A Hunger for Bone

…….For Ann who died a year ago of a rare cancer of the bone we scattered your relics, charred bone blithe spirit, to be rocked by waves, to be rocked into yourself, the rhythm enchanting you with sapphire spume, sighs merging your poetry with the ether, rending our hearts of their shivered memories, shattering the…

through the ache of time

see it moving – Life! moving through the ache of time seeking that place where identity isn’t worn on a sleeve, where individuals challenge the tribe, where beauty frees itself from convention, where the chain of fear dissolves – Jamie Dedes © 2013, poem, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved * Photo credit ~ NASA, U.S. Public…

night-blooming lovers

maybe a thing about particles and waves or wave-particles and the way light works and moves, the way soulmates’ eyes ignite into stardust, 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 yellow moon, a…

January Is On the Wane

with a nod to Juana Inés de la Cruz January is on the wane leaving behind early dark and champagne hopes for the genus Rosa. Wild or tame, they’re lovely. Garden roses need pruning, solicitous cultivation ~ Layer shorter under taller, drape on trellises and over pergolas, the promise of color and fragrance, climbers retelling their…

it was the golden light …

i awoke it was the golden light the moon camping out casting my room in the glow of its fire i thought for a moment unsure of my place forgetting what city what state what day seconds passed soundless slowly peeling away the veil, the confusion i melted into the golden light breathed myself into…

Our Cassandra

 ♥ Our Cassandra’s agony torments in poems of prophecy and breaks our hearts upon the stone of her insanity She calls on death to visit one self-appointed night And we, her guardian angels, wearied by her fight Still we soldier on with all our might ♥ ©2012,poem,Jamie Dedes,All rights reserved * Illustration ~painting/Cassandra by Evelyn De…

one lifetime after another

one day, you’ll see, i’ll come back to hobnob with ravens, to fly with the crows at the moment of apple blossoms and the scent of magnolia ~ look for me winging among the white geese in their practical formation, migrating to be here, to keep house for you by the river … i’ll be…

Life, Death, and Poetry

the mindful peace of the cypress beckons, she bows in the wind but doesn’t break, she knows well the moments, but nothing of time her poetry is written in presence, not words in this business of life, of death and of poetry today is, i think, best forgotten ~ just a figment, after all, an…

sleeping without walls

My mom died twenty-two years ago this month. She has been much on my mind these past few weeks. squeezing a penny my mother never knew the names for things the trees were just trees, the flowers just flowers, but she knew life as a sigh and love as a linchpin and how to get…

I Remember the Amber Moon

When I remember you I remember the amber moon the burnished brown of the old oaks their leaves like hands waving goodbye As dusk transitioned to dark, stars alight, we sat on the beach by slow cooking-fires, their coals gone from hard black to gray dust I cherished your warm hug in the chill of…

The Keep Smiling Bag

“Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible.” His Holiness, the 14th Dalai Lama of Tibet A lifetime ago I was privileged to work with folks who were everyday heroes in desperate circumstances. They were people transitioning into the mainstream and the workplace from welfare, foster youth programs, homelessness, drug and alcohol rehabilitation, catastrophic illness,  disability, prison, violent environments,…

Goddess Mothers and True Heroes

“All you need is a sense that there is no such thing as ‘no’ and everything is possible.” Moira Kelly This shining face, this sweet spirit with reason to be bitter and yet he is not. He is a hero and pure inspiration. When our own Naomi Baltuck posted this video on Facebook, I was…

Beathless Between Language and Myth

Here I am, caught between language and myth … the principles of grammar written on my tongue by the wind, the alphabet strung like seed-pearls around my willing neck. Each day I take to the quarries, hard mining for the sweetly lyrical, blistered from digging in hot sands and lifting stone for parables. The very…

Hero of the Practicalities

for Kirby, in loving memory What can I tell you? She loved the guy … She even loved the scent of whiskey and cigarettes She took due note of the clues warning of devises and vices that she’d never acquired She didn’t care He was charming Coupled in delicate balance a yin and yang of…

Wabi Sabi

if only i knew what the artist knows about the great perfection in imperfection i would sip grace slowly at the ragged edges of the creek kiss the pitted face of the moon befriend the sea though it can be a danger embrace the thunder of a waterfall as if its strains were a symphony…

It Was the Golden Light

i awoke it was the golden light the moon camping out casting my room in the glow of its fire i thought for a moment unsure of my place forgetting what city what state what day seconds passed soundless slowly peeling away the veil, the confusion i melted into the golden light breathed myself into…

Vision Quest

Writing in a far and broken country my pen knows its kinship with the dark forest, asks direction of its trees, celebrates its quiet amity over the din of plastic medicine vials, the 40-foot serpentine specter of cannulae, the hiss and sigh of an oxygen compressor amid layered silences. We are named on a long…

The Return of Primordial Night

our parent’s ghosts harvested wildflowers near the beach at Big Sur they were deaf to the threat in thunder, but we were trapped in the rain and waves and the overflow from the melting ice weeds began to grow in freezers and once the lights went out the rugs unraveled, and the sheep reclaimed their wool the…

Some Thoughts Along the 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 Poet

No hesitation to break the silences, to unite others with his verses, to pierce sleep with the sharpened lance of his reason, weaving his stanzas and schemes into the warp and weft of a marriage, with a single purpose ~ Peace. He tore at the knotted rhizome and adventitious roots of hate and despair, pressing on…

For the Record: Remembering Mom

First publication: March 15, 2012, Connotation Press I am the keeper of the dreams and the memories, the matrix where the generations converge, the record-book held between familial bookends. I am responsible for passing her life on to him that she may continue to live and that he may understand the consequences of history and…

Those Infamous New York Moms

A woman in Brooklyn decided to prepare her will. She told her rabbi she had two final requests. First, she wanted to be cremated. Second, she wanted her ashes scattered over the local shopping mall. ‘Why the shopping mall?’ asked the rabbi. ‘Then I’ll be sure my daughters will visit me twice a week.’ I met…

Jan Phillips’ The Artist’s Creed

“Artist” ~ generally refers to people who express visually. Sometimes it refers to folks in the entertainment industry. In criticism it may also refer to other forms of expression…music, poetry, writing and so on. As used here and generally on this site, it refers to one who creates out of their inner vision, no matter…