A Showcase For P H Poets: May 2016 ….. [send Me Your Poems And I'll Decide How To Arrange Them And How Many To Use, And I'll Keep You Posted; See Previous Showcases From 2 Poem by Bri Edwards

Now it's April 30 and I'm back from my extended 'fun' trip overseas.
On the ferry boat from Holland to U.K. we encountered quite a breeze.
But I managed to keep what little I ate tucked away in my big tummy,
and managed to sleep, lulled by the waves as I used to be lulled by my mummy.

My eyesight seems to be doing o.k. and it's time to start another PH showcase.
I hope many of you will share a poem or several, though we aren't face-to-face.
Whatever you care to write is alright with me, but here are some suggestions.
Write of a Friend or of an Enemy, or of some important Answers or Questions ….
concerning Mankind.

And if you don't have or care to share poems you have or have not written,
you may still read poems of others and perhaps you'll then be totally smitten, ….
or NOT!

(April 20, 2016)

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and the showcase begins!

The Poem Titles and the Authors (NUMBERED in the order I received the poems) :

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1. Top That!

by Kelly Kurt; U.S.; male; 58

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2. Parafake

by Bri Edwards; U.S.; male; 67

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3. Best Friends Forever

by Elena Plotkin; U.S.; female; ?

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4. Guests

by M. J. Lemon; Canada; male; ?

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5. The Magic Of May

by Valsa George; India; female; 62

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6. A Laborer's Spouse

by Akhtar Jawad; Pakistan; male; 71

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7. Yoga Of Work

by Savita Tyagi; United States; female; 68

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8. I Miss You

by Elisabeth Wingle; United States: female; 55

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9. Scientific Whaling - The Meat

by Douglas Scotney; Australia; male; 63

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10. Emerald

by M. J. Lemon; Canada; male; ?

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11. My Baby's Hands

by Elisabeth Anne Wingle; United States; female; 55

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12. Valsa George

by Bri Edwards; United States; male; 67

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13. The Dark Side Of Nature

by Loke Kok Yee; Malaysia; male; ?

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14. 289. Yoda Speaks

by John Westlake; United Kingdom; male; 32

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15. 314. What Does Not Kill Me Will Only Disappoint Me

by John Westlake; United Kingdom; male; 32

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16. Virginia Woolf: Her Last Words

by Xelam Kan; Pakistan; male; 97 (liar!)

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17. Life, It's Precious!

by Clarence Prince; Canada; male; 76

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18. It Takes Time

by Clarence Prince; Canada; male; 76

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19. Total Immersion

by Brian Johnston; U.S.; male; 73

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20. Atheists Vs. Christians

by Brian Johnston; U.S.; male; 73


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21. Refugee

by Bharati Nayak; India; female; (secret!)


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22. Dear Mr. Saggy Pants

by Elena Plotkin; U.S.; female; ?

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23. Last Day

by Ruth Walters; United Kingdom; female; 64

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24. Perversion Of Belief

by Douglas Scotney; Australia; male; ?

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25. First Summer Showers

by Akhtar Jawad; Pakistan; male; 71

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26. Mourning The Death Of Innocent Flowers

by Bharati Nayak; india; female; ?

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27. Was It Just Bad Timing

by Mike Smith; U.S.: male; 25

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End of May 2016's showcase? ? (See below)

June showcase about to begin. :)

Bri


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The Poems: (NUMBERED in the order I received them) :

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27. by Mike Smiff


Was It Just Bad Timing


'This is a dream.'
'How is this a dream? '
'Last night I dreamt that I was in a castle looking out at the stars from a tower. Then a prince gave me a magic wand.'
This was somewhat hard to believe even for me. We weren't technically in a castle or a tower, but we were at Castle Rock standing atop a lookout some hundred and fifty feet above the river. The stars (and their reflections off the water) had kept us silent since we had finished climbing the stairs. In those quiet moments I had finished whittling some kind of pointer, maybe ten inches in length. There was nothing at all special about it. I didn't even know it was a wand when I was making it. I was simply keeping my hands busy, maybe trying to mask a bit of nervousness at meeting up with this girl. Once I'd finished I offered it to her. Now I am not nearly a prince. I'm a peasant at best. But in a world where lookouts are towers and parks are castles and sticks are wands... I suppose perhaps I could be confused for one briefly. The story added up.
'So what happened after that? '
'The prince kissed me.'
So he did.
'It's a dream. It has to be a dream.'
It wasn't though. It was absolutely real. I don't know how long we stayed up there just watching the night sky, enchanted not only by it, but each other as well. Eventually we left and got in her car. We were traveling back to town in a round about sort of way, not ready yet for the night to end.

'Thump Thump! '
Then we hit a rabbit.
Both wheels on the driver side.
She pulled over and started crying.
The dream was over.
The real world back.
The enchantment, gone forever.

That was the first and last night we ever spent together. Did some angel send that poor rabbit in our path to warn me? To protect her? Or was it some devil who tried (successfully) to end this silly dream?  


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26. by Bharati Nayak


Mourning The Death Of Innocent Flowers


Take not the name of any religion
As God would never pardon
Spilling of innocent blood
You are game to treacherous designs of wicked minds
Who are bent upon destroying human kind
They have their own selfish end
And use you as puppets
When you should have played with ball
They put bombs in your hands
When you should have played violin
They gave the gun to fire.

See how flowers have died
In your heart and in your garden
The demon darkens
The sky choking light to death
Music falls silent
Every rhythm joyful dies
Devil dances in the heart of those
Who chose
Hell over heaven
I pray for the innocent flowers
That have died in you and in the garden


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25. by Akhtar Jawad


First Summer Showers


Walking on the Milky Way, only in dreams!
I'm not walking; I am swimming in streams,
Aromatic and pleasant and wild windy waves,
For the damaged age have brought new paves,
Sweet naughty winds having kissed the flowers,
Neat and clean in the first summer showers,
The magician demented everyone with dirt,
So what if me too, who put off his shirt,
See the old man is behaving like a child,
Roughness of age is now soft and mild,
Running on pavements in a so muddy tide!
Let me put dormancy on the farther side,
Let me run, let me shout, let me play,
Wish me sweetheart a lovely rainy day,
A day of revival for the dusty greenery,
Let us become a part of exciting scenery,
For love and romance the stage is set,
Nothing is dry even thinking is wet,
It's love I breathe; it is love I drink,
It is love I think; and it's love I ink,
Weather is romantic so enjoy my flirt,
Let my clothes hug muddy clay and dirt,
Let me slip down and purchase new pains,
You are with me to wash the stains.
Stay with me till the clouds fly away,
Stars will appear but after a delay,
Let the glow worms start their dance,
Stars will forget the heavenly romance,
Not here, there in the covers of a tree,
For a minute only, careless, carefree,
Let us mix the wetness of the thirsty lips,
Let us suck life from the nature's drips,
Having kissed in the rains, after heat strokes,
I shall tell sweetheart a few untold jokes.
Whistling on streets with shoes in hands,
We shall go back leaving wet green lands,
Tonight I shall see the life you have sucked,
All what you sucked and what you ducked.


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24. by Douglas Scotney


Perversion Of Belief


For the higher rebirth you'd attain
if you ate him,  
a high lama was held in regard
by a Buddhist cannibal sect.

It wasn't easy to get around
his money-loving, non-Buddhist guard,  
but if you waited till he died
instead of fresh you could chew dried. 


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23. by Ruth Walters


Last Day


As I walked away 
I decided not to go to their party.
I pushed my sadness and shame
into a vault and shut it tight.

I let you and I down.
You, that big institution called school
and me, the little number on the list;  
missed.

Years of invisibility did it,  
ignored by my peers,  
avoided by teachers, except for their sneers
Now I was free.

School never did like me.


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22. by Elena Plotkin


Dear Mr. Saggy Pants


Now if you knew me well you would know,  
I would watch anything but a fashion show.
I am definitely not at all into Haute Couture,  
I never could understand the great allure.
I never subscribed to Vogue, Fashion, or Elle.
Nor to Marie Claire, InStyle, and Mademoiselle.
And although you might find it rather bizarre,  
You'd never catch me reading Harper's Bazaar.
So when it comes to the latest fashion trends,  
You are better off asking some of my friends.
And maybe if I had myself some deeper pockets,  
I would shop in places other than marts and outlets.
But as it stands, my greatest shopping accomplishment,  
Is finding clothes I can wear on sale or on consignment.
Yet even I, with my limited knowledge and sense of fashion,  
Cannot offer guys with saggy pants any form of compassion.
To me, seeing their underwear high above their pants waist,  
Is not a sign of revolution and free expression; just bad taste.
And although it started in prison and was first worn by some Rapper,  
Trust me guys you look far from cool, fly, phat, badass, or dapper.
So come on, do yourself and your sweet honey a big huge favor,  
Pull up them pants, tighten that belt, and hide your underwear for later.


(c) 2013 copyright Elena Plotkin 

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21. by Bharati Nayak


Refugee


There were fury, fire, bombs and bullets
Army, terrorists, death and darkness
No water, no food, only deadly dance of death
They were leaving behind their dear homes and land
Leaving their cattle, pets, and food orchards
Their dreams shattered, they leave behind all treasure
They had no time to collect them, no means to carry them

Someone carrying his crippled son on his shoulder
Someone carrying his old father and a baby clinging to his mother
In their sunken eyes, fear writ large
An unwelcome fate they march towards,
Covering miles and miles through rough and tough terrains
Some jumping into ferry to escape death
But death encircling them from all sides
Death awaiting them in black waters of sea
Or in hungry crocodile's teeth
Or in the congested refugee camp
In disease, hunger and thirst
Sometimes nature connives, when sun burns too hot
And wind blows too cold
Bereft of Home and Land
They gain only a name of pain
A REFUGEE WITH A FUTURE UNCERTAIN
As a CIVILIZED SOCIETY with its stony heart just look on.

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20. by Brian Johnston


Atheists VS Christians

Tonight's the big night folks, take potty breaks early,
There's been lots of hype, but this fight's to the death!
The Atheists' tired of smug Christian 'God loves me! '
And Christians' loathe Lost's sainted Lady Macbeth.

The venue was sold out for months as foretold by
Sad Reagan's wife Nancy's astrologer friend,
With billionaires buying all seats in first rows
The middle class never had chance to attend.

With Christian God missing, the 'Lost' predict short fight
While 'Saved' folk say, God, this time, won't let them down
The betting is bloody and oddsmakers nervous
And Donald Trump has been seen wearing a frown.

Look! Scarecrow of Billy Graham with his Entourage,
And Machiavellian robot have climbed into ring,
The Mormon Choir screaming Hymns out to Elijah,
Androgynous homophobes 'om' name of 'Sting.'

Three witches stir pot in the 'godless' one's corner,
His circuit boards frequently seem to glow red,
While smoking hot preachers fan scarecrow with tea leaves
Wow! Zealots have burst into flame: all are dead!

It seems that the meek have inherited earth
And 'faithful' hit squarely for sure on the chin.
The faithful, so sure that they understood Bible,
The faithful, who knew that the 'Good' never win!

So Atheists sure that we're all self-created
And Christians with faith that some god did the deed,
With both clinging firmly to what can't be proven,
This fight to be right's simply personal greed.

I'm thinking the concept of faith's so abused here
As faith that can't question is already dead,
For questioning: always the way of the wise man,
And certainty: great plan for losing your head.


(April 17,2016)

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19. by Brian Johnston


Total Immersion

Imagine, if you can my dear, my body is
Like water that surrounds you, gentle in the morning
As you rise to consciousness' surface
And take your first breath of the new day,
For I (who always try to wake before you)
Am that living water that now holds your sleeping form
And listens to the language of sleep's rumbles
That cat-like, purr your pleasure to my touch,
Telegraph the peace you're feeling,
As my arms, my legs, and shape insinuate
Their way into your very dreams,
Adjusting to your slightest movement,
Mutual comfort moment's bliss.
Like liquid love, that fuels my being,
I feel my soul immersed in serving
Broad strokes that your dreams are painting,
The wholeness of the life you wake to,
The lover that you trust is real.

I have become silky cocoon
Your undomesticated pupa spun
In service to your chrysalis,
Am not myself at all at last,
But servant to your adult form,
Proud husband of your winged flight.

(April 11,2016)

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18. by Clarence Prince


It Takes Time

It takes time
to have a good time
so take your time
and find a little time
to have you a nice time
during this season
of the birth of Christ
Merry Christmas,
and Happy New Year
to everyone
whatever you do
take your time
it takes time
to have a good time.
Clarence Prince

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17. by Clarence Prince


Life, It's Precious!

There is nothing quite like life
In cheerful time it is life
In sorrowful time it is life
When the weather's bright it is life
When the weather's gloomy it is life
Life hasn't any given time
This life is not forever
Live it well it's precious

There is nothing quite like life
Everyone should live it right
No one should consider it light
No one should live it slight
It travels fast day and night
Life hasn't any given time
This life is not forever
Live it well it's precious

There is nothing quite like life
With a wife it is life
With a husband it is life
With children it is life
Just being alone it is life
Life hasn't any given time
This life is not forever
Live it well it's precious

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16. by Xelam Kan


Virgina Woolf: Her Last Words

I begin to hear the voices again,
and I feel certain
this darkness of times
and minds turns me insane.

I can't fight any longer and
I am doing (what seems the best) -
the last Act of this life in vain,
I am falling into a lasting sleep.

I owned all the happiness and joys
and can't go on spoiling yours
anymore. Adieu my love,
you could do better without me.

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15. by John Westlake


314. What Does Not Kill Me Will Only Disappoint Me

What does not kill me will only disappoint me
what only weakens me must burn and die
though my wings are bruised and broken
still you will not stop me if I spread them to fly

What will not love must truly hate me
will except no middle ground
while I've gone and lost the part that's you
so much more there is to be found

What won't freeze must be pure cold hearted
what won't melt will surely burn
if you cannot be one to teach and lead
then you must follow and of your place learn

What does not kill me will only disappoint me
what only weakens me must burn and die
though my wings were bruised and broken
I was still able to spread them wide and fly

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14. by John Westlake


289. Yoda Speaks

Mud hole! Slimy! ! My home this is
many years in the Dagoba swamps have I lived
a simple life do I live alone
contemplating on my stool of stone

Mock me by my size you should not
more memories than you I have got
steer clear you should of battle and hate
for wars do not make one great

For 900 years a Jedi have I been
many wonderful events I have seen
taught the ways of the force to many padawan
their rise to Jedi knight I did plan



In to exile I did go
when my eventual failure did show
from Coruscant I had to retreat
as I could not the evil Sith defeat

when 900 years you reach
not so good will you look
I am a Jedi that can be seen
but not so easy it is being green

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13. by Loke Kok Yee


The Dark Side Of Nature

The sun lingered with a last gaze towards the placid lake
Then quickly slides over the horizon to end his reign
Life hesitates in the twilight as light awhile opaque
Uncertain shadows played till night was no longer constrained
Soon darkness sets in as shy creatures of the night awake
While the moon crept over the mountains to light up the plain

A gentle breeze spread ripples running on the quiet mere
The moonbeams shimmer and dance as they gaily ride the waves
Leaves rustled, the forest whispered, soon as the breeze drew near
Throwing eerie shadows which bodes of events rather grave
From the darkness now emerges the creatures that brings fear
The night to decide which creature dies and which to be saved

In the shallows by the shore little fishes safely sleeps
On the bank frogs converged and loudly compete for a mate
But predators patiently lurks on land and in the deep
With skill or opportunity their victims to locate
Those that strike on the wing while others in the shadows creep
Some pursue their prey relentless but some just hide and wait

And it is most dangerous when the night is fresh and young
When hunger gnaws or a mate's on call, caution loses ground
That's when the civet that sneaked up to the frogs had sprung
Drawn by the lusty calls of mating frogs while on his rounds
The swiftness of the deadly attack left the rest quite stunned
Mayhem and splashes ensue then silence and no more sound

The little fishes in fear darted farther out from shore
It was a windfall as frightened frogs followed close behind
Predators feasted and fishes and frogs fell by the score
The frenzy attracting a caiman which closed in to dine
Too late the bigger fishes became aware to withdraw
When it's over little was left of the others to find

A troop of macaques settled on a treetop for the night
Softly murmurs to assure each other that all is well
Unaware that a python is hunting in the moonlight
While their droppings had lured a tiger with its pungent smell
The python struck at one and the rest took off in blind flight
The big cat pounced, luck on his side, in the dark some had fell

A cricket astride a log chirping for a mate to breed
Heedless that a hungry centipede had taken abode
Oblivious to all except for satisfying his needs
He was seized while still in song the love call was his death ode
But calmly waiting hidden was one that has yet to feed
The tongue flicked and both insects lie in the mouth of the toad

In the darkness a moth flitters from flower to flower
With only olfaction to guide while seeking out nectar
Along flew by a bat looking for insects to devour
And with ease pick out the moth with his sonar detector
But a nearby owl was in her element at that hour
A silent swoop and the bat's taken by the night raptor

When dawn arrive many will not be seeing the new day
Nature took her course but will bring forth more to join the fray

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12. by Bri Edwards

Valsa George... [my best PH friend is leaving (for now) : SHORT]

I hear Valsa George is quitting PoemHunter,
at least for a little while.
That's like a football team losing its punter,
but SHE............goes out with style......

......for she notified ME, a true friend indeed,
and for that I'm very thankful.
For many on this site she's filled a need.
We'll survive, but not on a 'tank-full'.

I hope whatever makes her go away....
will be rectified for her sake,
and for the sakes of all her fans.
Then we can celebrate....with CAKE....
and ice cream!

(May 8, 2016)

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11. by Elisabeth Anne Wingle


My Baby's Hands

Oh how I love my baby's hands
Tiny, delicate, fragile
I adm [AM] awestruck
I stare at them
Kiss them, touch them
They grasp my finger with such force, that I know it is intentional
Later, she opens and closes them with arms stretched upwards
Silently pleading 'pick me up, pick me up'
Later still, chubby fingers grasp my hand as she toddles down the sidewalk, desperately trying to keep up with her own feet!
Another day, at the window, her hand is happily waving good-by to me
But the tears in her eyes contradict that wildly waving hand.
'How old are you? ' Asks a lady in the grocery store
'I am three at my birthday ' she says, proudly trying to stick three fingers in the air and hold two down at the same time
My baby is three now
One minute her hands are folded angelically, while she thanks God for her meal
The next moment her finger is pointing at me
'I don't like you anymore ' she shouts
Yes, her moods change quickly
Now I feel a small, soft hand on my cheek,
'I'm sorry Mommy'
Oh how I love my baby's hands!
I pray that when it is my turn to leave this earth,
That gentle hand will be holding mine
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Elisabeth Wingle 1993
For Emily

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10. by M.J. Lemon


Emerald

On a day when emerald is ubiquitous
one may dwell on greening
and springtime and renewal and coming of new life
Yes, life
What is life?
Some call it sacred special or a gift
But you can certainly remember that
one person who made
living sound so ordinary that listening to the details
prompted the mind to unravel to travel to wander
to rid the environment of the commonplace
Birth
always first
I remember only the crib and mobile
and the aquarium with the angelfish
and two faces a man and a woman
dad and mom
Then came the fourth birthday
baby teeth out
and the puppy in, the terrier
and my companion always by my side
And because I am of that generation
I still remember the kid
Sonny who caught a virus and then disappeared
We thought it was normal when the teacher told us
he died from the sickness
from disease now readily cured
just by swallowing medication twice
There were days at play and
Sherry and Brian and the Lone Ranger
hoarding toys and going home
and then waking up one morning
And I'm in high school
a rite of passage and
I no longer want to know brother and sister
because I was becoming important
There was track and swimming
and chemistry and physics and algebra
and chemistry again when I fell in love
and kissed and fell in love again
and then all over again I forget the faces
but remember the convertible
and the nights parked at the beach
and the prom and the grad
where life seemed to stop and I thought
I mortgaged my own apartment in Nirvana
But college called and academics and athletics and love
filled every moment (Where did I get all that energy?)
And then everything I knew as love withered when
that Treasure from overseas made an introduction
from that insane instant
we became inseparable and I now knew
love lust and humanity were discrete but best
when bundled tight and held close
And so the family began to arrive
all the greatest of gifts when
in third year I broke my leg too
ironically or provocatively a day after reading
in the student paper
another cheerleader activist broke both legs
falling from a balcony
And a private dream died because
I never played a sport professionally
and walking hurt for over a year
but I saved the casts crutches wheelchair
Graduation with honours came and
then a job another and another
and still another all adding up
what might I call a career at some stage
There was that year I didn't forget to call the brother
and sister and they were fine and so was I
and then I did a double take when I realized I still
had that convertible and could carry my Treasure
to the sand dunes where we reclaimed younger days
A career finally arrived better late than never
but by then I wasn't looking for
any job to give my life purpose
How quickly tempus fugit
My daughter called last month and we talked
for an hour before I invited her for dinner
but she said she couldn't make it
because she just landed her dream job
in Norway and was speaking from Bergen
and was going to tell me before
I bludgeoned her with the meatloaf recipe
My back twinges and hasn't felt quite right
since the leg got broken
but now I'm bothered more by the daily medications
for problems I didn't until recently know existed
and the regular routine doctor visits
but I have my Treasure with me always
and I know I can be a parent again even at my age
to two faces a man and a woman
dad and mom
Even I don't believe it but the convertible
is still here even after so many other cars have
come and gone
And coming going
Like the Mystical Shamrock talk
leads the mind to stray or directly
into those burbling tides where you spend time
with your own angelfish or brother or sister
or own broken leg or Sonny or Brian and Sherry
or Treasure or fantasies of
idyllic summers in Norway
Places where maybe life begins anew
Yes, life
What is life?
Some call it sacred


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9. by Douglas Scotney


Scientific Whaling - The Meat

For survival in war
human vivisection
eventually comes back,
but as if it knows
that survival in times of biodiversity-lack
lies in whales,
science sanctions their dissection
and overcomes the love
by letting a country that ate them
say they eat them still,
though it's clear what they eat
is far less than their kill.
If our survival lies in what's in their gizzards,
what is happening to the meat?


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8. by Elisabeth Anne Wingle


I Miss You

I miss you Mom
I really do
All those times
You saw me through
I miss the laughter
I miss the tears
That brought me through
These twenty years
Who can I turn to,
Now that you're gone?
There's no one to hold me,
While I cry all night long.
The only place I can find
Peace, comfort and love
Is in the thought that you watch me
From high up above


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7. by Savita Tyagi


Yoga Of Work

First aim of work is for survival.
Second is to satisfy our ego.
Third is to fulfill responsibility.
Fourth is to enjoy work itself.

In first stage is hidden the path of
Artha or prosperity, that is attained
By working towards survival and
Fulfillment of life's basic needs.

The second fulfills the Kama or desire,
Achieved through excellence in work,
And having pride and glory of success.
A luminous summit for ego's satisfaction.

The third path leads to love and righteousness.
Goal of Dharma- expressed through work.
Work that is selflessly performed for others
Out of love, devotion and duty.

Work in its final stage brings liberation,
When work is enjoyed for its own sake.
That is Moksha - enjoying life simply through
Taking part in it and enjoying its movement.

The four noble aims of life are fulfilled
By staying on path of Karma or action.
This world is a place for action.
It is Geeta's Dharmkshetra and Kurukshetra.
This yoga of work is the Vedic Yagna,
Performed every day by all of us in life.

Note: In its teachings Geeta places high value on performing actions. All our actions progressively bring joy and happiness in life through various ways


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6. by Akhtar Jawad


A Laborer's Spouse

Fire is set leaving behind an aurora on sky,
Birds are back to the nests, no more fly,
The stars with moon take off their flight,
Ahead of them is a pleasant night,
The tired laborer has dived in the ocean,
Deep very deep with love and passion,
In the arms of his appealing mermaid,
I don't see but heard what is said,
Waves whisper with the naughty sand,
Show of love is charming and grand,
Laborer is fresh his sweat is dissolved,
All the issues in a moment are resolved.
A woman is still waiting for spouse,
With children at the door of her house,
Looking so innocent in her trodden shirt,
To wipe his sweat and remove the dirt,
He has got a job that's why he is late,
For a night of love it's a day of fate,
Fumes of fire wood will repel the insects,
Mosquitoes interrupt, the joy imperfects,
Some oil I shall bring my lantern will be lit,
After many days in light we shall sit,
An evening with joys of delicious foods,
And after that the romantic moods,
Three days were passed on the baked grains,
Tonight the bread will remove the pains,
Shall bring my earnings by sewing and stitching,
Tomorrow he will see my delicious dishing,
Know what at lunch he likes to look,
Not so many but one I shall cook,
From nearby mosque my son who brings,
Few buckets of water to wash many things,
Including the tires of his old manual bike,
Neat and clean I love and like,
Like animals laborers pass their lives,
But a few days that are made by the wives.


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5. by Valsa George


The Magic of May

May has arrived, the season of sunshine and rain
Bringing the magic of bright tints in its train
All around are fresh and fair flowers
Peeking out from the foliage and peeping from bowers

In the tranquil bosom of this now beauteous land
An array of varied and glorious sights abound
And how my sauntering gaze labours to trace
The shifting scenes in all their loveliness and grace

Look at the hare bounding away to its covert burrows
And the pheasant suddenly bursting upon its wings
How the swans playfully glide over the still waters
And the birds in resonating melody charm the woods

There is love in the quickening breath of May
Drowning all Nature in song and mirth's sway
The whole atmosphere is made electric and gay
The air is so jovial and children are at play

My heart quakes in a rush of exuberant delight
At the memory of something I am unable to relate
My sky is aflame in colours splendid and bright
And I have spun the web of a dream, delicate and sweet

My blood runs in tumultuous flow, warm and fervent
And each heart beat sounds sonorous and vibrant
My lips though silent, longs to tell a tale
Of a moment that still leaves me joyously hale

Drunk in the loveliness of this season of delight
And choked by an inexplicable ache, that is sweet
Here I stand so dazed and distraught
Festering and panting for some coherent utterance!


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4. by M. J. Lemon


Guests

like stones in a shoe
unwanted guests cling and chafe
until evicted


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3. by Elena Plotkin


Best Friends Forever

You need to be at an event and you have nothing to wear,
And guess who'll lend you anything short of their underwear.
You've lost your job and can't seem to get off unemployment,
And guess who's leading the search for your next appointment.
Your latest relationship is over and boy were mistakes made,
And guess who's getting you sober and dragging you out of bed.
The doctors say it's hopeless and that nothing can be done,
And guess who's rushing to the hospital faster than anyone.
When it comes to friends, you may have many or just a few.
But there's no guesswork as to who's really there for you.
Your best friend may talk a lot of smack about this and that.
But your best friend is also the one who always has your back.
So next time you're feeling down in your luck, take a moment to see,
Who's standing right there next to you and who's hiding up a tree.


(c) 2014 Copyright Elena Plotkin

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2. by Bri Edwards


Parafake: The 'word'.....[English Language; 'new' Word]

My wife used the 'word' parafake, one evening in our bed.
Now don't get any nasty idea she was speaking of ME, in your nasty head.
In fact I don't believe either of us recall, of WHAT she was speaking,
and 'parafake' isn't even a word in my dictionary. I know; I went peeking.

There is paraffin and paraformaldehyde, and parakeet of course,
but I could not find parafake; nor was there parahorse.
So I looked up 'para', which turns out to be some sort of money.
Then I looked up the prefix 'para- (or par-) ', with no definitions that were funny.
The prefix definitions range from 'beside' and 'beyond', to 'incorrect',
to 'a diatomic molecule' which, without super-eyes, I could NOT detect.
Well there was one definition of para-, the prefix, which I thought would fit.
'Para' can mean 'assistant' (such as in paralegal) . On that definition I bit.

So then I looked up 'fake' in my dictionary to try to pin down 'parafake'.
Guess what. There are widely varying definitions of 'fake', for goodness sake!
Well I've chosen the definition of fake which is 'one that is not genuine'.
Therefore I say a 'parafake' is an 'assistant to one that is not genuine'. If you don't agree, that is fine.
So a paralegal would be a parafake if her boss had no law degree, and
a vintner's assistant would be a parafake if his boss neither made NOR sold wine. You SEE?

(Nov.2012)



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1. by Kelly Kurt


Top That!

Great towers have been erected
Vessels have entered the Oort
The atom, harnessed to our will
Computing growth, exponential
Medicine can heal the dying
Wondrous creations
Some may even say miraculous
I have made a person!

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end of May 2016 showcase. :)

bri