us in
its futile effulgence. Earthworms harvest
the autumn’s leaves, enriching the crust, thin
below the dwindling branches where we sit
and watch the axes hew the trunk and slash.
Metaphorically, i have spent much of my life, keeping my head above water.
Dealing with life facts and disappointments, not forgetting the quiet times to help the work along
I lived on the coast, played by the sea
As a child, I floated gently until all became spongey. Now I swim head above water, up and down obsessively counting, hoping all will come clear..
Friends in water talk more, baring much, reflecting their clothing
I am drawn to water, my work reflective. Writing, swimming, painting, drawing.
I collect cuttings of people in water.
“a diary, a personal relationship with the landscape.
“Shoreline would be more an exploration of the concept….shorelines more related to actual examples…..how about that?
Shoreline…..an ever-changing interface……between 2 media…..2
worlds…..can be crossed in both directions, but only temporarily?……but
aren’t we only here because something had the courage to cross
permanently…..something emerging from the sea is such a powerful
image….turtles, ursula andress in dr. no, monsters from the deep…..and
why do we find it such an attractive place to be
xx salty”
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.)
There’s much to enjoy in Sonja’s art and you can view much of it on her sites and she shares are generous amount on her Facebook Page. So multitalented.
Transformation
Systems call out for evolution,
for complexity, development, transformation,
a whole new suit
of cells, mutation of molecules
and microbes replacing themselves
at rapid rates, a constant reminder
that so much of myself
is not myself, but a cocktail party
of bacteria and viruses, which
sounds bad, very noisy gut,
but so efficient; they communicate,
even between different sorts.
Their differences do not
paralyze them. This human
language I am so proud of,
is clunky next to what happens,
the communication of organisms
and systems, inside me.
So many misunderstandings out here
among humans, while inside us,
networks are constantly lit up,
exchanging essential info, proteins
and amino acids, adjusting
and altering, individual evolutions,
on a daily basis, sometimes hourly.
I should listen more, learn something.
But mostly that’s just not how I roll.
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.”
Thank you for sharing your love of words. Comments will appear after moderation.
“It is impossible to escape the impression that people commonly use false standards of measurement — that they seek power, success and wealth for themselves and admire them in others, and that they underestimate what is of true value in life.” Sigmund Freud, Civilization and Its Discontents
The sense of shared values and a rather enthusiastic and almost immediate response to the last Wednesday Writing Prompt, Pigeon Pie, August 1 suggests that we share concerns over the bill of goods with which our cultures, corporations, and marketing gurus attempt to engage us and with the soul-numbing responses from folks who buy in.
Thanks to Gary W. Bowers, Paul Brooks, Debbie Felio (Deb y Felio), Carol Mikoda, Sonja Benskin Mesher and Marta Pombo Sallés for sharing their work, ideals, and convictions in such glorious poetic form. Bravo! A warm welcome to newcomer, Irma, and we look forward to more from her.
Read on and be with us tomorrow for the next Wednesday Writing Prompt.
I hope you’ll visit and get to know these poets. It’s important for us to support and encourage one another in our art and in our solidarity for peace, sustainability and social justice. I’ve linked in blogs for your convenience. If the poet doesn’t have a site, chances are you can catch up with them on Facebook.
IRMA: “I am a mother, runner, writer, social worker – not always in that order and definitely not all at the same time! I have recently restarted my blog while I am in the process of restarting my ‘life” now that all my kids will be in school this fall.
“I hope that is enough info. I am happy to tell you more juicy details about my life if you would like (and by “juicy” I mean things like what my kids made at camp and what my laundry routine is like).
“I have very much enjoyed the poetry and the community of writers created here. I am new to the poetry blogging community and I feel a resonance in this niche that I didn’t find in the running blogging community.”
denimous snake
there was a ne’er-do-well who lived nearby,
his smile the potting soil his words the sphagnum,
he beamed and charmed the chicks, the milfs, the spry,
and toasted conquests with a well-chilled magnum.
with jeans and opal-buttoned shirt and hat
he two-step-swept the younguns into bed,
and played with fiery reds, and blondes, and flat-
blacked glossless goth girls, poor to topdrawer-bred.
one found he’d used an alias with her
but on the fly he cooked a quick excuse
and soon he moved to who was more demure,
less gullible, and up for frequent use.
he’s down and out now, old and full of grief–
not quite a rapist. certainly a thief.
Free trial offer
1-800 holds all the secrets
3 easy steps to whatever you’re looking for
4 pills to increase the places you want to grow
or reduce those you don’t
also increases your energy and productivity
libido and get up and go
every electronic was to free up time
which is now spent tied to those same
voluntary monitoring devices
tracking our location, heart rate and friends
Votes to make America Great again failed
to determine which America that was –
the Founding and Philandering Fathers?
When slavery was a measure of wealth?
When women and children of the white men
were also chattel?
When only property owning white men
could vote for other property owning
white men?
When women were denied education,
credit, and the right to own property?
When children had no protection
from abuse or labor and no
guaranteed education?
When Change is Possible didn’t define
the where and what and the only real
change was the late night show hosting
the White House friend of Weinstein
and the golf courses and Hawaiian
vacation spots he would be staying
and the increase in racial volatility
and the lack of accountability
because no one wanted to appear
prejudiced
and the continued
proliferation of the great pretend
that the next election will
be the one just the way the last
war – whatever it was – would be the last
and neither will ever be because
if there is one thing we know
it is how to repeat past mistakes
over and over.
So for a limited time only
and for those reading this
I am offering a free book – ‘3 Easy Steps
to the Life, Family and Country You Want”
with a free 30 day sample of supplements
to improve you and those around you for
just the shipping and handling costs of
$39.95. Just send your name
address and credit card number and
receive this limited time free offer.
It will prove change is possible and
make America great again.
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.)
We can watch the ads
that air like heartbeats
before viral videos
during news or bad sit com reruns
we can inhale the small print
the fast talker spewing
tales of disease and death
side effects to life
in the passing lane
of twenty-first century pharma
whose lobbyists build
artificial islands in the ocean
from whence they will come
to bury the quick and the dead
right after we talk to our doctors
about the newest tetra-recyclable
pseudo-opioid topical cream
to apply to any symptom
for a complete revival
of ancient natural biomes
in the bowels of our bowels.
Or we can stop the movement
from wallet to Wall Street
bank to brokers
hand to mouth
go for a walk sing a song
paint a picture throw a baseball
skate from here to there
play the piano or even the drums
bake a cake chop kohlrabi into salad
build a fence for the chickens
swim to Penny Island and back
take deep breaths in quiet rooms
until Roman candles release
clouds of butterflies
that completely engulf
the labs dissolve the white coats
turn back the chemical clock.
From Marta: Her poem in both English and Catalan. Enjoy!
The Black Pigeon
A tasty lentil soup
keeps you warm from the cold.
Coldness outside
speaks of emptiness,
sadness in a cloudy day.
Or is it just the fog all around
that saddens your mind and spirit?
Going through the streets
the walking dead
if they can still walk.
You saw poverty’s face
the system’s decay.
Needles in their hands,
hollow eyes, ailment,
people lost without a second chance.
Is this what you came here for?
But you had your lentil soup
that kept your body warm
while your bleeding heart
sank into the deepest darkness.
You detached it from the body
took it to analyze and
put it on to a microscope
And the bleeding heart spoke up
vomited nothing but the truth
awaiting the other truth that hurts.
You knew it would happen.
The lentil soup eaten
in the Arabian restaurant
and then a sudden sound,
a slight noise on the floor,
something moves near your table.
You raise your eyes and there it is:
A black pigeon inside
walks a few steps toward you
as if he wanted to speak.
“Do we have a new guest?”
The waitress gently guides him
to the main room
near the entrance door.
The bird moves his wings
flies inside the restaurant.
The waitresss, a little scared,
utters an “oh” sound
while the black pigeon
displays his wings, flies away
through the restaurant door.
A sad bird looking
for temporary company,
maybe a friendship
but forever unattainable.
El colom negre
Una saborosa sopa de llenties
t’escalfa del fred.
La fredor a l’exterior
parla de buidor,
tristesa en un dia plujós.
O és només la boira per tot arreu
que t’entristeix la ment i l’esperit?
Anant pel carrer
els morts caminant
si és que encara poden caminar.
Has vist el rostre de la pobresa,
la decadència del sistema.
Agulles a les seves mans,
ulls buits, malaltia,
gent perduda sense una segona oportunitat.
És per això que has vingut aquí?
Però tu et menges la teva sopa de llenties
que t’escalfa el cos
mentre la teva ànima sagnant
s’enfonsa en la més profunda foscor.
La separares del teu cos
i l’agafares per analitzar
posant-la en un microscopi.
I l’ànima sagnant va parlar
vomitant res més que la veritat,
esperant l’altra veritat que fa mal.
Ja sabies que això passaria.
La sopa de llenties menjada
en el restaurant àrab
i llavors, un soroll sobtat,
una remor al terra,
alguna cosa es mou prop la teva taula.
Alces la mirada i és allí:
Un colom negre a dins.
Camina uns passos cap a tu
com si volgués parlar.
– Tenim un nou convidat?
La cambrera el guia gentilment
cap a la sala principal.
L’ocell mou les seves ales,
vola dins del restaurant.
La cambrera, una mica espantada,
deixa anar un “oh!”
mentre el colom negre
desplega les ales, vola lluny
a través de la porta del restaurant.
Un ocell trist, buscant
companyia temporal,
potser una amistat
però per sempre, inabastable.
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.”
Thank you for sharing your love of words. Comments will appear after moderation.
“When I say it’s you I like, I’m talking about that part of you that knows that life is far more than anything you can ever see or hear or touch. That deep part of you that allows you to stand for those things without which humankind cannot survive. Love that conquers hate, peace that rises triumphant over war, and justice that proves more powerful than greed.” Fred Rogers
MIster Rogers (photograph in the public domain)
Fred McFeely Rogers (1928 – 2003) was an American television personality, musician, puppeteer, writer, producer, and Presbyterian minister. He was known as the creator, music composer, and host of the educational preschool television series Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood (1968–2001). The show featured Rogers’ kind, neighborly, avuncular persona, which nurtured his connection to the audience. [Wikipedia]
The last Wednesday Writing Prompt, from the wind wipped edges of the earth, July 18, was probably the most serious and perhaps the most difficult, angering and painful in the history of this effort. Brave, angry, despairing, hopeful responses from newcomer Debasis Mukhopadhyay and from old friends, Paul Brookes, Debbie Felio (Deb y Felio), Taman Tracy Moncur, and Marta Pombo Sallés. Feed your soul on these this afternoon and be with us tomorrow for the next Wednesday Writing Prompt.
I hope you’ll visit and get to know these poets. It’s important for us to support and encourage one another in our art and in our solidarity for peace, sustainability and social justice. I’ve linked in blogs for your convenience. If the poet doesn’t have a site, chances are you can catch up with them on Facebook.
butcher them carefully
i hate how these metal benches are now sighing for the the stall of dawn / how impossible to have again between his eyes & mine evening stars becalmed by a darkness in which we can cry only in dream
the toll-free number destined for detained parents weave rehearsal for life like the dance of corn fields too far to see by / that is that / what better road to the door of dawn could kid draw on the ribs of my cage with his broken piece of chalk
fuck dawn
the warm vapor of morning ablaze in ICE detention center becomes elegies for his dragged off cries / being told that the best chance i have of seeing my son is to plead guilty i am now peace with memory games
DEBASIS MUKHOPADHYAY is the author of the chapbook kyrie eleison or all robins taken out of context (Finishing Line Press, 2017). His poems have appeared in The Curly Mind, Posit, Words Dance, Yellow Chair Review, I am not a silent poet, New Verse News, Anapest Journal, Thirteen Myna Birds, Of/With, Scarlet Leaf Review, With Painted Words, Whale Road Review, and elsewhere. His work has been nominated for the Best of the Net. Debasis lives & writes in Montreal, Canada. Follow him at debasis mukhopadhyay, between ink & inkblot or @dbasis_m on Twitter.
Hopelessness Is Life
Only the hopeless live.
Only hopelessness makes you smile.
When all hopelessness is gone
then you will grieve at the loss.
There are three streets we can go down,
Faithlessness, Hopelessness and Selfishness
Without one of these the others cannot exist.
There must always be hopelessness
in the best of times. It reminds us of an edge
to life. Surrender to hopelessness
and all will be well. It is the force that drives
all that is worthwhile and good.
since September the public have been invited to name storms that blow hard enough. Today’s storm is called Barney. Last week it was Abigail.
while black patches of damp splatter on the white bathroom, plaster crackles off, dark marks around the double glazing and aroma of decay, the morning shower is good
you travel to hospital to have the active cancer removed from your womb, while the grandkids, your mam and I distract ourselves with a meal in The Horseshoe
Peace is
The heart of mankind beating the drum of unity
Seeking the pulse of a people
Whose voices are lifted in harmony
Singing the song of difference…
We are…
mad, glad, sad.
Sometimes they call us mad
for revolutionary ideas.
Others we are glad
when things go fine.
But now we are…
so sad, sad, sad…
for the lack of justice
for the increasing oppression
for starting a new period of life
where things will be much harder.
For so many years
a privileged life.
Or was it just a mirage
on a surface apparently peaceful
though underneath dwelt
the threat of violence
in case you wanted too much freedom?
Yet mad, glad, sad
must always mean hope
a way to carry on
through the dark tunnel.
Mad, glad, sad
please tell me there is light
in our peaceful legitimate fight.
Poet and writer, I was once columnist and 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 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.
Thank you for sharing your love of words. Comments will appear after moderation.
Jamie Dedes' THE POET BY DAY Webzine 