Page 81 of 127

Broken English, a poem


ah-MEH- rrrrreeee – CA
……..America, he said
broken thoughts in broken English
this was circa 1957

That woman, she dreams that one.
And the Americans, they all dream.
The streets are lined with gold.

neh!
I think not …

She has no selvage, that one.

[referring again to the woman]

This was the furrier who lined his furs

[soft skins ripped from innocence]

with smooth, colorful, bright silk,
stitching the wild with the refined
in a relation strange and tortured.

© 2017, poem, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved; photo of red fox furs is copyrighted fair use


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


We continue with the current recommended read: On Tyranny: Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century by Timothy Snyder. Left, right or center – American or not – it’s a must read.

LESSON FIFTEEN, Contribute to good causes:  “Be active in organizations, political or not, that express your own view of life Pick a charity or two and set up autopay. Then you will have made a ree choice that supports civil society and helps others to do good.” Prof. Snyder,  On Tyranny, Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century

soul, as incorruptible as stone – a poem … and your Wednesday Writing Prompt

800px-Big_Sur_Coast_California

there are transitional moments, spaces filled with
wildfire and earthquake and avalanche, yet wilderness
speaks more of the sun pouring his heart out in dapples
and of the paced stew of the ever-changing seasons,
the promise of rough paths alongside the lives of trees,
the lonely lakes that mirror endless sky-play, and always
those smart birds hitching free rides on thermal columns

how cherish-able is the insouciance of the backcountry, prized
for its medicinal value, for its stringy-barked eucalyptus and
frizzy moss, for its innocence in tossing up and carving out
the weathered mountains, the rugged expanse of palisades,
the high-principled stone obelisks rising from frothing seas;
Oh! how treasured is the untrammeled earth, the wilderness ~

so reverent in its prayers, its songs of praise, soaring
tower-like, a marvel of primordial cathedrals spinning
past the cruciferous hallmark of hawk against the blue and
cloud-bedecked sky; ageless, these untamed places are
rock-solid sanity and tree anchored, feeding those who sit
one with them, who own the wilderness essence from the heart’s
unbroken core, finding their own soul as incorruptible as stone

“Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity” John Muir, Our National Parks

© 2014, poem, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved; the photograph of Big Sur is in the public domain


WEDNESDAY WRITING PROMPT

This week’s prompt is short and sweet. How does wild nature make you feel at the very core of your being? Tell us in prose, poem or even photography. If you feel comfortable, leave your work below or, if it’s too long or it’s photography, leave a link to it that we might all enjoy.  Your work will be featured here at The Poet by Day next Tuesday.


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


We continue with the current recommended read: On Tyranny: Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century by Timothy Snyder. Left, right or center – American or not – it’s a must read.

LESSON FOURTEEN, Establish a Private Life:  “Nastier rulers will use what they know about yu to push you around. scrub your computer of malware on a regular basis. Remember that email is skywriting. Consider using alternative forms of the internet, or simply using it less.  Have personal exchanges in person. For the same reason, resolve any legal trouble.  Tyrants seek the hook on which to hang you.  Try not to have hooks.” Prof. Snyder,  On Tyranny, Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century

A Madwoman, A Madonna, A Medusa – poem



What’s it to me? …
A knotted and nasty old poet of introverted time
wearing five-dollar sweats
dressing in black on black like a fly
with silver earrings tinkling softly in the winter breeze
What’s it to me? …

A Madwoman, a Madonna, a Medusa
Traipsing neighborhood streets, city parks and country lanes
Nibbling on sharp yellow cheese and glossy red apples
Sitting down on some wayward curb to sigh in wonder at
noisy birds and children, wizened old men, whiskered grandmothers
Dogs walking their humans by the side of the road
Feral cats scratching out a living of pigeon stuffed with stale bread

Muttering, muttering, whispering, watching, writing
Writing long poems and short about what it was to be us
through clocked days trapped in pointless, punctilious youth
Enjoying now the wild, gnarly randomness of life
and the music of our dusty blue souls jingling as we walk …
What’s it to me? What’s it to this so lately untamable me?

© 2013, poem and illustration, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved

War Paint, a poem

file000608292008


you could trace her travels around that house and yard
by a trail of lipstick-ringed cigarette butts and lost Bics ~

she’d painted a deep red outline with a slender brush
and tenderly she colored inside the lines with a lighter rose,
licking and pouting as she examined her artwork, the bright
bathroom light illuminating the central silky plumpness of
those two perfectly arched wings, reminiscent of
the airline logo of her once-upon-a-time employer . . .

Bon jour, Monsieur!
hair tossed, a provocative shoulder shrug

testing a flirt on no one in particular, aching for the days
when she didn’t need make-up to dare the whole world,
the days when her only war paint was her juicy raw youth

© 2013, poem, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved; Illustration ~ courtesy of morgueFile


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