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the way love works, a poem … and your Wednesday Writing Prompt

maybe a thing about particles and waves
or wave-particles and the way light works
and moves, the way soulmates’ eyes ignite
from moon dust, the way some ancient god
smiled and blinked, flicked an able wrist
to strew some billion stars across a
darkly barren sky, then asked his goddess
to suspend the amber moon …
its caress so softly lighted, it stirred
the hearts of night-blooming lovers

but surely …

surely the years run like the cheetah and
soon-or-late some hearts quake asunder,
just as surely as moon dust and starlight and
the way a true love fills in the fault lines

© 2013, poem, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved‘ Photo courtesy of morgueFile

WEDNESDAY WRITING PROMPT

What are you’re thoughts on soulmates? Tells us in prose or poem. If you feel comfortable, leave your work or a link to it in the comments below.  All shared work will be featured on this site next Tuesday.

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this wild rumpus of life, a poem … and your Wednesday Writing Prompt

when the dead are invited back
on Halloween and All Souls Day,
Dia de los Muertos and Dia de los ñatitas,
during Bon Festival and Qingming Festival,
Araw ng mga Patáy and Gai Jatra Chuseok
on these days in the many places
on the crest of our mingling with spirits
at burial sites and among dappled silver-gray stones
and the blue and emerald of sky and sea
around the bend of alabaster bays
and the rough-barked redwoods and stripy eucalyptus
in the damp green of the moss
in the pungent cempasúchitl or pale bamboo shoots
and the raucous discontent of crows and sea gulls calling,
among bales of cotton clouds and symphonies of rain
among the hot tears and cool baptisms by salt water,
between the viridescent living and
the remains of the dead, the compost underfoot,
in the wind wailing past the bowing cypress
in these landscapes and littoral zones
our ancestors visit in cellular memory, our blood
sings their songs and they hound us; hounding,
not into death but into life, into blessing
into peace, celebration and joy ~
one life to live or many, what do you give?
what do you leave behind, what will you have
to say when, for just one moment, your spirit is
called to share again this wild rumpus of life

© 2015, poem, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved; illustration, photo of Diego Rivera’s mural in Mexico city, Sueño de una Tarde Dominical en la Alameda Central. A “selfie” of sorts, you can see Rivera to your left as the child and the woman behind him is Frieda Kahlo.  The photo is courtesy of Humberto under CC BY-SA 2.0 license. The photo of Cempasúchil (Mexican marigold) below is courtesy of Lajuarezo under CC BY 2.0 license.

WEDNESDAY WRITING PROMPT

Remember “Let the wild rumpus start!” in Maurice Sendak, Where the Wild Things Are? Such a wonderful book and that exclaimation has stayed with me – probably you as as well – and I always wanted to do something with it. This poem is what came from that inspiration. So, my challenge to you this week, is to use “wild rumpus” in a poem.  Enjoy the exercise and if you are comfortable doing so, leave your poem in the comments section below or leave a link to it.  All poems shared will be featured here next Tuesday.

Cempasúchil

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in time displaced, a poem … and your Wednesday Writing Prompt

No illusions, no illusions, no lies, no softened truths,
no tears, no bargains, though sun shines and birds sing,
Winter is here, I know.

Spring danced like wild flowers in the wind,
held dew and promise and wore the colors of her heart like jewels.
She hadn’t heard the word defeat and didn’t feel hate or anger.
Spring liked to play and romp and sing and
hung her question on a tree to ripen – Why?

Summer took herself seriously,
was wide-eyed with longing, sizzling in the sun.
She wore a red dress and the champagne happiness of husband and child.
She had reckless courage because Summer is young and youth is bold,
a silver bell that rings and rings and never stops.
Too much is not enough and still that tremulous – Why?

Autumn gently smiled, like Da Vinci’s lady, and danced old dances,
reminisced Begin the Beguine, stepping lightly on dry leaves.
Autumn was lined with gold and muted silks, remembered her manners,
nodded wisely, spoke sagaciously, and was a might too profound.
Haughty and just so very sure that she knew – Why?

Winter is a season content to see herself in time displaced,
knows though fleshy bonds and boundaries dissolve, Life –
like heart has its reasons that reason doesn’t know  . . .
Sanguine and serene, it’s just a habit now, that old question – Why?

© 2017, Jamie Dedes (The Poet by Day and Coffee, Tea and Poetry)

To everything there is a season,
a time for every purpose under heaven.
A time to be born and a time to die;
a time to plant and a time to pluck that which is planted . . .

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

Wednesday Writing Prompt

Tell us in prose or poem and in terms of the seasons where you used to be in life and where you are now.   If you are comfortable to do so, leave your work in the comments section below.  If the work is too long, leave a link to it. All work shared will be published here next Tuesday.

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

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the pathway of life and hope, a poem

day comes when your waist disappears,
your glow grows from a tiny zygote to
full-fledged fetus and then, all at once,
you can no longer bend or lay flat in bed,
you go on as you started, exchanging
secret messages with the promised child ~

and now, the miraculous moment, you move
from one into two, the nine-month stretch
along the pathway of life and hope, birthing
a new generation: your handsome boy,
lion maned, his fingers grasping your heart,
launched, from dark into light, washed with
the fiercest love and swaddled in faith

“There should be a song for women to sing at this moment or a prayer to recite. But perhaps there is none because there are no words strong enough to name that moment.” Anita Diamant, The Red Tent

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

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