A Showcase For P H Poets: J U L Y 2016 …. [more Showcased Poems Of P H Friends; A Mixed Bag Of Seriousness And Silliness; Very Long, In Short, Medium, And Long Sections/Poems] Poem by Bri Edwards

Come one, come all. Well, not quite;
only those who have the poem 'bite';
that is, those who like poetry to write,
or at least to read it when it's …..in sight.

I try each month to present works to you,
from P H friends; each may submit 1 or 2.
Or, if they push the right buttons, it may be 3,
but that may be too much darn work for me.

From Malaysia to Toronto, the poems come.
One may be written by a ‘leader', one by a bum.
The poets range in age from young to 'old'.
I'm one of the older ones, if truth be told.

So, hurry on in, July's showcase is soon to start.
The topics range from 'love' to your last fart.
Yes, serious, funny, religious (or maybe not) ,
send a poem and I'll use it IF it's not just rot.

bri (edwards) ….not my REAL name!

June 26, 2016 :)
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Questions? ? Not my 'friend' ….yet? ? Give me your questions or other concerns via P H message.

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[[By the way, three poems, by three authors, were added to June's showcase after I sent out the June list of poets to about 30 of my P H friends.]]

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THE POETS and TITLES, in the order in which I received them:

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1. Kelly Kurt; United States; male; 58

Theseus' Ship

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2. Tom Billsborough; United Kingdom; male; 73

Sparrows

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3. Tom Billsborough; United Kingdom; male; 73

Chemical Changes

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4. Darlene Walsh; United States; female; 22

Where Do Stories Come From

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5. Bharati Nayak; India; female; ?

Mother

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6. Bharati Nayak; India; female; ?

Killing of A Pig(By Handsome Hands)

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7. Daniel Brick; United States; male; 69

A Daughter Remembers

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8. Is It Poetry; United States; male; 101 [[? ? ? ]]

My Rod Is Bent

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9. Bri Edwards; United States; male; 68

The Other End Of My Spoon... [multi-purpose tooling; humor? ;
personal; SHORT? I'm composing it now]

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10. John Westlake; United Kingdom; male; 32

331.

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11. John Westlake; United Kingdom; male; 32

333. Your Life Is Not A Computer Game

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12. Douglas Scotney; Australia; male; 63

Nature Poet

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13. Clarence Prince; Canada; male; 76

Trees

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14. Elisabeth Wingle; United States; female; 55

Matches

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15. Elisabeth Wingle; United States; female; 55

Vim And Vigor

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16. Clarence Prince; Canada; male; 76

The Sun

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17. Valsa Geerge; India; female; 62

My Wanderlust

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18. Ruth Walters; United Kingdom; female; 64

First Frost

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19. Kelly Kurt; United States; male; 58

Escape Velocity

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20. Paul (aka Andy) Brookes; United Kingdom; male; 62

Conversation with the Muse 53

Body in the Corridor

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21. Akhtar Jawad; Pakistan; male; 71

Tears With Smiles

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22. Loke Kok Yee (yee?) : Malaysia; you decide; ditto

The Wooden Horse Came Twice

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23. Beach Girl; United States; female; 46

Lake Tenkiller

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Bri's note: This poem, Lake Tenkiller, also appeared in a
showcase in August 2015. It is nice to see it
again, but she DOES have other nice poems.

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24. Savita Tyagi; United States; female; 68


A Voter's Choice

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25. Annette Aitken; United Kingdom; female; 52

Silken Thread

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26.? ?


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THE POEMS with the poet's name, in the REVERSE ORDER in which I received them:

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26.? ?

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25. by Annette Aitken


Silken Thread

Each silken thread
woven with grace
shining, enticing
luring its prey
A welcome sign in
crystal illumination
hynotising with precision
unsuspecting passersby
the silken thread
will catch their eye
This silken thread
all paved with gold
one wrong step
your future's told.

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Bri's note: With Annette's permission, I made some 'corrections' to her spelling etc. She admits spelling is not her strong area. I DID find that in U.K. there is a different spelling for hynotising, so I've left that, although I 'mistakenly' nudged Annette into changing it from 'hypnotising' to the 'American/Canadian' spelling, 'hynotizing', on her poem's page. Damn language differences! ! ! :)

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24. by Savita Tyagi


A Voter's Choice

Can you be strong and not be violent
Can you be assertive and not be demanding
Can you be forceful and not be dominating
Can you be visionary and not be a dreamer.

Can you be a listener before becoming a talker
Can you be an observer and a learner
Can you be appreciative and not critical
Of the foundation laid down before you.

Can you respect diversity
Honor and respect those
Who walked a different path
In search of same ideals.

Can you inspire and not be an obstacle
Can you find a middle ground
In search of solutions overlooked
Not be an extremist and hold on to prejudice.

If you aspire to be all that
Then you are worthy to lead
Be a leader of this great nation
And you have earned my vote.

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23. by Beach Girl


Lake Tenkiller

Listlessly floating, reaching out
Fingers drawing playful aqua swirls

Bright, beauteous days of blues and whites
Clouds drifting, growing, changing shapes

Gently disappear in their slow journey
To a misty, mysterious grave

Nary a breeze, still and mean
Starkly, staring glaring heat

Sweet salty sweat on upper lip
Languid streams flow 'tween my breasts

Smells of sun baked road and gravel
And earthy, lusty, dusty soil

Crunch of rocks and broken twigs
Tromping roughly down the trail

Funky, musky dead thing scents
Lie in swamplike ditches beside the road

Flowers, fragile, wild girl weeds
Harshly thorned and twining

Vines wrapped about, and choking trees
In an endless embrace of love or not

Lake smells of floating, rotting fish
Mildewing, brown leaves decomposing

Silent sails glide 'cross glistening waves
Tacking to and fro across the lake

Low droning hum of nameless bugs
Sing mindless dirges through the night

The owl's inquiries, never answered
Lull me into sleep's soft embrace

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22. by Loke Kok Yee (yee?)


The Wooden Horse Came Twice

Insidiously he rode in the first time around
Only slow in booting and minor glitches found
Then my programs began behaving very strange
Little was being presented the way I arranged

Slowly I realized that something was going wrong
And detected virus where they did not belonged
It was a Trojan bug the computer man said
Just reset your Windows and nothing more to dread

His advice was followed and things turned out real fine
Everything was running the way they were designed
Till the final download that was to be installed
The pop-ups flashed twice; the Trojan again had called

This time he rode in with his banners flying high
Nothing yet devised for his passage to deny
Swiftly he swept through crippling all in his wake
A hefty price to pay for software, which is fake

When it was over only a black screen remained
All efforts to revive it was to be in vain
But it all turned out well at the end of the day
Now I have a new computer with which to play

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21. by Akhtar Jawad


Tears With Smiles

A scene that is seen under rare blue moons,
When smile drops tears and tears smile,
I can't believe, am I sleeping and dreaming,
Oh human heart! You are so fragile!

While facing frustrations you were a stone
Now when a dream has suddenly come true,
You melted with joy like a heated ice cube,
Pink in a moment in the next you're blue!

Unexpected joys how pleasant are you!
Come on dear tears and with your salt,
Let the lips taste hot pearls of my eyes,
My lips will become a work of art!

The tears that kiss the smiling lips,
Are better than smiles that end in tears,
Thanks God how you oblige a man,
Who passes his life in doubts and fears!

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20. by Paul (aka Andy) Brookes


Conversation with the Muse 53

Body in the Corridor

They came knocking on the door
oh do come to the wake they plead,
so I show my face reluctantly.

as a non-drinker it's hard
people will try,
with the best intentions,
to pour a drink down you.

the Muse returns
at the sniff of a drink.
I stick to tea.
she surveys the crowd.
'funny bunch.' she says
and she's right.

'oh cheer up.' she continues.
'it's a wake.' I say 'not a knees up.'

'well why can't it be both.'she leers at me drunkenly
'you can't be drunk I say you're not real.'
'I'm as real as you make me.' she hisses
'in answer to your question because.'
I say 'they're Presbyterian.'
'does that make a difference.'she asks

don't know
but looking around
I have to say they're a dreary lot.
after an hour of purgatory
I manage to skulk off back to my flat.
the Muse not looking happy reappears.
'you left when it started getting interesting.'
she complains.

sometime later I hear snoring outside
in the corridor.
I look out to discover
there's a fat woman asleep on the floor.
strange though she has managed,
I don't know how,
to put her shoes, six-inch stilettos, neatly
by her side.
I wonder should I wake her?
but think better of it.

'you couldn't make it up.' the Muse says.
no, I think chuckling.
some time later I peek out again
and the drunk has gone.

the Muse looks over my shoulder laughing.
life pretty strange I think as I close the door.
'more than you know.' the Muse says
'more than you know.'

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Bri's note (from Andy regarding 'a knees up') :

'It' s a sort of drunken party with
dancing and stuff not to be recommended if you're
a T totaller like me'

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19. by Kelly Kurt


Escape Velocity

The past, gravitationally binding
Attracted proportionally by emotional intensity
Inversely constrained by timespan
Unfortunate infinite range
Kinetic energy of expectations
Ballistic momentum of present contentment
Break free asymptotically
Speed, not as critical as sufficient propellant

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18. by Ruth Walters


First Frost

Frosted leaves,
frozen grass, a dead worm.
Diamonds and raindrops mingle
as bright sunshine stings eyes
and tears burn cheeks
for the first frost
of winter.
Its beauty fleeting
its mark, a blight on the landscape,
a snack for the soul.

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17. by Valsa George


My Wanderlust

At times I wander far….
Far away from all human habitats
Away from all prying eyes
Following the bent
Of my vagrant inclination;
Into Nature's sylvan pockets
To places studded with trees
To the tranquil bosom of the woods
Or
Onto the heights of bald looking hills
Where shrubs struggle to strike root
From the cleft of rocks and ledges
Where in hollows, wild bushes grow in clusters

To watch the shreds of hovering mist
To gaze upon piles of sailing clouds
To shout loud and whistle long
And to listen to the hills
Mimicking my own sound

There I will hop and jump,
Like a sprightly forest fawn,
As I don't fear
Either the silently gliding streams,
Or the clump of swaying trees,
The host of wild flowers,
Or the monstrous mossy rocks,
Either the birds or the beasts

Never will they watch my cranky pranks
And call me a loony
As here my own men might do!

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Bri's note: Neither Bri nor Valsa is sure that her use of '...don't...Either...Or....Or...Either...' is correct grammatically, but at least I think we agree that 'either' is used with 'or', and 'neither' is used with 'nor'! Why can't English be easier? ?

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16. by Clarence Prince


The Sun

This is true of the golden sun
It rises and shines not for fun
it only does what it has to do
It rises to set every day yet
It sets to rise again, you bet
By its warmness things thrived
While from its heat things died
That's the work of golden sun
Thank God for the golden sun

The sun, it works not for fun
It rises to set, its warmness we get
Before it sets man may even sweat
In setting it knows its place
It has no need to start a race
Just the world to embrace
It makes the case no day to waste
That's the work of the golden sun
Thank God for the golden sun

It knows how to follow the sky
Shining brightly as it goes by
It brings us days of dryness
It gives us days of mildness
Whatever it brings it's a treat
It causes what's wet to dry
While it moves along the sky
It's the work of the golden sun
Thank God for the golden sun

(All rights reserved.)

[Bri's note: I also had this in my/OUR showcase in November 2015.]

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15. by Elisabeth Wingle


Vim And Vigor

If the truth be told
I am getting old
Things are looking rather grim,

Just 10 years ago
Every day I'd go
To the pool to have a swim

I want to go in
I just lost my Vim
I lost my Vim and vigor

Well it's just my luck
My warranty's up
How will I keep my figure?

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14. by Elisabeth Wingle


Matches

Small town boys, having a catch
Were only seeking fun
A simple pack of matches
The deadly deed was done

'Light it Mike, your Dad's the Chief,
No one would dare blame you! '
The empty warehouse shuddered
It sensed what they would do

'Light it, light it, light it Now! '
His friends began to chant
'Guys my Dad's the Fire Chief!
He said ' you know I can't! '

His friends continued taunting
They offered him a dare
The pressure it was daunting
He lit the match right there

The fire spread so quickly
The warehouse filled with smoke
That's when they heard the blast
The boys began to choke

The call comes in and off they go
With sixty pounds of gear
They'll walk into the fire
Never showing any fear.

This is what they train for
The heat, the smoke, the fire!
Every firefighter knows
This is his hearts desire

The men ran to the building
Prepared to do their jobs
' Hey Chief' said the Lieutenant
Pushing past the growing mob

We got a call from dispatch
And this is what they said
Someone saw Mike walk in there
The Chiefs heart filled with dread

Although it was not 'By-the - book
They all ran in the fire
Dispatch called for back-up
Situation dire

Back smoke billowed out the door
Chief entered on his Knees
He felt his way along the wall
Praying ' Please God, please, please! '

' Chief! over here! We've found him! '
His men began to shout
The chief picked up his boy
And quickly ran him out

Mike looked at his Dad and said
'My friends are still inside! '
'How many? , Who was with you?
Counting me, there are five!

The first boy came out unscathed.
The next, smoke in his lungs.
You could hear more sirens now.
They brought the setting sun.


Three engines now fought the fire
But still, no sign of Chief
The third boy was carried out
To everyone's relief

Suddenly, they heard a crash
Glass shards fell from the sky
In the window stood the chief
The crowd let out a sigh

In his arms he held a boy
Waiting for the ladder
He felt the small boy go limp
His clothes were burned and tattered

Chief laid the boy on his knees
Then gave him CPR
Suddenly they heard a wheeze
The boy began to breathe


The crowd made a joyful noise!
The five young boys were saved
Chief jumped down and looked around
He strode to where Mike lay

His hand raised to hit his son
The boys head hung in shame
For he new what he had done
He was the one to blame

The Chief grabbed Mike, pulled him close.
His eyes held unshed tears
Chief checked Mike out from head to toes
And then he held him near

I'm sorry Dad, I really am
Mikes eyes now filled with tears
His father only smiled at him
The crowd began to cheer!

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13. by Clarence Prince


Trees

Trees, they are useful
Some are quite fruitful
Some are for life saving
Some are heights braving
Trees, we need them
Take care of the trees
They are useful

Some are short and lowly
Some are tall and swaying
Some grow quite quickly
Some grow less hastily
Trees, we need them
Take care of the trees
They are useful

Some are homes for the birds
Some are shades for the herds
Some sways in the wind
Some whistles in the wind
Trees, we need them
Take care of the trees
They are useful

Some bears seeds for food
Some brings fruits for food
Some trees flowers are sweet
Some trees flowers are just neat
Trees, we need them
Take care of the trees
They are useful

Some we used for homes building
Some we used for furniture making
Some we used for propriety fencing
Some we used for garden's dressing
Trees, we need them
Take care of the trees
They are useful

By the fruit of a tree man had lost life
By a Cross made from trees life regained
Trees and man has come a long way
Man everywhere uses trees every day
Trees, we need them
Take care of the trees
They are useful

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12. by Douglas (aka Doug) Scotney


Nature Poet

If you butterfly
want to introduce nature
into a poem to make it
about nature as much as
what it's otherwise butterfly about,
you can butterfly write the words
around the shape of a natural thing,
or if butterfly conformity
won't allow butterfly that,
you can slip in butterfly
the odd word for a natural thing.

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11. by John Westlake


333. Your Life Is Not A Computer Game

Your life is not a computer game
nor will it ever be so
it simply cannot be possible
no matter how much you want it to be true

No way of choosing your character origins
or changing your appearance with a few clicks
while you may choose what kind of person you are
your attributes are already assigned

There are no cheats for infinite money
or for things you may want and need
there is no code for immortality
nor for instant healing

You can't choose to level up when you want
or have your sleep in seconds
I guess it would be good for some
if that were truly possible
but others enjoy their bed too much

You can't just kill or rob someone you don't like
and get away with it by hitting a few keys
the punishment for your crimes would last for years
not mere seconds or minutes

Your life is not a computer game
nor will it ever be so
although I guess in another dimension
someone is watching you through their screen
wondering what to do with you next

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10. by John Westlake

331.

She caught my eye from across the bar
her skin was as white as pure snow
I offered to buy her a drink
but she gave me the cold shoulder

Eventually she warmed up to me
and so we headed back to my place
she seemed to respond to my touch
her thawing had begun at last

As we got in through the door
she fell into me
and melted into my arms
the process carried on from there
leaving a huge puddle on the floor

Unfortunately she is no more
all traces of her have disappeared
at least I have learned my lesson
hopefully that will be the last time
I ever try to date an ice queen

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9. by Bri Edwards


The Other End Of My Spoon...[multi-purpose tooling; humor? ;
personal; SHORT? I'm composing it now]

I used the scoop-end to eat oatmeal,
but then, in my right ear, I did feel...
an itch. Yes, an irritation, slight,
but still it didn't feel just right!

So I turned the spoon around, you see?
And the smaller end [don't yell at me]..
I stuck into my hairy itchy right ear...
to see if some obstruction I might clear.

I scraped and probed for all I am worth,
[please, my readers, control your mirth! ],
and scraped to the point of going insane.
At last: SUCCESS! Out it came: my brain.

(July 6,2016)

[Bri's note: This shall only appear in this
showcase, if I have anything to do about it.]

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8. by Is It Poetry


My Rod Is Bent

My rod
is bent from the weight
of the fish.

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7. by Daniel Brick


A Daughter Remembers

I know part of the Secret
resides in this room.
The whole house, all four floors,
partakes of the Secret, the way
the whole loaf nourishes
a multitude. I sit very still,
because no other imperative
nudges me into some alien action
abroad, or down the street,
or in that corner on my left,
where a high-backed chair
with green upholstery and wide arms
once stood. Its legs left a crease
in the plush carpet, but no one can
tell me what happened to it.
It was the chair I sat in
for my First Communion. And sitting
in that chair, my father read to me,
TRISTRAM SHANDY, his favorite novel,
and poems by Borges, in Spanish
and in English. I have the books
still; I lost the chair and the man,
my father, who was good to me...
I sat on a low chair and looked
up into his calm blue eyes, and
sometimes thought he was creating
those words himself, each one
born in a flash, just before his lips
shaped the sounds that made the words
live in my mind. From that moment
forward, those words were pieces of Time
Unending. Until I die and join him,
once again a family, my memory of his
voice guides me through the darkness and
the light. Oh, but where is that chair?
Where is that comfort, that fullness
that was mine, when the world was just
a man speaking and a child listening?
Somewhere in this room resides the Secret
of those times. Perhaps it has been absorbed
by the breathing of the walls, or the pulse-beat
of the carpet, or the swirling of the air.
My father, those are your traces, aren't they?
You never left me, not entirely. Your soul is
so large it occupies both worlds at once.
Part of you resides with the angels, and
another part swirls through the air I breathe.
We are a family still....

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6. by Bharati Nayak


Killing of A Pig(By Handsome Hands)

No, it was not for the pork
But thousands of sane and smart people
Were running after it
In the park
The beautiful park
Where beauty played
In abundance
Nature gracious with
Colorful flowers and singing birds

Shall we call it sanity
When these handsome people were hunting
For pleasure
Thousands of handsome hands
Squeezing
The neck of a poor pig
Its tongue hanging and eyes protruding?

The poor pig
Running
For life
For life
Running
The poor
Pig

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5. by Bharati Nayak


Mother

Who can judge your
Greatness, Oh Mother!
Who can ever
Count the million moments
You sacrificed for
Who can ever measure
The depth of your love
Who can realize
The pain and agonies
You have gone through
To bear and bring up
The child
Who can ever
count the painful nights
you sat through without batting your eye lids
By the sick child's bedside
Who can ever
Value the nectar you pour
In the mouth of the baby
Who can judge the value of your life
As you give it away
Seconds, minutes and hours
In the prayer
In your toil and labor
For the child's well being?

Oh Mother!
Who can ever
Give back to you
The price of your breath
The value of your kiss
The warmth of your hug
The depth of your prayer
And the unceasing love
That you vow to give
To your last minute?

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4. by Darlene Walsh


Where Do Stories Come From

One day, after reading her son a bed time story,
the bright little boy asked,
'Mommy, where do stories come from? '

So the mommy explained to the young reader.
In the beginning there was a word.
The word was formed from the letters of the universe
and its imagination. And the word was good.

And the word gathered other letters from the universe to form more words.
The words organized them selves into thoughts and phrases.
The phrases organized themselves into paragraphs.
The paragraphs became a story.

The story was good, but it was lonely.
So it gave some of its words to the universe,
and those words gathered more letters.
It too grew from the imagination of the universe and became a story.

It also was a good story, but very different from the first story.
Together, these two stories combined some of their
letters and words and phrases,
and together they made more stories.

And many of those stories were good,
like the first two stories,
but different in many ways.

Some of the stories were mysterious, some were adventurous,
and some were simply fantastic and magical.
Many were filled with love, some contained bits of lust and greed,
and some were even tinged with hate.

From small mice to great men, the stories were filled
with every character imaginable, and many beyond imagination.
Some talked about what was, and some about what was to be,
and some even about what could never be.

The universe saw the stories and said to them, be fruitful and multiply.
Fill the whole universe with more of your stories.
And they did.
Stories of every shape and form spread across all the universe.

Some stories were very long, and some were very short.
Most stories were very good, but some were also very bad.
Over time, from the time before the Iliad
to long past the end of the Odyssey,
the stories filled the universe.

They were found lining the shelves of every library and book store.
Shelves and desks in many homes and schools and workplaces
were pleased to be covered with the stories.
And the stories delighted in the reading and re-reading.

They relished the laughter, the joy,
and even the tears they spread across the universe.
And life for all was blessed with their presence.

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3. by Tom Billsborough


Chemical Changes

It slowly grows in a dish of hypo.
The image positive.
How I wish
The negative could be dismissed
By such a dark room trick,
With blinds drawn, with the red light
And with chemical magic!
Doubts resume as the sunlight enters
Our Consciousness.
But should we not address
A new faith in the creative act
Based on the pure fact of self
And Nietzsche's dream
Of the eternal return
And compose hymns to the beauty of being
Of seeing our own image
Transformed from negative
To positive
As in this dish of hypo.

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2. by Tom Billsborough


Sparrows

My garden was our playground,
Mine and the cat's too.
Now the sparrows own it,
That noisy little crew!
They charge across the lawns
Like kids just out of school
They buzz around in gangs
As silly schoolboys do.
Suddenly a pile of seeds
One sparrow might espy
And suddenly his mates
Rush over full of joy
And an awful lot of squawking
Rends the ruddy air
As if a shiny toy
Had suddenly appeared.
Old Woodie is alerted
By all these fun and games
A very plump wood pidgeon
Who so sedately roams
With slow and ponderous steps
Between the milling crowds
As though he were their master
Benignly looking on.
His wings are folded back
As he stoops to pick up seeds.
The little sparrow know he's there
But pay him little heed
As there's nothing there to fear.
He's just old Woodie, Wood-pidgeon
Like a master you hold dear!

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bri's note: pidgeon: 'Archaic spelling of pigeon.' ;)

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1. by Kelly Kurt


Theseus' Ship

I am what I will become
Always becoming
Skin shedding to become dust
Cells replaced when worn out
One by one, atoms exchanged
Novel thoughts supplanting erstwhile conceptions
Spent moments molted with each tick
A river, always and never the same

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End of July 2016 'A Showcase For P H Poets'.

Thanks for your participation.
bri :)