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“Licking Wounds Ain’t Penicillin” . . . and other poems in response to the last Wednesday Writing Promp

“Austerity is theft, the greatest transfer of wealth from poor to the rich since the enclosures.” Fuad Alakbarov, Exodus

“Remember when nurses, carers, teachers and students crashed the stock market, wiped out banks, took billions in bonuses and paid no tax? No, me neither.”  Fuad Alakbarov, Exodus

A stellar response to the last Wednesday Writing prompt, Some Kind of Hell to Pay, November 7. Thank you to Gary W. Bowers, Irma Do, Jen E. Goldie, Sonja Benskin Mesher, and Anjum Wasim Dar for sharing their thoughts and talents. Special thanks to Irma and Anjum for including illustrations and to Irma for sharing further thoughts. Well done eveyone and welcome to Ursula Jacob with her aware and deeply felt poem.

In addition to their words, I’ve included links to blogs or websites where available. I hope you’ll visit these poets and get to know their work better. It is likely you can catch up with others via Facebook.

Enjoy! … and do come out to play tomorrow for the next Wednesday Writing Prompt.

Licking wounds ain’t penicillin, No
It ain’t dinner cause you feed me a line.
Don’t lower the bar, gift me keys to a car
I swear ya’ll tryin to keep a girl blind!

I have seen poverty
Handed down
Heirlooms

Abuse and affliction
But I tell you, little sister,
We must start a fire

Burn it down
Oppression
In the guise of assistance

Oh, I am talking revolution

Handed down
Inner fire, explosive impact
Knowledge of your worth

© 2018, Ursula Jacobs 

URSULA JACOBS has taught journaling for healing in shelters and jails.  When not busking as a cellist and providing resources to the indigent, Ursula, her husband, and cat Tilly, call the Piney Woods of Texas their home. She is an emerging poet that has been published by The BeZine and is working on a chapbook of poetry.

 

 

in order

in order for us to afford you
a chunk of you must go to war
a chunk will return
with some chunks gone and yearn
for the nonhellish sweettimes of yore

thus we make and deploy stocks of ordnance
and our colonels and sergeants show spine
for their new marching orders
defending the borders
and plumping that fine bottom line.

© 2018, Gary W. Bowers (One With Clay, Image and Text)

Once Slice of Bread

Uncle, why only one slice of white bread?

Something is happening, what is it I dread?

Oh dear, don’t worry, it will all be just fine.

Just do as you’re told and toe the line.

But Uncle I see others have food on their plate.

And yours, above all, looks deliciously great.

Look, I need more sustenance than you.

Do you realize all the work that I do?

Now go to bed and do as you’re told.

Nothing will come from you being bold.

Uncle, what do those letters say?

I need to read if I am to stay.

Who says you’re staying, impertinent imp!

School is expensive, we just have to scrimp.

But Uncle I am working hard, too.

I pay for my clothes and give my extra to you.

Of course you do, that’s the only way.

How else can we live if you don’t slave away?

Now go to bed. That is not a choice.

I’m starting to get really annoyed at your voice.

Uncle, it just doesn’t seem fair.

I put in my time. You know that I care.

But it seems that I am the only one

These austerity measures will make me undone

Well, if that happens, it’s your own fault!

You’re not strong enough, clearly not worth your salt.

It’s because of you that we need these measures today

Always wanting to help others who have lost their way.

But Uncle, that was the right thing to do!

Shouldn’t we share with those who have few?

We have so much, but you’re saying we don’t.

Yet you still seem to be able to buy all you want.

Those are things that are my due.

I deserve more things than you.

Look at me! Why can’t you agree?

All you want are things for free.

And that’s why these cuts are your burden to bear.

Being in the middle, you should be aware.

Now go to bed, let these issues unfold.

Just be glad only a few things need sold.

Oh Uncle, why did you sell your soul?

For personal wealth, was that your goal?

I came to you with stars in my eyes.

I thought you were strong and honest and wise.

Together, we could have done so well!

But now I fear we will both go to hell.

Uncle Sam you ask so much of me.

I have so much less, yet you ask for more austerity.

What about healthcare, a decent wage and fair representation?

Or respect for my genders or religious affiliation?

On my back, you’ve created this fantasy,

And now you still just want to grab my pussy?

I’ve had enough. I won’t go to bed.

I deserve much more than one slice of bread.

This was a difficult poem to write for Jamie Dedes’ Wednesday prompt of “austerity measures”. She writes “The phrase “austerity measure” isn’t used as much now as it was when I wrote this poem, but that injustice by other name or unnamed is still an injustice and it’s one that is happening all over the world.”

I had never heard that term before reading Jamie’s poem. I had always associated austerity with something that saints did, something positive, like sacrificing or doing without for the greater good. The term “austerity measures” is actually a financial term to denote an action by government to decrease its debt by increasing taxes while cutting spending on wages and programs (usually for the poor). So it’s something government imposes on its populace with those who are most in need, shouldering the burden of these measures. I will add that the financial definition does note that the tax cuts should be for the wealthy, however, I have a “feeling” that those cuts would depend on who is in government.

Families also implement austerity measures. I know my family did – growing up and being immigrants here, however, I know my parents took the brunt of those measures and did without, so that us children would not need to know that we were financially struggling. Of course, as kids, we still knew that other people had more than we did, but it wasn’t a hardship, just what our family did to live within our means.

Money has so many different meanings for different people. Our attitudes towards money, saving/spending are shaped by our upbringing and experiences. I wonder if austerity measures would be less of an injustice if it wasn’t imposed, if we all agreed to tighten our belts a little for the good of all. Whether a family, a company or a country – could there be compassion in financial matters?

©️ 2018, Irma Do (I Do Run, And I Do a Few Other Things Too)

The Bottomless Well

The rush of racing society,
The red, bloody riots,
The protesting children,
And teetering wars,
On an eternal
Merry-Go-Round.

On the stretching streets,
Lonely, curious, needy,
Men, Women and Babies,
The need for survival.
See the inquiring eyes
Plucked out.

Oh Run! Grasping
the veil of ignorance,
The hurt is stinging,
and
Stomachs are Pits of Hell!
Hide Society’s shame,
In Histories
bottomless well…

© 2018, Jen E. Goldie

Time Will Tell

You say you don’t
want war,
Yet happenstance
could take you there,
Like a whispered phrase
passed from one to another,
becomes a monster in the end.
Time will tell if perchance
we fall again
into another hell……..
With fear to guide them
instead of Peace….

© 2018, Jen E. Goldie

The Answer I Fear

Who are you
that seeks supremacy
by discarding your soul,
and condemning
men, women and children
in aid of your success.
Is it your fear?
Your fear of threat,
That leads you to chance?
And your sons and daughters
to starvation and death?
The Answer I fear is YES………..

© 2018, Jen E. Goldie

. no comfort .

squirm with fear and emotion, at what is written.

freeze at the next sentence, it has nothing to

do with you.

laugh yet is it with nervousness?

these are new remarks, a new way to learn.

a group of friends here, it is the new laws

that cause discomfort.

the type of coffee is reduced,

all in lower case.

© 2018, Sonja Benskin Mesher

..irony..

oddly rhymes with posterity

austerity

the irony

how can they make such rigid stuff
from soft wools

take the thing then
harden it.

they say it will last a lifetime

hold its own

tradition

in the cold frozen

the code will not work,

nor will the counting with interruptions

austerity rhymes

with irony

not posterity

© 2018, Sonja Benskin Mesher

Alas! Lost Is the Identity

Urdu and English

 

 افسوس  کسے  رہی  پہچان‪barmecide supper‬‏ کیلئے تصویری نتیجہ

جہاں سے بے خطر  آتش نمرود  میں کود پڑے عشق 
افسوس کیسے  رہی  پہچان  اس  عقل ے لبے  بام  کی

نقش  کییے چھوٹے سے پردے  پر سبھی ،دل سے
نہیں ،کیمرے  سے کی عزت اس عزت افزا  مقام کی

جب رشوت  سے ہی  ہر کام پورا  ہو جانے  لگے تو
آرام ہی کر لو  کیا ضرورت  ہے  سچے  کام  کی

الله کا وعدہ رزق  و روزی  زندگی و موت  سبھی
پھر بے حساب  خواہش  کیوں کی  رزق  حرام  کی

بے مقصد  تعلیم سے  کہیں  بہتر  خدمت  خلق کرنا ہے
خوش رہو  سادگی  اپناؤ  بد نامی نہ کرو نیک گمنام   کی

بےحسی  ظلم  و تکبر  لالچ و فریب  کا  راج  ہے
غربت میں اموات  طفلے کثیر امیری میں فکربس طعام کی 

امن  امن اور بس امن چاہے  دنیا  میں جنگ و جدل نہین
کیوں  انسانیت کے دلوں  کو  دکھی کرے خبر قتل عام کیی

سنجیدگی  سادگی خود انکاری  کا راستہ اپناؤ اور چلے  چلو 
کسی سے نہ انصافی  نہ ہو ،کرتے رہو  فکر اپنے انجام کی 

  مسلو نہ کوئی گلاب  نہ روندو پیروں تلے اک کیڑا بھی
یہ  نازک سی  جانیں  تمہارے لیے جہنم نہ بن جایں کہیں 

اک حسین  دھوکہ  ہے  یہ ساری  کائنات  انجم جاگتے رہو
پنجرہ  ے  خاکی  میں  دعا  ے خیر  ہوتی رهے،گردشے ایام کی 

unflinchingly  faith plunged in Nimrod’s fire, alas
no one remembers the fringe of discerning wisdom

all  sacred images captured on the mini screen,not
from the heart, but from the camera clicked  respect

when bribery gets all work done , why not rest
and relax , is there a need for  truthful honest work ?

God has promised food and  sustenance, life and death
then why do human beings desire  forbidden wealth ?

serving humanity is better than  aimless education
be joyful in simplicity  disrepute not unknown ones

apathy  cruelty pride greed deception reign supreme
in poverty children perish, in richness nothing but food

peace peace and peace should prevail,not war and strife
why the hearts of humanity be hurt by mass killing of life

follow the path of solemnity self denial and simplicity
no injustice for any soul,  just beware the consequences

do not crush an insect nor pluck a beautiful scented rose
in beauty and minuteness hell may visit unseen, asking for pay’

enlightened be anjum, counter delusive Barmecide’s feasts
with constant spiritual prayers for safety from the unforeseen

© 2018, Anjum Wasim Dar (Poetic Oceans)

ABOUT

Testimonials
Disclosure
Facebook
Twitter

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 by Northern 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.”

* The BeZine: Waging the Peace, An Interfaith Exploration featuring Fr. Daniel Sormani, Rev. Benjamin Meyers, and the Venerable Bhikkhu Bodhi among others

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

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“Veil Required” … and other poems in response to last week’s Wednesday Writing Prompt


“Falling in love is very real, but I used to shake my head when people talked about soul mates, poor deluded individuals grasping at some supernatural ideal not intended for mortals but sounded pretty in a poetry book. Then, we met, and everything changed, the cynic has become the converted, the sceptic, an ardent zealot.” E.A. Bucchianeri, Brushstrokes of a Gadfly

These responses to the last Wednesday Writing Prompt, the bride wore yellow, October 31, 2018 give us a peek into perspectives, ideals, joys, challenges, complexities, and disappointments in weddings, marriage and relationships. Well done and much thanks to Billy Antonio, Gary W. Bowers, Irma Do, Deb y Felio (Debbie Felio), Jen E. Goldie, Sonja Benskin Mesher, and Anjum Wasim Dar.  Special thanks to Irma and Anjum for including artwork.  Bravo!

In addition to their words, I’ve included links to blogs or websites where available. I hope you’ll visit these poets and get to know their work better. It is likely you can catch up with others via Facebook.

Enjoy! … and do come out to play tomorrow for the next Wednesday Writing Prompt.

aged wine…
the couple renew
their vows

© 2018, Billy Antonio
Laoac, Pangasinan, Philippines

veil required

the groom-to-be
would just not be
dissuaded:
he had to have
a bride who had
a veil.

and thus and sewn
a veil was grown;
it shaded
his beauty’s face
her Wordless Grace
so pale.

all words were said.
she raised her head
he lifted
the nylon net
revealing
radiant
joy.
their loops arrived,
and, uncontrived
and gifted,
that mellow Kiss–
that This–
was Girl
and
Boy.

© 2018, Gary W. Bowers (One With Clay, Image and Text)

Marriage Bound – A Cascade Poem

We signed this paper

We are legally bound

The hard work begins

We climbed the steps and waited in line

On our lunch hour

We signed this paper

That night we fought

You slept on the couch

We are legally bound

Morning came

You made me coffee

The hard work begins

Another cascade poem about a relationship, this one responding to Jamie Dedes’ Wednesday prompt to write about weddings or marriage. She states, “As with all human institutions and traditions, weddings and marriages can be very mixed things.”

I wholeheartedly agree with this. Weddings are often fraught with family drama – it’s like all major holiday dinners with two entire families who are staying in one small house all rolled into one day.

After the wedding, marriage itself is a mixed bag of highs and lows. Some couples do call it quits when the lows seem too much but for other couples, those marriage vows, that piece of paper, is permanently binding. Barring any type of abuse, these couples put in the hard work to maintain their commitment.

Relationships are mentally, emotionally and physically demanding. Sometimes love is enough to get us through. Sometimes we need a little more – from our partner, family, friends, from ourselves. But in the end, we all still hope to say, “It was worth it.”

©️ 2018, poem, commentary and photograph,  Irma Do (I Do Run)

At Sea

He’d be my anchor
to hold me steady
He’d be my rudder
when I was ready
to be steered
and grasped
for journey’s maps

it sounded safer
to have such care
for when in life
I had been scared
of life, of me
looking past
the shorelines vast

but years stretched
the anchor weighed
life down and rudder
circled / stayed
in place, close in
to that land
of crystal sand

the winds were strong
to fuel the past
I cut the rope
on sail at last
no longer held
by ancient dreams
new horizons gleam

I can never know
what would have been
or even now will be
but let it in
my own accord
a path ahead
explore unled

Night is coming
undenied
and I am crossed
to the other side
through opened door
my skiff and me
unmoored and free.

© 2018, Deb y Felio

TANDEM: A word that only lovers
understand.
MARRIAGE: A state where tandem
should be true.
DESIRE: A thing that marriage
should but will.
Would that tandem were the way,
And put marriages at bay,
Let Lovers have their say……….

© 2018, Jen E. Goldie

..cypher spoken clear..

passed over by accident, the
thing occurred naturally,
without clerics. without beatitude.

given by friendship, yet
piety slowly eroded.

they come now with learning,
holding large words, a different language.

the charm now gone,
perhaps they did not need it any more.

once again, it is said, that,
they speak latin. made
the word bleed.

© 2018, Sonja Benskin Mesher

.once in france.

he sat on the step in the heat, I, sickly dozed under the damson tree. lizards flicked. while in the village below this hill music played. a wedding.

© 2018, Sonja Benskin Mesher

..spoon..

it is an ancient place,
oswald’s tree, the floor
bends, polished wood.

there was a wedding yesterday,
all kilted, the groom ate pie,
wore proper shoes with segs.

she showed me a cabinet, a spoon,
hand forged, old, beaten for sale.

i was travelling, a pretty
place, not good enough for some.

the bottle is crooked,

we left it
so.

© 2018, Sonja Benskin Mesher

I Locked My Heart and Let the Key Drift in the River

Urdu and English

وقت  جو گزر گیا  اک  خواب  سا  لگتا ہے
اب یہ  سوچتی ہوں  کہ  حقیقت  کیا  ہے
جب ہر  کام   میں  الله  پر  بھروسہ  کر  لیں
تو پھر  فکر و  پریشانی  کی ضرورت  کیا  ہے
کتنا  جھوٹ  بھرا ہے  آج کے انسانوں میں
سچ  کہاں ہے  اور  صداقت  کیا  ہے
ہر ایک  کو فکر  ہے بس اپنی ذات کی
ہمدردی  کہاں  ہے  انسانیت   کیا  ہے
دکھ درد  سے  بھری  ہے  یہ  دنیا سری
بیکاری  بیماری  کی  یہ  حالت کیا  ہے
اپنے  بھی  پراے  بن  جاتے  ہیں  جب
چاہیں  تو  اپنا لیں  پھر  چاہت  کیا ہے
بکتی  ہیں  بازاروں  می  علم  کی سندیں
محنت  و  لگن  و  ذہانت   پھر  کیا  ہے
دھڑکتے  دل  پے تالا  ہے چابی  دریا میں
گر  چاہت  گناه  ہے  تو پیار و محبت کیا ہے

Time that is past,seems like a dream
now I think about what certitude is

when for everything we trust the Almighty
then for worry and stress, no need is

how full of deception is humanity today
where faith righteousness and truth is

individuality narcissism reigns supreme
then where empathy compassion pity is

the world is replete with pain and grief
what nauseating malady, disease this is

knowledge is sold, in markets hot,openly
what then dedicated effort and vision is

I locked my heart and threw the key adrift
if desire is a sin then what love n affection is

© 2018, Anjum Wasim Dar (Poetic Oceans)
Green and Yellow Weddings, Color or Collar

متعلقہ تصویر                                                 10931594_10153064832645747_809812903100677600_o (1)A Wedding in gold in green and yellow, green soft and yellow bold 
A Time to become the wanted and the unwanted, to feel hot and cold,
Be the, Special One, of the rare species, definitely, surely be in a color
and maybe sooner before you can  say cock robin, be in a collar’.

I  must apologize  for my distraction by nature ,
but being born under the Gemini  Skies I cannot
help being either Castor or Pollux-whichever is me,
I am a Human for I can see hear eat lie and cheat

mock taunt smile sleep grab and command and
write believe me I belong to a humble and honest
uh the Race that has inhabited this greener Planet
for centuries and made a humble  smelly mess of it.

and thus in this  ailing failing binding mending
cunning stunning weeping keeping entertaining
side of life one is selected decorated and collected
along with gold cash furniture house and boarding

yellow yellow all over, in flower bower and cover
in drums and dance in drinks and feast till over
in the loudness of music, drowns the fear n tear
the savage side of possession command n cheer

there reigns more hurt and pain and  complaints
a bondage a commitment a promise of  affection
forgiveness patience courage and  conviction of
of sacrifice support of honor  and appreciation

but an image horrific looms large  and long
unwashed dishes,ants crawling in line
anger  aggression   insults subtle and fine
depression loneliness  forgetfulness of the divine

how soon the green mixing with yellow withers
away, the fragrance  fades and  flowers decay
the joy of togetherness drags and drifts away
and all love ‘soon dies in its own too much’ a day

a wedding is a promise if one makes it then one should keep it

© 2018, photos and poem, Anjum Wasim Dar (Poetic Oceans)

ABOUT

Poet and writer, I was once columnist and the 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 River Journal, The Bar None Group, Salamander Cove, Second Light, I Am Not a Silent Poet, Meta / Phor(e) /Play, and California Woman

* The BeZine: Waging the Peace, An Interfaith Exploration featuring Fr. Daniel Sormani, Rev. Benjamin Meyers, and the Venerable Bhikkhu Bodhi among others

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

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“leave it, give it up” … poems in response to the last Wednesday Writing Prompt

“What is a poet? An unhappy man who hides deep anguish in his heart, but whose lips are so formed that when the sigh and cry pass through them, it sounds like lovely music…. And people flock around the poet and say: ‘Sing again soon’ – that is, ‘May new sufferings torment your soul but your lips be fashioned as before, for the cry would only frighten us, but the music, that is blissful.” Soren Kierkegaard, Either/Or: A Fragment of Life

These responses to the last Wednesday Writing Prompt, scag dancing (re: addiction), October 17, 2018.

Kudos and thanks to Gary W. Bowers, Paul Brookes, Bhaga d’Auroville, Irma Do, Deb y Felio (Debbie Felio), Sonja Benskin Mesher, and Anjum Wasim Dar.

I’ve included links to blogs or websites where available. I hope you’ll visit these poets and get to know their work better. It is likely you can catch up with others via Facebook.

Enjoy! … and do come out to play tomorrow for the next Wednesday Writing Prompt.

need’ll

in the dead man’s car a needle
on the dead man’s face foamed saliva
and an easy smile.

the total count of needles in the car
was sixty-Two.

squirrel-stashed here and there
in his guesthouse abode
were many more. one of his
saltshakers
contained in unsalt. his spare teeth
were in a falsebottomed container.

his pain and
his holes of loss
of fellow wretches and
a wife had
at last
evaporated

© 2018, Gary W. Bowers (One with Clay, Image and Text)

Hashish

Hijab covered she arrives
at my till with her two young girls
What us that smell? She exclaims
Hashish, I answer.
Her small kids hold close to her dress.
There should be a law.
Especially with kids around.
They shouldn’t have to suffer this.

The aroma of the previous male customer
still hangs around after she’s left.

From a forthcoming collection “Please Take Change,” Cyberwit.net, 2018

© 2018, Paul Brookes (The Wombwell Rainbow / Inspiration. History. Imagination.)

Prolific Yorkshire Poet, Paul Brookes

FOR THOSE WHO MIGHT NOT BE AWARE: 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

Unreal Wombwell,

The Old Town Hall is a pub
where a pint sups half full or half empty,
pedestrians intent upon their daily task
Pied wagtails twerk and pass by
green unicorns, the canal and mines
frozen in metal on a gate into a side street,
Air is made of warm Potters pie pastry,
Hashish cracks doors of perception.
Old gypsy nags snort past betting shops.

The day assembled of colour coded bones
so it stands upright and invites a spy
of its wears, whyfores and whatevers
And wagtail dodge and weave between feet.

© 2018, Paul Brookes (The Wombwell Rainbow / Inspiration. History. Imagination.)

To Let the Sunshine In

Substance abuse?… I do not know
Of that myself – and this, although
I was born somehow right in time
For being a Hippie #metoo:
I loved ‘Hair’ (yes, I keep singing
Still ‘Let the Sun shine in’…),
I did study at La Sorbonne
And later lived ‘May 68’
When students and the young workforce
Did fraternize and reinvent
The French society, for a while.
I could then, as many others,
Have fallen into drug abuse,
Yet my soul kept me far from it
And never did I even try.
Cigarettes? I didn’t like them
And soon stopped wasting my money
Into packets my friends emptied
Before I remembered to smoke!
Alcohol? I’ll take a few drops
Of old rum drowned in cane syrup
And call that my own ‘Planteur Punch’…
More than that I wouldn’t enjoy,
So never got drunk, by God’s Grace!
My own addiction is much worse
For yes, I am in constant need
And require my fix all the time…
But far from destroying any
Of what I truly am, instead
It is making my whole being
Grow back ever more consciously
– And ever more blissfully too –
Into my deeper, truer Self,
My eternal and divine Self:
Right while being in this body
(And with all my dear body-cells
Taking their own share of the Bliss),
Addicted to Divine Delight
As to our natural birthright,
I make it my daily diet
And my more and more constant high
Except that I don’t get blissed out,
But rather blissed in, I would say!
It doesn’t require anything
External to my own being:
We’re all born with that potential
And can activate it at will.
Only, this is what we must choose
If this is what we want to have.
It is what we all truly crave
But most of us are never told
And hear only of outer drugs
When the Real Thing is in us,
Right in our own core, or also
Right around us, all around us,
Everything is bathing in it!…
The supply isn’t a problem
For the supply is infinite,
And yes, totally free to boot!!!
So here is my smiling advice
For true happiness as a vice:
Turn to this Divine Addiction
To Use Without Moderation,
Your sun then will shine from within
And make our world happier too!…
That’s what we all come here to do.

© 2018, Bhaga d’Auroville (Lab of Evolution,For Research on Conscious Evolution)

My Husband’s Affair with Ms. C

I know he doesn’t mean it

When he goes to you instead

He’s known you longer than he’s known me

Will you know him ‘til he’s dead?

I smell your perfume in his shirt

At the end of every day

I know he spends more time with you

Yet there is nothing I can say

Wordlessly I watch and wait

While his lungs turn goopy and burn

My love for him isn’t strong enough

He chose you and I lose my turn

© 2018, Irma Do (I Do Run,And I do a few other things too …)

c Irma Do

“While smoking may not seem as terrible as opioid addiction (it’s not illegal, it’s still somewhat socially accepted), it is still an activity that takes you away from your relationships, obligations and hurts your health. In fact, I think any activity – even ones that start off as healthy, like running – can become an unhealthy addiction.

“In this way, addiction has probably touched more lives that people might care to admit. Think of binge drinking in college or the even the use of smart phones – activities that people use as “coping skills” but, in reality, take people away from having real relationships and can cause serious mental and physical health problems. The mental and emotional components of addiction, as well as the physical aspects, has lasting effects, not only for the individual, but also for all the people in that person’s life.

“In my professional and in personal lives, I am keenly aware of “addictive thinking” and “addictive behavior”. Tragically, I had a friend who died from alcoholism that she hid very well from us for many years. There is still so much stigma around addiction but we can’t be quiet about it any more. People are dying and we can’t just “wordlessly watch and wait”.

© 2018, Irma Do

Relapse

Again I hear

it’s expected and part of recovery. Continued self discovery
And yet
some are discovered. Dead.

Again I hear

it’s illness. Or maybe genetic/ hereditary
And yet
it seems choice when
the needle goes in.

Again I hear

it’s a process, a journey
And yet
this journey takes me to hell.

Again I hear

there is no failure as long as I continue trying
And yet
there is no success in the trying.

Again I hear

I have my whole future ahead of me
And yet
there is a hole in the future.

Again I hear

everyone deserves another chance
And yet
the next chance looks just like the last.

Again I hear

keep coming back
And yet
I only come back to the abyss

Again I hear

Accept the things I cannot change
And yet

I have again.

Relapse.

© 2018, Deb y Felio

Basic Education

cold and wet in a bed
shared with two others
a single blanket barely
covering three

cereal dredged
from box bottoms
cracker crumbs
breakfast to go

darkened room
fuzzy cartoons
clothes in piles
and under chairs

stepping over
bottles and butts
spoons and powder
and stepping out

past yells and cries
smells and smoke
out to a yard
of condoms and needles

onto cracked sidewalks
fences and offers
for candy and rides
by not so strange strangers

arriving at last
into a classroom
of second grade friends
and the teacher announcing,

“Makir, you’re late, again.”

© 2018, Deb y Felio

..fine lines..

it is a fine line we walk,
gently avoiding peptides,

only just a theory,
yet used independently,
alongside honest work,
for mending.

the film continues,
some of the old cast, new actors oblige,
ideas on lack of addictive ways.
simple days without receptors.
singing under breath, counting, unpacking boxes,
this is the lead. hints are posted, and may you believe them graciously.

for many times will you be tested.

there were subtitles, out of focus,
we could not read the other language.
the film continues…. peptides.

© 2018, Sonja Benskin Mesher

#valium

look at the little people.
arms held high. the medicine
is in the cabinet, they cannot
reach it.

© 2018, Sonja Benskin Mesher

The gentle Anjum Wasim Dar reminds us by implication how much we have in common as human beings/the one human race and how poetry and other arts cross boarders and console our hearts. / J.D.

c Anjum Wasim Dar

Dearest Friend just read your message to come out to play..surely I will ..it’s way past midnight here [Pakistan] and my thoughts and pen keep me company..spent some time watching Zorba’s dance ..these days I am rewriting , compiling in neat writing my Urdu poems…am surprised at what I have expressed …there was a time I loved ghazals* specially those which were on the theme of ‘drinking and forgetting the hardships of life’ drinking away the loneliness sadness and helplessness’ maybe with kids away and parents no more one feels as such..poetry and writing helped me move on in life..but sadly few people understand this …this part of the sub continent have seen many poets writers and ghazal poems singers…when you ask me to write in Urdu I feel so honored and feel overwhelmed and can feel the magnetic force of your call’ my Urdu poetry is by my side and I find a couplet which I dedicate to you …

ان کے خیال میں جو ساتھ دیتا ہنے دھواں میرا ، وو کہتے ہیں کہ برا ہنے اسے چھوڑ دوں

when your thoughts make me sad this smoke consoles me comforts me, you say it’s bad, leave it give it up…

© 2018, Anjum Wasim Dar (Poetic Oceans)

If you are reading this post from an email subscription, you’ll likely have to link through to the site to watch the video above. 

Mirza Asadullah Khan Baig Ghalib is considered the greatest and most influential poet of Urdu and Farsi ghazals / Public domain illustration

* “The ghazal ( Punjabi: ਗ਼ਜ਼ਲ, Urdu: غزَل ‬‎, Hindi: ग़ज़ल, Persian: غزل‎, Pashto: غزل‎, Bengali: গজল) is a form of amatory poem or ode, originating in Arabic poetry. A ghazal may be understood as a poetic expression of both the pain of loss or separation and the beauty of love in spite of that pain.

A ghazal commonly consists of between five and fifteen couplets, which are independent, but are linked – abstractly, in their theme; and more strictly in their poetic form. The structural requirements of the ghazal are similar in stringency to those of the Petrarchan sonnet. In style and content, due to its highly allusive nature, the ghazal has proved capable of an extraordinary variety of expression around its central themes of love and separation.

“The ghazal is one of the most widespread and popular poetic forms, especially across the Middle East and South Asia. Readings or musical renditions of Ghazals are well attended in these countries, even by the laity. In a similar manner to Haiku, the Ghazal is gaining popularity among western poetry readers.” Wikipedia

ABOUT

Poet and writer, I was once columnist and the 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 River Journal, The Bar None Group, Salamander Cove, Second Light, I Am Not a Silent Poet, Meta / Phor(e) /Play, and California Woman.

Posted on

Into timelessness, poems in response to the last Wednesday Writing Prompt

“Will the day tell its secret
Before it disappears,
Becomes timeless night.”

Dejan Stojanovic, Circling: 1978-1987

These responses to the last Wednesday Writing Prompt, melting into timelessness (i.e., God, Source, Being, the Ineffable), October 10, 2018.

Kudos and thanks to Sonja Benskin Mesher, Bozhidar Pangelov (bogpan), Marta Pombo Sallés, and Anjum Wasim Dar. A very warm welcome to Bhaga and to Shaik Sana.

I’ve included links to blogs or websites. I hope you’ll visit these poets and get to know their work better. It is likely you can catch up with others via Facebook.

Enjoy! … and do join us tomorrow for the next Wednesday Writing Prompt.

Aaaahhh…
This one I like.
This one I can enter in
With pleasure
And melt in it
Into Timelessness…
The Foreverness,
Fullness
And Sweetness
Of Spirit…

© 2018, Bhaga (Lab of Evolution, For Research on Conscious Evolution)

I enjoyed Bhaga’s spontanious response to the last prompt and am delighted to introduce this wise bilingual (French and English) blogger here. Bhaga has mixed ethnic and national origins.She grew up in West Africa and spent significant time in France. You can read more detail about origins HERE and name HERE. The MIssion Statement HERE. Lab of Evolution is a stimulating, though-provoking site and worthy of you time. It makes a soft rather unique expression in our blogosphere. / J.D.

Imagine

But just imagine
Your home next to mine
‎And
‎You next to me. .
‎We’ll be laying
‎Side by side
‎Under the tree,
‎Talking about
‎Dreams and our
Coming destinies,
And just like that
We’ll live forever
In our own
Timed infinity.

© 2018, Shaik Sana (eleven eleven * Everyone Dreams of Being Home *)

c Shaik Sana

SHAIK SANA tells us, “I’m a medical student from State of Andhra Pradesh in India. Even though I’m committed to medicine, I have a thing for both history and literature. I like writing poems when the idea hits me.”

 

 

 

. the birds fly up.

it is a clear word

as water pure and bouncing

off rocks

a bird

or

messing about

remembering #

days mud building dams

fighting the tide

pushing back years

running the path

fighting for freedom

then it comes

unexpected

like

the lark

bird

having written of the hour,

move on when all is lost.

the days remain

timeless.

today, we walk the woods,

back home.

© 2018, Sonja Benskin Mesher

A true compass

(Jamie Dedes)

“Our fate like cast lead can not
to change.
Nothing can change. ”
G. Seferis

Like a desperate winter …
Do you hear – how do the branches
the trees crack
under the night snow.
Bones under your weight.
You who embraced the frozen
water to see only
your body.
Your remote body.
I spoke to you out of the law.
Sometimes.
Not always
(“forever”it is for the prophets).
How lied your experience,
which accumulate the old gods
in the blood.
The true rulers of fate.
Who else talks behind your voice?
As soon as the homes touch,
who comes with the torches?
Glare of glass, ash
of the stars you make …
And deaf loneliness like a bell
(Lead gives nothing).

I tried.
Behind the ground and the winter.
On the day of John.

© 2018, bogpan [Bozhidar Pangelov]  (bogpan – блог за авторска поезия блог за авторска поезия)

Marta writers: “How is it possible to make something timeless when we are finite beings and born to die, as Lana Del Rey sings? Yes, God is timeless, but so are human-made creations and memories that pass from generation to generation. Where does timelessness start? Lewis Carroll gave me an answer when Alice spoke with the Caterpillar. They were both responsible for a bit of inspiration to write this poem.”

I Tasted Spring

I tasted spring through my body,

closed my eyes and felt

that touch on my lips.

Memories of a dream revival

where everything felt so true:

My mouth on yours,

your delicious touch,

your willingness,

our timeless embrace

where nothing receded

in the open air,

in the magic moment

of timeless soulmates.

Time suddenly froze,

it turned into

Eternity…

Can you capture time?

Do you know how to freeze it?

“I can beat music”,

said Alice to the Caterpillar.

So there is time in music.

Any musical piece has indeed

frozen time forever

just as well as the other arts:

Photography, painting…

And writing…

How could I make this happen

with our delicious kiss,

the best I have ever tasted

although it was just a dream.

© 2017, Marta Pombo Sallés (Moments)

“And here is another one with the issue of time linked with cruelty.”

Time and Human Cruelty

Time
cannot be changed
or escaped.
Time is a thief,
a friend to no one
and every day is
a gift.

You cannot change time
or travel back
to reverse those things which
should never have taken place.
People killed for no reason
or
is there ever a reason
to kill other human beings?

Those people did not get lost.
When you’re lost you’ll sooner or later
find the way back.
Or perhaps not.
But you’re not erased from Earth.

Those people were killed,
just a few compared to other countries
in our world.
None of them will ever return
to the world as we know it.
They’ve just been removed too soon,
swept away by the cruelty of others:
white supremacists, Muslim terrorists …

But which governments are orchestrating
such massacres in our world?
Who’s feeding the monsters
is equally a monster.

Let’s tackle the root of the problem.
Only this way we’ll be able to say:
I am not afraid!

Time and human cruelty
are friends to no one:
Charlottesville, Barcelona, Cambrils
and many more.
The outcome is always the same.

© 2017, Marta Pombo Sallés (Moments)

Only My Heart Can See

every moment a tiptoe sounds

I close my eyes to see

as I feel the page

as words take shape and form

my thoughts encircle the song

inside the circle of the dance

is it the dancer or the dance?

Ah! only my soul knows

Only my heart can see-

I close my eyes to look

up from the book

at the love of purity

which is but a scent sweet

I reach out to touch

Nothingness ‘

Ah The presence in Nothingness’

Love of Eternity ‘

Close…

closer than the thorn is to the rose

growing from dust

glowing in the dust

dust to dust we rose

engulfed spirits in time

destined together to repose…

arms spread out to receive

like the scattered petals

of the beloved rose…..

my eyes on the book I close

the dancer moved bent and rose….

life went on, life goes….

far far away, forever

© 2018, Anjum Wasim Dar

ABOUT

Poet and writer, I was once columnist and the 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 River Journal, The Bar None Group, Salamander Cove, Second Light, I Am Not a Silent Poet, Meta / Phor(e) /Play, and California Woman.