A C T C - 2014/09 Entries - Poem Hunter Winners Poem by Brian Johnston

A C T C - 2014/09 Entries - Poem Hunter Winners

Rating: 5.0

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BRI EDWARDS (The Ex-Postman Who Keeps Delivering)


VALSA GEORGE (A Future Poet Laureate of India)


My personal congratulations to the winners. Which really includes every poet that entered. The diversity of interpretations of a single title is truly a wonder to behold and and a testimony to human imagination and experience as well. Job well done ALL!


Kanav Justa Votes: 1
Bri Edwards 1

Bri Edwards Votes: 4
Noreen Carden 1
Eugene Levich 1
Achill Lad 1
Darlene Walsh

Valsa George Votes: 4
Akhtar Jawad 1
Dinesh Nair 1
James B Johnston 1
Ramesh Rai

Tolu Ogundare Votes: 1
Diane Hine 1

Non-Voteing (Neutral) Possibles - So Far:
Kevin Patrick
Valsa George
Abekah Emannuel (Vote disqualified for not meeting deadline.)
Tolu Ogundare
Kanav Justa
Mr. Nobody
Savita Tyagi

>>>>>>>> GOD'S KIND OF POETRY? ' <<<<<<<<<<<

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Contest Master's Note: Two additional poems were also submitted that were too long to qualify. Both poems are quite deserving of your attention as well however and are posted as [Challenge] Poems September (Disqualified but Noteworthy) . And a 3rd poem that arrived after the closing bell is also listed on this page. All are worthy reads. Please feel free to Rate all of these poems in comments on their joint page. The Authors thank you!

-Ubiquitous is He who holds our breath in His hands-
by Mandolyn 9/14/14

Does the moon talk back to the night
when it says to stop walking around in boxers?
And when the moon is fully dressed
does it mess with the stars? Do the hands of our Creator
spank that disco ball and tell it to sit in the corner?
The ever present Spirit of God moves swiftly through
all things- when we sneeze we believe it comes from
allergies, but no
it is His gentle way of saying hello, come smell the
breeze y'all.
He's a cowboy too when He wants to be.
The trees He has lasso'd and given free will
to be still,

but let's keep this real
fun and formative, F the rules of pretty prose...

The universe is His trebuchet- he launches love
from all corners of the cosmos- watches with delight
as hearts are hit
and eyes are met
while the land beneath our feet
arches, moving with each breath~

Webmaster's Notes: Always flirting with danger, well flirting at least, Mandolyn is one of my favorite Immortals on PH. Well if she is not an immortal she should be. I have heard rumors going round that for 97 she is remarkably well preserved. Some say she could even pass for 54 on a good day, still under the speed limit! It's not always clear what her images mean or even how relevant they are, but one has to admit they are mean images. As for God's Kind of Poetry being mentioned in the title or the body of the poem, well she is really on thin ice here but she does mention God in first and last stanzas and it is true that prose is a form of poetry so God and poetry are both mentioned as well. Once again her poem qualifies by the skin of her teeth even if they are all implants. It seems pretty clear to me though that she has been reading Hemingway again. Such a naughty octogenarian she is! Sorry to blow your cover Mandolin, but no 97 year old likes sex that much. You must be at least 10 years younger! As an engineer though I struggle with images like 'the universe is His trebuchet' (but love that you used the word) as the reverse seems more true, that the universe is the output of God's trebuchet, i.e. the Big Bang perhaps? Seems more like a skeet shooting match with God's shotgun blasting love at passing galaxies before they get out of range? Shoot, I guess I am in the wrong poem! Silly me! The moon in boxers? Why would the night care what the moon was wearing? I know I wouldn't. Even if her light was always passive. (That is a Physics' joke people.)
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God's Kind of Poetry
By Darlene Walsh

I was peeking from my cave one day
And I saw a man coming this way
I've known for long his name is Moses
I heard it once as he gave his wife roses

As he walked in a daze I saw him staring
His steps never wavered in their bearing
I turned to see where he was looking
And I saw a bright bush that was cooking

As Moses got near I heard the bush call
A noise from a bush? I thought I would fall
'Take off your shoes' I heard it say
Off came my shoes and they flew away

Great words I heard from a burning bush
At the force of them I fell on my tush
'I Am that I Am' He named Himself
At that sound I became a frightened elf

What right have I, a simple small creature
To hear the words from such a great speaker
I was sure in a moment I would turn to dust
Or with pounding in my chest my heart would bust

But while the words I heard had great power
They flowed over me like the fragrance of a flower
They flowed like a cool spring calming me totally
And rang in my ears like some great poetry

I don't remember the commands that he gave with care
On Moses head shining white changed all his hair
But I was blessed as He calmed all my fears
To hear God's kind of poetry with my own ears

Webmaster's Notes: Darlene on the other hand is so out of this world cute, that I suspect she must be a leprechaun in disguise (anyone besides me catch that elf reference? Now how would she know what a frightened elf was like?) . Anyone figured out yet what planet that might be in her Bio picture? Where are my bifocals anyway? Now there seems to be some kind of quarrel between Mandolyn's and Darlene's visions to me. Mandolyn seems to suggest that God's kind of poetry is all prose, no rhythms or rhymes for sure and Darlene hears God's poetry in the words of a burning bush no less, sound suggesting both rhythm and rhyme, though both of course might be lost in translation, maybe you kind of had to be there you know? The voice of the bush/God suggesting a kind of music! Feelings are in the poetry that Darlene hears as well, coolness, and smells too, 'like the fragrance of a flower.' And Moses' hair turning instantly white as though great fear had seized him, but the afterglow being an incredible peace. Surely the sign of an incredible reading if there is any sign that exemplifies poetry's presence at all!
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By Tolu Ogundare

on this Teacher divine
stake I my dearest will-
upon Him who wrote
my frame with His
pen of Light;

and on the tiny fibres
of my heart
wrote He the equation
that sets in motion -
the wheels of life.

I, on scrambled Letters
that bore my unbalanced
weight, tottered -
till promises
like horses became...

and on this cart of life
I ride back and forth to earth
from Eden - garden of my birth,
whose verdure drinks of the wellness
drawn from living wells.

Webmaster's Notes: Tolu sings a song of confession of faith, a music of oneness, that recognizes separation and discounts it ALMOST completely. His very will, the fullest expression of his being rests in the teachings of Christ, who he acknowledges to have written him into the book of life and he sees God's logic (would 'poetry' in fact be a better word Tolu?) in all that brings real movement. He acknowledges too that even Biblical truth, God's Law, is scrambled and unstable ground given human balance, until Grace appears to save him from himself and to pull the cart of his life. With Grace's power the poet imagines himself moving between earth and Eden, his true home, though 'garden of my birth' does not ring quite true for me and I would personally like 'man's birth' better, an Eden whose lush beauty is eternal, fed as it were by living water from living wells. As Christ said, 'he who drinks my water will never thirst again.' The last image, of moving between Earth and Eden seems a little weak to me because it is only in our imaginations, I believe, that we make this journey. God's Grace surely makes everything Eden. It is only the weakness of our faith that prevents us from seeing that this is true.
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God's Kind Of Poetry
By Kanav Justa

he paints the vaulted skies over the seas
he carves the golden shore
and the dunes of the deserts etched by his breath
that blows forevermore

he writes in a tiny grain by the fields
he scribbles in green of the leaves
he writes in the gloom of the mortal beings
and in joy a man receives

still there are things we will never know
with what brush or pen he writes
and how he makes those flakes of snow
and how he paints those nights

haikus he writes in a tiny rose
sonnets in a mountain tall
in the trees he writes his eternal prose
he is a master poet after all

furious, he paints a raging storm
when calm, the raining noon
when gay, he makes those seasons warm
when sad, the waning moon

not all can read the work of the gods
not always do we have to stare above
the poems that he writes are everywhere
that's deep like true hearts in love

Webmaster's Notes: I have read Kanav that without pollution of different types in the air it would never rain, and also a claim that every snowflake is different from every other one. Hidden truth in what seems simple and diversity (even ongoing evolution) are certainly a part of God's Poetry. I agree with Bri that your poem seems to honor the contest rules and take them seriously and your variation in rhyme scheme does pay tribute to diversity and I give you points for that as well. I like your comparison of a tiny rose to a haiku and a sonnet to a mountain but I smiled at your comparison of a tree to prose, remembering Joyce Kilmer's famous poem 'I think that I shall never see, A poem lovely as a tree...' After Joyce it does seem a weak link indeed! Ha! Linking God's anger to raging storms and calm to a gentle rain has always seemed a contrivance to me but then you are young still! : -) Maybe the collision of galaxies would seem to represent God's anger better, but again I have been told that there is so much space between stars that a galactic collision might pass completely without the physical collision of anything, God's anger seemingly reserved for even bigger things, like a parent abusing a child, or one friend lying to another. Your first and last stanzas do shine for me, stand out with fresh imagery. God's poems might be multi-layered though don't you think? This does not diminish the depth of God's poems however and anyone who compares God's poetry to the depth of true hearts in love, has clearly been blessed with divine wisdom, for God is love.

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God's Kind Of Poetry ….. [Sept.2014 CHALLENGE poem; GOD & MAN; serious; personal; a little long] by Bri Edwards


'In the church of my Youth there was a 'Triune God':
God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost.
The Holy Ghost a mystery was, but Father was the Creator; so was the buzz.
The Son/Jesus was crucified; at my church 'Communion', He was the 'host'.

Nowadays God's a big question mark for Bri Edwards; that's 'me'.
I believed in Him once, but now I feel He might OR might not be.
I'll write this, a little tongue-in-cheek, as though in Him I still believe.
He may be omni-this and omni-that, and for me I'm sure He will grieve.

GOD (the Father) :

'To my main man Moses I once gave ten rules for Man to follow.
Now (more than they were years ago) , to many Earthlings, my rules are hollow.
My idea to send my Son (by a virgin) was too theatrical, now I see,
but the biggest mistake I ever made was to let Mankind's 'will' be 'free'.

Please believe Me when I say 'I meant no harm in any way! '
I should have killed Satan when I could, rather than just say 'Take a hike.'
I meant well; long ago I truly did. I had such hope for Adam and Eve.
The mess their kids have made of Earth makes Me now wish to take My leave.

So many of you no longer, or never did, in God the Father trust.
I'd start over once again, but I'm too old; like an iron nail I've turned to rust.

As for my other rules, which were ten, I don't even remember all of them.
Men AND women take My Name in vain. The Sabbath's not my wished-for gem.
Kids dishonor their parents and vice versa. You covet neighbor's wives, and worse.
You kill for greed and just for fun. You steal from private and public purse.

I've had better luck on other worlds. I guess I let humans' brains get too BIG.
I should have stopped Evolution's 'progress' ….. when the 'top dog' was a PIG.'


'I too, for God the Father, do grieve. He did His best; that I DO believe.
He was Kind, Mighty, Smart and Such, but He tried to handle just too damn much.'

Webmaster's Notes: I would love to find a spelling error in one of Bri's poems, but I would guess that my prospects for doing so are comparable to a snowball's chances in Hell. Fortunately Bri's fuzzy thinking more than makes up for his inerrant spelling (most of the time) . His formal announcement that he has been a closet Republican since salt water taffy was invented is pending and expected with the next postal rate hike! Like most of us Bri first forces God into a finite mold that he (Bri) has a chance of understanding, and then proclaims to the world, 'See, God is not so great! ' No SH** Sherlock! Ha! I'm no different from Bri or any one else in the world that tries to think about stuff like this. Our God is simply too small! So Bri you will be pleased to know that I too give you points for diversity in your rhyme scheme as well as Kanav. However it seems clear that you never found/read the rules and God's Kind of Poetry, in fact no poetry of any kind is mentioned or alluded to anywhere in the poem...... But this is National Be Kind To Ex-Postman week. In the hopes that doing so will dissuade any of them from going postal on us I will allow his poem stay in the contest. Now if Bri happened to find the poem he meant to email to me but forgot to, clearly he could clearly lean on his old buddy to come to his rescue once again and I would have an actual poem to review!

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God's Kind of Poetry
By Valsa George

‘Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt
and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen'

- Leonardo da Vinci

From my window I lazily watch
The phenomenal transition from dusk to night
The evening's brilliance giving way to twilight haze
And the reddened sky turning sallow as a sick patient
Darkness like downy feathers descending down
Wrapping the Earth in a gray woolen mantle
Light and darkness embracing in a breathless kiss
Like shocking colors blended on a wide canvas!

If painting is poetry that is seen than felt
What is this other than God's kind of Poetry?
With grandeur and beauty melded in rhyme
Oh, poetry is painting that is felt than seen

The night has now grown mysterious and enigmatic
Putting the weary Nature into indolent repose

Before my eyes stretch a vast plane
Whose boundaries have dimmed beyond all trace
Here and there, some monstrous shapes peek out
I see the dark silhouettes of trees supine
Brooding, sage like, in the thickening gloom
I watch the wide panorama lying still
And the clear star spangled sky above

The moon has begun her stately round
In flashing dress, she swaggers past the clouds
As if patrolling to guard the sleeping Earth
She has taken the place of the ousted king of the day
And countless stars are with her as entourage!
She comes down even to the fringy margin of the sky
To dole out blessings to all below her domain

All those who watch the beauty of a clear night sky
What else do they see other than God's kind of poetry

A calming breeze caresses my face and ruffles my hair
Though darkness envelops all around me
I hear the whispered promise of a day that shall soon unfold
As I hear this rhythm of Nature falling in my ears
In every beat, I hear God's kind of poetry recited

Looking at this night, God's art work of sheer beauty
I feel heaven has descended down to Earth
Never is a moment more glorious than this
When darkness has accentuated the heavenly lights!

I stand enraptured and stunningly awestruck
Turning every page of this wide note pad
Where God has scripted His consummate poetry
In wonderful images and such exquisite rhythm

Webmaster's Notes: No novice of the written word, Valsa knows clearly that she stands on the shoulders of Giants, and invokes the authority of da Vinci from the get go. But is it mere poetic license to insist that paintings are felt too as they in fact press themselves on our imaginations. And poems too perhaps are seen in the mind's eye, conjured by the poet's heart. Dare we quibble with the master?

I would have liked more exaggeration, more dance in the first stanza Valsa perhaps with something like

Opaque darkness falls like downy feathers,
Smothers remaining wisps of light,
Enveloping the quiescent Earth
In a snowy blanket whose chilling aspirations,
None the less protect its flanks from bitter cold,
Opposites embracing in a breathless kiss,
Like shocking colors losing themselves
In the sweeping breadth of God's Poetic canvas.

I very much like the short but mysterious 3rd stanza that suggests to my mind that God's poetry is in fact deeper than Nature, deeper than what appears to the eye, reminding us that imagination (a kind of poetry in itself) is deeper than all physical beauty.

The fourth stanza continues the mystery with suggestions of shapes that never quite materialize, but how I would have loved to have been confronted with the fact that only with cameras are we able to grok the colors of galaxies, of distant stars, Science giving us new eyes to see with and ears as well, new realities crowding in from all sides, the light too faint for us to see color at all on our own, sounds too distant for us to hear as well.

The moon's glow is but a pale reflection of the sun's light, for all her grandeur and power over night. But again I rejoice as you remind us of hidden rhythms that parse God's Kind of Poetry into structures, meaningful sentences that make life possible in fact - day that follows night, seasons that follow seasons, made possible by a moon, a sister planet really, that stabilizes earth and maintains Earth's stable spin, preventing a procession, a shift of axis that would make Earth's seasons (and perhaps life) an impossibility.

I know you are surprised Valsa by what I see in your poem, but your homage to rhythm as a part of God's Kind of Poetry, puts your poem over the top in my poetic realm. Really a beautiful poem as it stands.

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By Abekah Emmanuel

Before the universe's whole potential,
All that is today, flashed into existence,
In less than one millionth of a single second,
(A single thought of your incredible imagination) ,
You, dear Lord, loved the man I am this instant,
Felt the potential of my entire life on earth,
And called it good, pleasing in Your sight.
Though by your written commandments
And my own short comings,
I am nothing but a condemned soul,
Yet Grace reconciles us, and leaves me white as snow

So today, Once again I come,
Not to weep before you or present a petition,
Nor have I come to delay your great commission,
But to meditate, Yes! and to celebrate,
Of one thing, which my fellow poets
Have recently written in wonder and such beauty
That surpasses all their previous works.

It is not life, neither is it death,
It is not love neither is it nature,
Not of sadness nor happiness,
But of God's kind of poetry!

Yes! it is your poetry, which today I pick as my theme
Not to gain material riches nor fame,
But to explore your uniqueness,
The beauty of your creation and your perfection.
For all other themes are nothing,
But a mere way of gratifying mortals
And the expression of our satisfaction.

It is clear, and I see, with absolute attention,
that your poetry too is beautifully written
in the beauty of earthly nature.
When I gaze at the vastness of the ocean,
The beauty of the sea,
the magic performed by the breeze,
When I look right into the forest,
The conference of animals,
The pattern of the groove,
The heat of the sun beams,
The whiteness of the snow,
And above all, the prudence of the ant,
Then I see, colorfully, God's kind of poetry.

It is written with perfect skills,
Colorful imagery
And mind-blowing patterns,
No fault nor breaks,
But it flows, with such beauty
That only attests to the handiwork
Of a great architect, a great designer
And indeed, a master poet of all time.

Your poetry is infinite,
Because you have no end,
Your poetry is beautiful,
Because you are beautiful too,
Your poetry is perfect,
Because you are perfect too,
Your poetry is filled with passion,
Because you invented the power
To use and control diction.

The simple beauty of your sunlight,
Blinds us to other solutions,
Your poetry in its perfection,
Makes the sublime seem plain.

Webmaster's Notes: Well Abekah it seems clear that you are an up and comer here on PH. I really liked the 1st stanza but that last stanza blew my socks off. And how true to life as well. How often do we find that we really don't appeciate stuff until it disappears from our lives? A wonderful thought well expressed indeed.

The rest of your poem is more tenuous, and lacks the same clarity of thought for me with less discernible beauty and conflict. Though it seems unfair to just single out your poem for this criticism I thought Bri Edwards point about all of us really ignoring the uncomfortable or even nasty aspects of God's Kind of Poetry was true. Many more difficult issues were glossed over by almost all of us with very little space given to what bothers us all- the need for suffering for instance. None of us asked to be born after all. Is suffering the consequence of the gift of freewill? Is suffering what leads us to seek first the kingdom of heaven. A good but safe poem Abekah. I feel sure that you can do much better but a strong poem.

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God's Kind Of Poetry
By Mr. Nobody

Allow me to share God's poetry
I'll scoop up manna to throw at thee

If I am a child of this, or that God
That makes me one of the family, does it not?
The real deal, not a fraud, no infamy

He/She is the I AM. in each of us
We are all God's poetry
Riding in His/Her VW Bus.

Webmaster's Notes: Nobody it seems is responsible for this last poem and boy does it show! At least he is throwing 'manna' at us in this reincarnation. He seems to be moving to higher plains however as his last nom de plume was 'Monk E. Biz' (You can't imagine the Sh** he was throwing around then. Just be glad you were not here in the early days!) and before that 'Livinthe Now' for those of you with a shelf life that does not exceed English Muffins! In those days the saying 'I need to eat and run' took on new meaning! No offense intended however, it's just that at times I actually try to be funny. Did it work?

Now as I understand it when it comes to God's love, Nobody is left out, so reading the Bible literally, I must conclude that you Sir are in fact not one of the family. Have you ever heard of the mark of Cain? Maybe this explains your predicament? It's very clear however that you are one of those stinking liberals from some 'hockey puck' yankee school too I bet. All that durn follishness about a he/she God that you even repeated twice like we didn't hear you the first time! Well I've heard the song too and in spite of it being on National radio and such, I can pretty much guarantee you that 'God is not just a stranger on the bus trying to find his way home. God is 'home' you young whippersnapper. So get your tush back in your wannabe VW Bus and don't let the screen door hit you in your derrière as you're leaving either or you'll be getting some splinters as a parting gift!

Whispering.... Don't tell Nobody I said this OK, but I hope Nobody is right!

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If you like what we have done here.....


Maybe PoemHunter.com will make contests like this a website
feature in the future like some other websites already do?

And a huge vote of appreciation to both contributors and my
Collaborator, the thorn in my side, the pea under my mattress,
Bri Edwards (the disgraced ex-poet and now reinstated

>>>Please help us make this contest even more popular <<<
>>>by emailing your friends on PH and elsewhere even, <<<
>>>to make the vote as democratic as possible! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! <<<

Challenge Title Poems for September
Valsa George 08 October 2014

I don't want to go into the poems. They are all great in one way or other. I myself being a contestant, I don't think it fair to make comments. But I would like to make a note of appreciation to the Web Master, Mr. Brian Johnston for choosing a beautiful title for the contest and the way he has organized it.... His deeply analytical, humorous and sharp witted comments have made this contest attention arresting! His patience to sit and type so much at this age is remarkable....(oh, I don't mean he is too old.... he is young enough for everything!) Then ofcourse Bri.... the man who adds spice to any bland stuff! This web seems to be his voluminous note pad where he scribbles on and on and is never tired of it.... He cliams that he snatches his wife's laptop! So if he had owned one himself, the readers on PH would have to sit for hours together, reading his comments and syntactic corrections! Remember his hawk eyes are wide open to see if there are spelling errors! Also I congratulate all the contestants who with a variety of poems entertained all and thank those generous minded souls who found time to read, evaluate and make comments!

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Akhtar Jawad 08 October 2014

Bri's poem is lovely and nice having thoughts in his own singular style, But as far as poetic beauty is concerned I saw more beauty in Valsa's poem.

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Bri Edwards 09 October 2014

YES! it is ME again, Bri Edwards aka bri. not to be confused with Brian Johnston! ! ! please, anything but THAT! ! ! i find i am running out of time; in a few days the voting period will be over. Valsa, won't you change your mind? ? i see what BJ wrote after your 'non-voting' 'non-poems-comment' comment on the competition and the Webmaster. and yes, he IS getting up there in years! yes, Valsa, and all others, you are; lucky i don't have my own computer! and, Valsa, i found no spelling errors in your comment, unless one counts the two words you erroneously (i assume mistakenly) hooked together. :) i NOW plan to comment on My poem and to VOTE. yes, vote! i've already left some comments on all of the competing poems, AND on the two disqualified poems which are accessed through another of BJ's poems in his list of poems. i recommend those other two, by Diane Hine and Brian Johnston, if you have a little extra time on your hands. they are truly unique for more than their length. bri :)

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Noreen Carden 09 October 2014

My vote goes to Bri The line about the pig being top dog is a killer line. Well done

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Savita Tyagi 11 October 2014

I read Bri and Valsa's God's kind of poetry on their site. My vote goes for both of them. One is full of humor and the other full of God's light and love. I think I have read Mandolin's and Kanav Justa' poem too but can't remember. I have to read again to make any comment. I do plan to read them all including Brian's and Diana Hine's. By the time I finish my vote probably will not be eligible for count but I do want all of them to know how much I have enjoyed reading poems at this site. Reading couple of poems at random is almost part of my daily routine. Brian's effort of bringing poets together in such a fun way is commendable. Thank you Brian.

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Bharati Nayak 28 August 2016

This poetry challenge game played well- -Found many brilliant poems here on the same topic , different views and reviews.I will come to read again to read these great poems.

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Valsa George 13 October 2014

Wow.... I feel so thrilled over the acheievement. Let me congratulate Bri... co winner for sharing the trophy...! I grab this space once more to thank Mr. Brian Johnston for providing this forum! He personally invited many of us to take part in this contest and has been consistently doing the follow up and entertaining and encouraging all with his interesting comments. Let me thank him first for voting in my favour (the webmaster's vote ofcourse is special) ! Also I thank Dinesh Nair, Akhtarji, Ramesh Rai and Abekah (though his vote has been declared invalid) whose kind comments and valuable votes made me the winner..... Also thank Savitha, Darlene and Kevin for their favourable comments! Once more congratulations to all the winners and thanks to all who encouraged us!

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Bri Edwards 13 October 2014

to quote some of the ritual of the Kappa Alpha Society, a college 'fraternity' known to its members (only after they get initiated i think) as a literary society, formed in 1825, and which i joined at cornell university in ithaca new york in 1967: HIC FINIS EST! congratulations Valsa and Me, and all others who participated as either 'webmaster', poet entrants, readers, 'commenters'/commentators? , or/and voters. see you next month? bri :)

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Bri Edwards 12 October 2014

my vote goes (again) to Kanav Justa. i had left a long, nice, comment several days ago announcing my vote and reasons for it, but some Webmaster [who shall, for his protection, remain unnamed] deemed it prudent? to delete my vote/comment (two comments in fact) and send me a message to that effect, telling me i would have to vote again. luckily i received and read and acted on that message soon enough, unless this comment also gets deep-sixed. : ( bri [[ this does NOT make me a happy camper! but life goes on! ]]

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Ramesh Rai 11 October 2014

It is indeed a praiseworthy job. It is tough to vote for a single poem because each poem is written with full devotion and submission. If I vote for a single poem it does not mean that rest are not worthy. ButI may please be excused. My vote goes to Poetess Valsa George. She has made her best effort to bring down her imagination on the canvas of poetry. Thank you so much Sir Brian Johnston for your wonderful job. Regards.

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