Reader Magnet I Am Not, Feb. - March 2023...[ A ' Showcase ' Of 7 Poems From Ph, Drawn Recently From Ones I've Enjoyed ] Poem by Bri Edwards

I breathe deeply, as suggested by this site, and a 'new poem' I now compose.
These seven poems brought me such entertainment (enough I do suppose) .....
....that if others read some of them, their days may blossom like a Spring rose,
a rose with beautiful color, a calming odor, and NO thorns to grab & tear clothes!


bri edwards
(known in the 'other world' as Brian Edward Whitaker)

[ Despite the topics I listed, this showcase is not about Halloween or dogs or cats. ]

(February 27th, 2023)

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1 - Poem by anais vionet

Passing Parades

A governess, a guardian of the young, so known and dear as to be called 'Mother' and a noblewoman, just barely 12 by age, named Portia, sit talking as the sun sets the stage for a cool, cloudless night.

'Mother, who invented candlelight and the slow, delicate brush of lips? '
'Some rakish boy, pawning his experience for present pleasure, no doubt.'
'Say true, Mother. If you were a man, would you find this common body worthy of love? '
'You show no blemish child, and display a certain bony voluptuousness - I should think.'
The governess begins to comb and braid Portia's hair for sleep.
'I saw Portincio this morning, in the courtyard.'
'The boy from Padua? '
'He's a man Mother, and his cast portents a passion so sweet - it shakes my very frame.'
Mother chuckles, 'Even hopeless birds sing in cages.'
'I am not hopeless! ' Portia writhes angrily, like a snake about to strike but mother calms her.
'Shoo, shoo, now, ' Mother purrs, brushing all the more gently, 'I meant nothing of it.' After a moment, she continues, 'Love is more than coquetry, little one, and it soon passes - like a parade, or a rash. For now, be happy, you are like the chaste stars - unreachable.'


by anais vionet
Thursday, February 23,2023
Topic(s) of this poem: romance, story, teen, timeless

Bri's comment(s) :

Anais (anais) is one of my favorite new-to-me poets on PoemHunter.
This poem is quite different from most I've read from her.
Most seem to be 'stories' and many revolve around her day-to-day
experiences as an undergraduate student at Yale University. Some
of her poems are followed by definitions of slang terms she uses.
One definition of 'rakish' (and the one possibly meant by anais) :
'immoral and devoted to pleasure'.

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2 - Poem by Sharon Olds

The Unborn

Sometimes I can almost see, around our heads,
Like gnats around a streetlight in summer,
The children we could have,
The glimmer of them.

Sometimes I feel them waiting, dozing
In some antechamber - servants, half-
Listening for the bell.

Sometimes I see them lying like love letters
In the Dead Letter Office

And sometimes, like tonight, by some black
Second sight I can feel just one of them
Standing on the edge of a cliff by the sea
In the dark, stretching its arms out
Desperately to me.


Sharon Olds
Monday, January 13,2003

Bri's comment(s) :

Sharon Olds is new-to-me. I wonder if '2003' is correct, above; I think so.
The poem is not as clear to me as I usually like a poem to be, but I liked it
a lot. [ I'd NOT use a poem in my showcases UNLESS I liked it 'a lot'. ]
I'm only guessing that the 'unborn' of which she speaks are 'children' never-
conceived aka they never 'were', even as a fetus/undeveloped-human in a
womb, OR they were fetuses but died by abortion or died by other causes
'shortly' after their births.
As a former U.S. Postal Service clerk, I say 'Dead Letter Office', I'm sure,
refers to 'where some mail goes within the U.S.P.S if there is no way for the
P.O. to deliver as addressed or to return to sender.' There the mail may be
opened to look for an address among its contents. I have a poem involving
the Dead Letter Office (on PH) : [war] Boy In An Envelope.

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3 - Poem by Geeta Radhakrishna Menon

Vincent Van Gogh 55 - A Big Mistake?

A true artiste seeks excellence.
He draws and draws to get the ideal picture.
He sketches till he gets a flawless frame.
A long process, indeed,
In pursuit of precision and perfection!

Vincent's father Theodorus could never understand
Why Vincent was never getting his painting right.
He felt a talented artiste should be able draw easily,
Without tearing down his sketches a hundred times.
He felt his son had not chosen the right profession!

'Dear Son Vincent', asserted his father:
'It seems to me that if you had any talent,
If you were really cut out to be an artist,
Those sketches would come right the first time.
I wonder, if you aren't making a mistake? '.

But Vincent hardly listened to his father.
He continued painting a peasant,
Who was kneeling down before a bag
In which he was putting the potatoes.
He was trying to get the peasant's arm accurately.

His father continued to talk to Vincent.
'An artist's work is either good or bad.
If it is bad, he is no artiste.
He ought to have found that out for himself
Early enough and not wasted all his time and effort.'


A Biographical Poem

Geeta Radhakrishna Menon
Monday, February 13,2023
Topic(s) of this poem: true, story, art, artistic work, family, father

Bri's comment(s) :

Geeta seems to spend a LOT of time composing and posting poems here on PH, and generously reading and commenting on poems of others. I've 'known' her here for quite a few years.
She has a series of poems here about Vincent Van Gogh's life, and another series of poems about Mahatma Gandhi's life.

Read Geeta's Poet's Notes after her poems!

This poem should have been read by my parents BEFORE they sent me to college, which I was not 'prepared for' and for which I had no interest; I quit during my senior year at Cornell U. They SHOULD have sent me to a technical school to train as an 'underdog' ***, which may have prepared me better for my future four (4) marriages. ;)

*** definition 2: 'a victim of injustice or persecution'

p.s. Some of what I wrote above is exaggerated, ...but not much!

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4 - Poem by Belle Wassermeister

Bri Edwards At Home

Bri looks for the stars
but can't see a thing.
Then he sits and waits
for his phone to ring,
but he gets so bored
that he wants to scream
and heads to the fridge
to get more ice cream!

Belle Wassermeister
Thursday, January 26,2023

Bri's Comments:

Belle aka Linda Bella knows me well (enough) !
But she might have added these two lines:
'Don't forget the cake;
two pieces I'll take! ! '




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5 - Poem by Bharati Nayak

When Played The Music

Through the swinging branches and whistling reeds
A song of heart floated in breeze.
When a bird heard it,
She carried the music on her wings and
Flew away to her mate.

When a butterfly heard it,
He bore the tune in his colorful wings and
Darted through the garden
For theflowers
In gleeful blooms.

The fiery sun became cool and soft
As he scattered his rays of crimson red
On the cheeks of the damsel.

In deep sea, waves rose and fell
As a little closer.
his love-moon came.

When the river heard it,
She mixed the tune in her gurgling ripples.
As the whole universe danced in unison
With the scattering stars, Milky ways and galaxies.


Bharati Nayak
Tuesday, October 30,2018
Topic(s) of this poem: love, music, nature

Bri's comments:
My good friend Bharati seems to be 'carried away' by Nature, as I have been
at times in my life.
Stanza 2: 'theflowers' I'm (almost) sure was typed by Bharati as 'the flowers',
and IS 'the flowers' on page 141 of a book co-authored by her and Dr. Antony
Theodore (also on PH) . The book's title is In the Realms of Love & Divinity.

I think 2018 was a year in which PH sometimes seemed
to join words together in poems after the poet(s) submitted their poems!
I remember when it happened to me.

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to be continued LATER! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! I plan to add TWO MORE POEMS, when
it is convenient for me to do so.

bri

;)