fred . . . and other poems in response to the last Wednesday Writing Prompt

Ornamental cabbage with a splat of paint from outside – believe it or not – Old Navy.

“Put your mouthful of words away
and come with me to watch
the lilies open in such a field,
growing there like yachts,
slowly steering their petals
without nurses or clocks.”
Anne Sexton, The Complete Poems



These are all well-considered, well-formulated responses to the last Wednesday Writing Prompt, Mrs. Goldberg, June 12.  From Gary’s homage to Fred Astaire through Sonja’s .gargage., this is a stimulating read.

Thanks to Gary W. Bowers, Paul Brooks, Anjum Wasim Dar, Irma Do, Jen Goldie, Shiela Jacob, and Sonja Benskin Mesher for sharing their work and ideas with us today.

Enjoy! this collection and do join us tomorrow for the next Wednesday Writing Prompt. All are encouraged to participate.


fred

what ho daddy longlegs
buzzing down to rio
kinesthetic mastermind
champagne-frothing brio

doodling with a hatrack
swinging rita hayworth
tyranting ungingerly
twenty-hour-day’s worth

softshoe tap and ballroom
jazzy or balletic
conman charmer fashion plate
sculpting an aesthetic

© 2019, Gary W. Bowers (One with Clay, Image and Text)

As some of you know, Gary is multi-talented, combing visual art with poetry or prose narrative.  He is also a potter. A sample of his work is pictured here. Gary’s pottery is available for purchase.  Further details HERE. Note the business card. We appreciate Gary’s wry humor.


My Mam Is

nothing if, not thorough.
Victorian reminder on a wall
full of telling aphorisms:

What will the neighbours say?
Our home shows us how
we treat ourselves.
Buff away grey clouds,

bring out the blue, make every
wood bell, crocus, daffodil
open their flowers today,
place a spruced up nest

for every chaffinch, green
and goldfinch, blackbird, dove.
Open all windows to “freshen”.
Clean outside and in,

see yourself without smears.
Tidy the memory home.
If you can see a job needs doing,
then do it. Why leave till tomorrow,

something that needs doing today?
Empty every drawer,
cupboard, wardrobe, surface,
scrub them clean, let spiders scurry off.

Launder, dry on the line winter’s
sombre deep cottons and woollens,
neatly fold away, in freshly
lavendered drawers.

It shows you respect yourself.
Rinse every item
of crockery, cutlery,
some unused for years.

Return them to scoured drawers.
Burnish copper ornaments,
delicately brush capodimonte

figures, feather dust top of doors,
skirting boards, deweb high corners,
Shine gas fire with Brasso. Polish
tables and furniture with Rosewood

or Lavender Pledge, all furniture pushed
into centre of rooms, to vacuum.
A person is what they do,
not what they say they will do.

Decant bookshelves,
every book cover cleaned.
Roll up, sling over washing line,
slap and beat dust out of all

rugs and doormats. Strip beds,
turn mattresses, air sheets.
It’s a warm spring day.
A clean home is a clean soul.

Bleach bath, sinks.
Glister chrome taps. Blue toilet.
Fragrance bathroom with Lemon.
Defrost fridge, full milk

bottles in a sink of cold water.
Unload and brush out garage,
vacuum Datsun Estate outside and in.
Weed patio and border, cut

straggly grass for first time this year.
Black bag food beyond sell by dates,
or out of fashion.
Likewise, shine your shoes,

pick bits off clothes,
straighten your skirt, tie,
tighten your belt.
A smart person is a smart mind

© 2019, Paul Brookes

Borrowed Eyes

” Please can I borrow your eyes?”
Asks the blind nightingale
of the excellent eyed blindworm
” I’ve been invited to faerie wedding,
and don’t want to look foolish.”

After the nightingale sees bright
colours, red, green and gold
of the faerie occasion, he tells
blindworm, “I cannot return
these worlds of light, but will
sing to you, my friend, night and day.”

© 2019, Paul Brookes

A New Feather

The writer searches for the perfect quill
to make him an author of genius,
his work lauded,
taught in schools
only possession
of this object
will make
the work great.

The carpenter wants a fine pillow
Stuffed with the softest
Gentlest down
To complete
His fabulous carved bed
Made of the rarest wood.

The comedian wants the funniest
feather to tickle his audience
into laughter
that will last
long after
he dies.

The cat wants the meat under
The feather, warm
And tender,
Succulent
In its jaws.

The dog wants his master
To have the bird
He retrieves,
For his master to be happy
And give him treats,
Maybe even a cooked morsel,
Once the bird is plucked
And cooked.

The bird waits for his new feathers
After his moult
To flatter a female,
Make him handsome,
Nudge her with his display
So she will bear
His children.

© 2019, Paul Brookes

Paul’s website is HERE.

Paul Brookes, prolific Yorkshire poet

FYI: Paul Brookes, a stalwart participant in The Poet by Day Wednesday Writing Prompt, is running an ongoing series on poets, Wombwell Rainbow Interviews. Connect with Paul if you’d like to be considered for an interview. Visit him, enjoy the interviews, get introduced to some poets who may be new to you, and learn a few things.

The Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Jamie Dedes

  • Paul’s Amazon Page U.S. HERE
  • Paul’s Amazon Page U.K. HERE

More poems by Paul at Michael Dickel’s Meta/ Phore(e) /Play


What She Never Really Wanted

She never really wanted to be
the best, but somehow stood out
among the rest,

In school in class,eagerly took
part in collecting notebooks,
polishing desks with wax and rags,
laughing joking,arms never tiring,
inking the large board black, no
whiteboards then,

representation
meant hard work with joy as the
reward, being close to the teacher
noting the piano chord, humming
volleyball service hits swelled her
wrists,she still wears the support
band and smiles as memories flood
in, the final win and the final fall
was the most memorable of all-

A role on the stage in Shakespeare’s
plays, not a Mid Summer Night’s Dream
but real school life she took as high order
to en wrap and enfold learning time gold
capture every moment each story told-
ten years flashed full of wisdom and fun
peaceful it was all, no guard bullet or gun

© 2019, Anjum Wasim Dar

Life with a Perfectionist

Every night she would hear the blame
The kitchen floor is dirty it means one
who works here is the same,
better keep it clean,wash it every night
wipe it dry then you may think of rest or sleep’

soon such instructions felt like insults-
was she dirty lazy careless incapable one
or a free forsaken donated handed over,given
for good, home and house worker, cleaning woman-
why life’s meaning sank so low,was it just common?

soon these thoughts would slip from the mind
as a new day dawned, acceptance quickly sank in
‘ he has a mania for cleanliness’ ‘ hunger for food
crazy love for movies’ values of life die in a dust bin’
line between love care, and sharing is so thin’

more is revealed as cushions lineup on the sofa
spoons forks knives must be separate in the holder
no dust on any table chair desk shelf or cupboard
car, shoes polished, clothes ironed, crease less
bed covers, slippers joined,glasses placed with pens

wrist watch, now mobile phone,must be untouched
three dishes at meals three kinds of fruit at least
tea pink and salty is must, puffs from the Only Old
bakery in the old inner city narrow street shop
dinner time seven thirty, no tea at that hour allowed

for all, to be dressed spic and span hair cut and set
no extra talk or questions,driving speed at will by choice
other person to give way, no traffic police should this way
even look, all ways are my ways’,books for show, display
no row in disarray, set all with pain or be ready never to

see your book again- and so perfection came in way
of ‘good enough’ and peace’ -how to be artistic, who
could be original, perfection may be excellence ‘ but
would you rather have something, ‘okay’ than nothing’
that is all perfect’

© 2019, Anjum Wasim Dar

Anjum’s sites are:

“POETRY PEACE and REFORM Go Together -Let Us All Strive for PEACE on EARTH for ALL -Let Us Make a Better World -WRITE To Make PEACE PREVAIL.” Anjum Wasim Dar


Lola’s Magic – A Gazel

When Lola arrives, it’s hard to deny there’s magic
The children happily sigh, “It’s magic!”
My tween can whisper secrets in her ear
Lola – my spy who can pry – hush magic!
My sweet girl’s dollies all need a cuddle
Lola’s arms wide like the sky – hug magic
Train engineer boy with curious spark
Lola answers all the why’s – smart magic
The toddler is whining, “No” is his word
Lola’s sweet talks – he complies – bribe magic!
Then quiet, they gather around her chair
Lola gives sweets on the sly – bad magic!
Homemade dinner, there’s so much to clean up
Lola’s sink is spotless, dry – clean magic
I’m exhausted, drained, this job is so hard
Lola’s shoulder, allows me to cry – mom magic

FYI – Lola means Grandmother is Filipino/Tagalog

© 2019, Irma Do


Flight

Distances are much shorter now,
Time flies on wings aloof
Tall isn’t tall anymore
What happened to my youth?

Young means twenty minutes is forever,
A mile is around the world and back
Tall is Dad at five foot eight
How did I miss the attack?

Something came and stole my youth
Time and distance is the proof
Maybe when my time runs out
I’ll know just what it’s all about.

© 2019, Jen Goldie 

Impatience

It must be fun, to own a goat,
To buy a boat, to stay afloat,
To see a tree, walk on its knees!
But Oh! My golly! Oh!
To see a tree, walk on its knees?

It must be great to stay up late,
To watch a monkey roller skate,
To see a book, get up and look?
But Oh! My golly! Oh!
To see a book, get up and look?

It would be nice to have a castle
To own a tall giraffe named Basil
To see a deer playing bongos!
But Oh! My golly! Oh!
To see a deer, playing bongos?

It must be nice to have a car
To make the distances less far,
It would be fun to know tomorrow
From a crystal ball you borrow,

It’s just the images we create
To give us patience
To sit and wait……….

© 2019, Jen Goldie

Gramma

Now, here you go
she’d smile with a wink,
as she handed out
apples she’d cleaned
In the sink,
A comforting hand
A heart warming hug
and gramma would smile
and glint with a shrug
A scrape on the knee?
oh dear, let me see
with the warmth in her eyes
and the love in her touch
the scrape that you got
didn’t hurt very much.
Run along she would say
It’s a great day to play,
but don’t go too far!
There’s buns in the oven
and cookies in jars, then,
with a warm loving hug
and comforting smile,
she’d send you outside
to play for awhile.

© 2019, Jen Goldie

Jen’s sites are:


With the Woman

There’s a chiming hel-looo
as she opens the front door,
drops her travel bag
and encircles us
in her warmth.

Our luscious, dazzling daughter
with strawberry-kissed smile,
double-cream cheeks
and honey-bee eyes
to match her lustrous hair.

She kicks off scarlet pumps
and curls, latte-limbed,
on the sofa; sips black tea
and texts a message home,
relays love to our grandchildren.

I admire old and new tattoos:
butterflies, stars, swallows
and, where a sleeve might fit,
a crimson heart emblazoned
fod yn ddewr.

Do her ladies ask what it means?
“Yes,” she laughs, “very often.”
I hold her hands in mine.
They’re small but strong:
first cradle for a baby’s

blood-stained head
when she wears regulation blue,
echoes the motto
on her arm and urges
“Be brave. One last push.”

© 2019, Sheila Jacob


.balfour beattie.

power and beauty
stone and steel.
rise above
mud and wood.
swarmed by
worker ants.
world without end.

wyn is a poet.

a visionary.
monkeys and tigers
stalk welsh hills
the
satanic mills
of his imagination.

he is the blake
of the a470.

did he once see
angels on peckham rye
too?

i expect he did, i expect.

we will not know
unless i ask him.

he will tell.

yet not when
his colleagues
are listening.

he may be shy.

balfour beatty.

© 2019, Sonja Benskin Mesher

.stitching.

we will not have blankets,

if there are none, take the old

rags, layer , stitch and stitch

by hand till fingers bleed.

work along the coast

with thread and diligence.

gather wools, layer carefully,

we shall have warmth this winter.

we will have quilts to share.

© 2019, Sonja Benskin Mesher

.garage.

i do not wait for the alarm,

just the red bar on my gauge.

it is a quiet village, a name

i can’t pronounce. so i stopped

for fuel.

how nice, an attendant, probably

owner/mechanic came, took my

keys and did it all for me.

whilst chatting about the day, how

the nights draw in, and i felt cosy.

a softer voice than some, his clothes

hard working.

i asked for twenty quid’s worth

to see me home, and a chomp

at 25p.

i shall stop there next time.

comfortable.

© 2019, Sonja Benskin Mesher

Sonja’s sites are:


ABOUT

Recent in digital publications: 
* Four poemsI Am Not a Silent Poet
* Remembering Mom, HerStry
* Three poems, Levure littéraire
Upcoming in digital publications:
Over His Morning Coffee, Front Porch Review

A homebound writer, poet, and former columnist and associate editor of a regional employment newspaper, my work has been featured widely in print and digital publications including: Ramingo’s Porch, Vita Brevis Literature, Connotation Press, The Bar None Group, Salamander Cove, I Am Not a Silent Poet, The Compass Rose and California Woman. I run The Poet by Day, an info hub for poets and writers and am the founding/managing editor of The BeZine.


“Every pair of eyes facing you has probably experienced something you could not endure.”  Lucille Clifton

Tenkey Very Much by Gary W. Bowers and Happy Birthday in Heaven by Anjum Wasim Dar

Poetry is a life-cherishing force. For poems are not words, after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, something as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry.” Mary Oliver, A Poetry Handbook



Much appreciation to Gary and Anjum Ji for their poems in response to The Echo of Her Sighs.

tenkey very much

the book of numbers is immense
and hints of debt and recompense
in arab calligraphic code
throughout the warp and weft and node
of former mom in current mom-hearse
who turned her fingers into commerce.

how nice how much of mom is left
in poet-daughter’s warp and weft
and words of numbers servicing
a mother’s life, her nerves to sing.

© 2019, Gary W. Bowers (One with Clay, Image and Text)

As some of you know, Gary is multi-talented, combing visual art with poetry or prose narrative.  He is also a potter. A sample of his work is pictured here. Gary’s pottery is available for purchase.  Further details HERE. Note the business card. We appreciate Gary’s wry humor.


Happy Birthday in Heaven

while I read the loving words tears roll down
though I am a mother too in time, but still like a child
look for my own…
Respected Jamie Ji though late but wish to share some lines here..

I see the vision the presence the grace
Mother, its you I see, I feel in her, she
touched cleaned cut and stitched
came again and again and again
when I was stiff n senseless in pain
I felt a hand ,and heard a voice
twenty minutes more
a voice…calm, a look angel like…
fear left me, then there was peace,
I felt a hand on my forehead
Yes, yes, Mother was there…
All the time,with love and prayer.
Mother I need you …
I wish I could be that special book
in which I could place my treasure
like the scented rose close forever
never to wither or be dry but
All I am able to do is cry
You were The Angel-You are…
who checked me with care when
I was in pain you checked me again
and again, with a calm serene smile
in you I found peace never felt for quite
a while-I wish I could be the book
and place the angel rose and each day
say for you a prayer return your smile
and look at My Angel on the page and
Up in the sky I pray…Dear Mother
I need you, I need you all the time

© 2019, Anjum Wasim Dar (Poetic Oceans)

Find Anjum here:
Behance  … artwork
Poetic Oceans poetry on WordPress
Poetic Oceans  poetry on Blogspot

“POETRY PEACE and REFORM Go Together -Let Us All Strive for PEACE on EARTH for ALL -Let Us Make a Better World -WRITE To Make PEACE PREVAIL.” Anjum Wasim Dar


ABOUT

Recent in digital publications: 
* Four poemsI Am Not a Silent Poet
* Remembering Mom, HerStry
* Three poems, Levure littéraire
Upcoming in digital publications:
Over His Morning Coffee, Front Porch Review

A homebound writer, poet, and former columnist and associate editor of a regional employment newspaper, my work has been featured widely in print and digital publications including: Ramingo’s Porch, Vita Brevis Literature, Connotation Press, The Bar None Group, Salamander Cove, I Am Not a Silent Poet, The Compass Rose and California Woman. I run The Poet by Day, an info hub for poets and writers and am the founding/managing editor of The BeZine.


“Every pair of eyes facing you has probably experienced something you could not endure.”  Lucille Clifton



 

Two Poems from New York Poet, Joseph Hesch

Joseph Hesch

Joseph Hesch

“Each day I squeeze the contents of my heart over whatever expression I’m wearing & imprint it onto a notebook page–my version of St. Veronica’s veil.”



Forever My Muse

Has it been five years, or even six,
since we went on that final ride?
I think of it whenever I see that photo
of you and me sleeping, my head
on your shoulder and your patience
on full display. You were my muse.
And even though I’ve stopped
high-stepping over that place
in the carpet where you used to lay,
(I even found myself hurdling shadows
after the carpet was removed)
you have your way of coming back
to inspire some poem I didn’t know
I had within me. Like this morning,
when I found a golden Golden hair
shining in the back of a drawer
while I searched for something
I can’t recall now. It must have been
this poem. You knew I needed you.
You’ll always be my muse, just as I
will always be the man you led
toward art at the end of a leash.

I’ve been inspired to poetry by plenty of the natural world’s denizens. But none have led me to more of my art than my old dog Mollie. Yeah, it’s not every artist can say he had a high-class blonde inspire his greatest work…and mean it.

© 2019, poem and photograph, Joseph Hesch

The View From My Window

I see greens (a few) grays (a lot)
and shiny cars outside my window.
Duplex houses in varied earth tones
standing cheek by jowl
chain the cul-de-sac beneath
high, hazy clouds diluting
the morning blue sky.
That’s what I see.
That’s my view.
Yours would be different, even if,
right this instant, you sat
in this spot by my window.
You might see the tan patches
and brown mud splotches
where I see grass,
see the dirty pickup truck roll by,
the white sticks of winter’s
snow plow reflectors still standing
in doubt this Spring day will last.
But you wouldn’t see my view
unless I told you, and I wouldn’t see yours.
That’s why I like art,
almost any art.
It speaks the truth of the artist’s view
of her subject. And I can choose
to listen, read, observe, feel what
she says she does, as she does it.
Or I can turn away and
not pay attention to it at all.
Just as you can skip on by
my view from my side of this window,
the town, the country, the world.
And I can skip by yours.
I wish life was more like that.
I don’t necessarily need to hear
if you do.

© 2019, poem and photograph, Joseph Hesch

JOSEPH HESCH (A Thing for Words) lives in a beautiful region, upstate New York, at the confluence of my own beloved Hudson River and the Mohawk River.  It’s a nice setting for a poet. Joe was a professional writer for forty years. Post-retirement finds him doing writing that is more creative – poetry and fiction – with publication in quite a number of magazines, literary journals and an anthology here and there. He has self-published two collections of poetry. Joe is also a member of The BeZine core team of contributing writers and his poems and flash fiction are regularly feature in the Zine. He has been featured several time in The Poet by Day.

Joe’s two published collections are Penumbra, The Space Between and One Hundred Beats a Minutes. Both are available as Kindle books and if you have Kindle Unlimited, you can download them as part of your membership.  You’ll also find his work in anthologies including: Signal from Static and Petrichor Rising. Joe’s Amazon Page is HERE.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.


ABOUT

Recent in digital publications: 
* Four poemsI Am Not a Silent Poet
* Remembering Mom, HerStry
* Three poems, Levure littéraire
Upcoming in digital publications:
“Over His Morning Coffee,” Front Porch Review

A homebound writer, poet, and former columnist and associate editor of a regional employment newspaper, my work has been featured widely in print and digital publications including: Ramingo’s Porch, Vita Brevis Literature, Connotation Press, The Bar None Group, Salamander Cove, I Am Not a Silent Poet, The Compass Rose and California Woman. I run The Poet by Day, an info hub for poets and writers and am the founding/managing editor of The BeZine.


“Every pair of eyes facing you has probably experienced something you could not endure.”  Lucille Clifton



 

Mrs. Goldberg, a poem … and your next Wednesday Writing Prompt

Central Park, San Mateo, CA

“Coach said. “the quality of a man’s life is in direct proportion to his commitment to excellence, regardless of his chosen field of endeavor”.” Sherman Alexie, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian [Young Adult Book/recommended]



at sunrise with its shmears of
cream cheese clouds against
the quince-colored morning light,
Mrs. Goldberg is out of bed ~
a military tactician in war-time
no dust-bunny is safe, every
grease spot enzyme-bombed,
her wash thrashed by machine,
then hung or folded, put in place,
her windows wiped, her floors scrubbed,
and woe betide wee crawling creatures,
so intent is Mrs. G on genocide

© 2014, Jamie Dedes

Note: I have shared this poem as part of a prompt before, but the theme was to write about a neighbor. Here it is again – slightly revised – and the theme this time is “excellence.”

WEDNESDAY WRITING PROMPT

There are people you know  – perhaps a grandparent or parent or a teacher or coworker – who do their chosen work with such grace, finesse, and precision that they simply captivate you. Tell us how they work, why that makes them admirable; or tell us about your struggles to do something well, perhaps your writing, a sport, cooking, gardening, or teaching.



NEW RULES

  • please submit your poem/s by pasting them into the comments section and not by sharing a link
  • please submit poems only, no essays, stories, or other prose


No poems submitted through email or Facebook will be published. 

IF this is your first time joining us for The Poet by Day, Wednesday Writing Prompt, please send a brief bio and photo to me at thepoetbyday@gmail.com to introduce yourself to the community … and to me :-). These are partnered with your poem/s on first publication.

PLEASE send the bio ONLY if you are with us on this for the first time AND only if you have posted a poem (or a link to one of yours) on theme in the comments section below.  

Deadline:  Monday, June 17 by 8 pm Pacific Daylight Time. If you are unsure when that would be in your time zone, check ​The Time Zone Converter.

Anyone may take part Wednesday Writing Prompt, no matter the status of your career: novice, emerging or pro.  It’s about exercising the poetic muscle, showcasing your work, and getting to know other poets who might be new to you. This is a discerning non-judgemental place to connect.

You are welcome – encouraged – to share your poems in a language other than English but please accompany it with a translation into English.


ABOUT

Recent in digital publications: 
* Four poemsI Am Not a Silent Poet
* Remembering Mom, HerStry
* Three poems, Levure littéraire
Upcoming in digital publications:
“Over His Morning Coffee,” Front Porch Review

A homebound writer, poet, and former columnist and associate editor of a regional employment newspaper, my work has been featured widely in print and digital publications including: Ramingo’s Porch, Vita Brevis Literature, Connotation Press, The Bar None Group, Salamander Cove, I Am Not a Silent Poet, The Compass Rose and California Woman. I run The Poet by Day, an info hub for poets and writers and am the founding/managing editor of The BeZine.


“Every pair of eyes facing you has probably experienced something you could not endure.”  Lucille Clifton