the smell of wood, the scorch of fire …

stumpsthis rough-barked sequoia stump, sitting in majesty
in its coastal home, victim of wildfire, burned down
to its gnarly roots, its nicks, holes and char, eons
of scars, life seemingly cut off, goddess snake alive
inside the concentric circles, the smell of wood and
scorch of fire, at the verge of our infinity, in its truth ~




haunted by the geometry of limbs, the calculus of green,
the algebraic eloquence of a world within a world  ~

So present.

So essential.

So primal.

it sings to itself in the marrow of our bones

- Jamie Dedes

Victoria Slotto’s Writers’ Fourth Wednesday inspiration is the “Wilderness,” in preparation for Wilderness Week starting on Sunday, August 31. The wilderness around here is rich in Sequoia. Hence this poem. Please join us at The Bardo Group blog today and link in your own work. Details are HERE.

© 2014, poem, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved
Photo credit ~Bay “The Bay Nature Institute, based in Berkeley, California, is dedicated to educating the people of the San Francisco Bay Area about, and celebrating the beauty of, the surrounding natural world. We do so with the aim of inspiring residents to explore and preserve the diverse and unique natural heritage of the region, and of nurturing productive relationships among the many organizations and individuals working towards these same goals.” Read more HERE.

Done . . . and not done yet . . .

Jamie Dedes:

A poem of mine and a sweet touching video from Taiwan on The Bardo Group blog …

You will have to link through to the original post to view the video. 

Originally posted on THE BARDO GROUP:

photo-37-1I watched it all over my friend’s dear shoulder,
that time of living while dying and celebrating ~
like a garden snake ~ the shedding of the skin,
the detritus of material man with its hungers and
wild, woody creative soul, sketching ruby-jeweled
memories in sand to be blown like a Tibetan mandala
across Timelessness . . .

while he,

lone monk,


by systems on systems of hospital wiring, billing,
approvals, and laws around funerals and burials,
estates, plans, and proposals for headstones and
the where, when, and how of a memorial service,
the left-overs of his life to be sorted, stashed, stored
or sent to the right people in the right places.


… as though there had been nothing. No one.

- Jamie Dedes



Dedicated to everyone who is living with dying. That would be all of us.

A Taiwanese advertisement based on a true story.

View original 210 more words

on their shoulders …

Madonna of the Plains

out of the womb of Time they slide
peasants and kings, artisans and queens
murders, warriors, healers, peacemakers
the grandmothers and grandfathers
on whose shoulders we stand

they are with us, their spirits sensed
though unseen
their hearts are in our mouths
as they guard and guide

feet rooted in the mud of Earth
we drink the wine, eat the roots
and sing the songs we inherited
their sayings are our sayings
their voices are our voices
carried on breezes
like the music of cathedral bells
they chime and summon
they sum what came before

from their gnosis
whispered in the ear of silence
we learn: we are nameless but not lost
we too shall echo
shall be the shoulders
shall be the grandmothers and grandfathers
shall be the Hope and the Light
along the path . . .
. . . . beckoning

© 2012, poem and photograph, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved

Ode to a blogger’s page

Jamie Dedes:

ScatteredWords (lovely blog) has posted an “Ode to a blogger’s page …” It’s charming. You’ll all appreciated it. Bravo! to this blogger …

Originally posted on scattered words:

To you who blog I’m sure you know

The ‘ins and outs’ of how we go

Each time we sit and enter ‘start’

We watch our ‘stats’ with beating heart.

If you don’t know there is a light

that switches on with colour bright

And says that there has been a host

Of comments on your recent post.

And there! an orange light appears

A comment from someone who cares.

Is it that girl from Latvia

Or Illinois or Africa?

Maybe the lady with the leg

Of one more journey in her bag.

Is she in Greece or Pakistan

Or has she left Azerbaijan?

Maybe my brother or his wife

Maybe it’s someone with a life

That is more daring than my own,

Or someone new, someone alone.

The bloggers’ world is wide and free.

Oh! Maybe it’s my Uncle Tree.

View original