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do not make war, a poem . . . and your Wednesday Writing Prompt

View of Cliff House from Ocean Beach
View of Cliff House from Ocean Beach

1.

it must be painful for them to write, those poets in tough-times and hard places
where blood and tears and poverty contaminate the air, stain the sidewalks, and consume the people

the blood must be soul-sick and rusted and tasting of acid, not salt,
and the poems meant to heal the writer and stroke the cheeks of the wounded,
to dry their eyes and gently kiss their gray heads

to poem in such places must be like walking shoeless on glass shards

perhaps the most sacred thing in the dream-time meadow of poets’ desire is Light ~

can you awaken to meet the Divine on the battlefield, in the camps, in government housing or in the ghettos?

if so, you are a saint, not simply an artist

2.

in my small world, my civilized world, people fall asleep reading or after making love or playing in the yard with their children

if they wander, it is through books or planned travel

there are luxuries
there is food
there is cleanliness and paper on which to write
no bombs are dropping to scorch and scar the Earth
there is a certain dignity

3.

in San Francisco we walk along the beach at night, near the Cliff House
we walk to the sound of the waves, the song of the Earth chanting its joys
our feet are bare and relish the comfort of cool sand

the air is clear and cold and easy to breathe, tasting of salt and smelling of sea life ~
here is a pristine moment of peace

i want to bequeath this peace to you, to everyone,
as though it were a cherished heirloom
it is really a birthright

i want to plunge into the waters and gather the ocean in my cupped hands, to offer it to you as sacramental wine

i want to form seaweed into garlands for all of us to wear, to hang over our hearts, a symbol of affection

i want to collect pine cones from the trees that congregate along the coast and feed them to the children to remind them to cherish this Earth and all its creatures, themselves included, and to say …

do not make war in your heart or upon your mother’s body

© 2016, poem, Jamie Dedes, All rights reservedPhoto credit ~ BrokenInaglory via Wikipedia under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported


WEDNESDAY WRITING PROMPT

“do not make war” … Your thoughts? If you are comfortable, share your poetry or prose or a link to it in the comments section below. You have until next Monday evening. All work shared in response to this prompt will be published next Tuesday in The Poet by Day.


ABOUT THE POET BY DAY

orange fires at daybreak, a poem …. and your Wednesday Writing Prompt


She’s at it again, capricious Universe
She never stops cutting capers
Playing at blizzards back East, bopping
Like an adolescent at a school dance

Camping out on Venus and Mars
She tosses stars across the night sky
And lights orange fires at day-break
Warming flowers into jewels and pastels

When you see them in yellow
You know the Universe is laughing
Pink is her Cosmic “I love you! I do!”
Yep! Here she goes again and …

Now in California we can
Hear the splatter of rain on the roof
Fat drops to reconstitute dry earth
Wet is the promise of summer and
crops of  almonds and artichokes
avocados, oranges and cherries

© 2011, poem, and photo, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved


WEDNESDAY WRITING PROMPT

“Everyone talks about the weather, but nobody does anything about it,” is a quote often attributed to either Mark Twain or his contemporary Charles Dudley Warner, a newspaper editor. Tongue in cheek for sure, but imagine a personhood, a Universe expressing itself as weather, making a show of her peculiarities. How would you characterize her? Mercurial or consistent? Mean-spirited or generous? Does she seem random only to turn out to be intentioned?  Is the Universe a she or a he? Tell us in poem or prose. If you feel comfortable to do so, share your work or a link to it in the comments section below. Work shared in response to eaerch Wednesday Writing Prompt is published in The Poet by Day on the following Tuesday.

the counted days, the thousand nights – a poem


savor the counted days and
the thousand nights, the wealth
………………..of timed gifts …
this singular moment,
a million souls dancing,
reflecting something larger
like the moon’s glow as it
flames in your eyes by night

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

his living room, a poem

never saw my father’s living room,
but i imaged it, cut kitty-corner,
end to end, into triangles, like
mom’s grilled-cheese sandwiches,
hope dying on the one side
despair thriving on the other

  “There’s only one great evil in the world today. Despair.” Evelyn Waugh, Vile Bodies

© 2017, poem and illustration, Jamie Dedes


ABOUT THE POET BY DAY