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

July's showcase is done. It's finished, but not ‘forgot'.
Many of you generously filled at least …one poem slot,
and some filled two, the limit I've put in place for now.
It's nearly August, so ……into August let's now plow.

No topic nor length constraints are (by me) placed ….
….on you.
But I have some requests. There are only a limited few.
1 - Try to follow the rules of PoemHunter, at least ……
…as well as I …..DO.
2 - Proofread, maybe more than once. e.g.*** Don't use 'two' for 'too'.
3 - Send a poem copy, or, if just a title, make it 'true'*****.

Your poem/poems NEED NOT be on PoemHunter already.
It CAN be a translation from a language of the Serengeti.
CAN be old, can be new, can be uplifting, can be 'blue'.
CAN be a language besides English to add some spice, …
but, if so, an English translation would surely be NICE.

If you send one in which (I feel) I find typos and such,
…….I may give you some 'suggestions',
BUT if you respond that you wish it entered 'that way',
…….I MAY add it, with NO more questions.

I'll no longer give country, gender, and age (as stated on ….
….this site) .
Even more now than ever before, I'm feeling that ….
some poets' info just ain't right!

So, let us begin the showcase anew, with a list of …..
…each poet,
listed from top to bottom in the order received, ….
and, there too, the title I'll show it.
Next will be the poems, and authors' names, listed.
In the REVERSE order received (the order ‘twisted') .

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***e.g.: 'abbreviation for Latin, 'exempli gratia', which means 'for example.'

*****I mean accurate (so I can find it in your PH list of poems!)

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THE POETS AND THEIR TITLES (listed top to bottom in order received) :

1 - Bharati Nayak

Happy Birthday

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2 - Tom Billsborough

The Singing, Ringing Tree

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3 - Bri Edwards:

Bye-Bye Jimmy…..[Nature Observations; Death; Personal]

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4 - Akhtar Jawad

The Adventurists

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5 - Is It Poetry

Amongst The Dead I'm Home

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6 - Kim Barney

Ant Highway

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7 - Savita Tyagi

A Bird's Chase And A Bee's Flight

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8 - John Westlake (aka Profanisaurus)

343

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9 - Paul (aka Andy) Brookes

Foolish Age

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10 - Brian Mayo

Snot My Problem

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11 - Sk Nurul Huda

It Is Poetry

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Bri's note: this poem title, above, is not to be confused with
the name of a PH poet who also has a poem in this showcase! :)
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12 - Kim Barney

The Storm

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13 - Loke Kok Yee

Kleptocracy

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14 - John Westlake

345

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15 - Annette Aitken

A Sandwich Full Of Sunshine

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16 - Bharati Naya

Kavita

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17 - Savita Tyagi

The Terrorist

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18 - Loke Kok Yee

Politicians

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19 - Douglas Scotney

Sensitive YOU

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20 - Bri Edwards

What Fruit For Ex-Spouses? ..... [humor; Very Short; Fruit;
PH-Inspired]

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21 - Della Perry

We Are The Seasons

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22 - Akhtar Jawad

Morals

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23 - Valsa George

The Sundown In My Village

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24 - Clarence Prince

My Mind Speaks

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25 -? ?

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26 -? ?


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THE POEMS AND THEIR AUTHORS (listed in the REVERSE order received) :

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25 -? ?

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24 - by Clarence Prince


My Mind Speaks!

My Mind Speaks!
My mind says to me, I should write
Then as I start, all words begin to hide
All I could see was the writing pad
With the pencil in my hand like a rod
I went out and sat me on the porch
Gave up sitting inside on the couch
While my mind yet speaks to me
Still saying I should write
Finding words wasn't lithe
The wind blows and the rain falls
Water runs down drain pipes off walls
Seeing the rain, for the garden's sake, I was glad
The long shortage of rain, it was just too bad
The falling rain and the heavy whirling wind
They flushed out the hiding words
My brain then starting to recall
I couldn't fight my mind, not at all
Words fly back to me swiftly like a kite
As my mind speaks again, I should write
Hence what you see here, is what I write
Nothing much only something quite light
With words you don't have to fight
That my mind speaks, and that I write
My mind speaks to me!

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23 - by Valsa George


The Sundown in my Village

With the sun moving westwards
The sky turns crimson like a bride.
Shadows lengthen along country lanes
as snakes uncoiling in the dark.
From the far away minaret,
The muezzin's loud cry is heard.
The *coolies, after the day's toil,
hasten away to their cluttered shacks.
The notes of a familiar lay
flow down from the talkie house.
Women in gaudy, silken wear,
with strings of Jasmine tucked to their hair,
saunter gaily to the local shrine.
Men winding up their day's business
retreat to their habitual haunts.
The herdsmen from slopes of hills,
hasten their cattle to be locked in the fold.
Storks line upon slimy fields
to feed on fish, trapped in puddles.
In the slanting beams of evening light,
the landscape lies in ethereal hue.
With the sun,
plummeting into the depths -
I see……….......
darkness swallowing the sleepy Earth
like a python devouring its unwary prey,
and the day slowly dying down.

Drunk in that gorgeous grace,
I, into a luminous glowworm turned!

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22 - by Akhtar Jawad


Morals

What are morals?
A defense from man's own instinctive offences.
Man has always been afraid of himself!
He is his own worst enemy,
and sees his own image scattered everywhere,
lives fearing himself and dies in his own deadly doubts.

But one who loves himself,
and can't even think of making any harm to himself,
believes in justice with himself,
finds the earth a beautiful island,
in this vast and endless ocean,
a place to live and love,
where there is beauty scattered everywhere,
colors and aroma of flowers
greenery of friendly trees and plants,
beauty and music of birds,
falls from icy mountains,
rivers and fountains,
dancing and running like a maid,
with the silver of sand,
and gold of fishes,
fearless and careless
enjoys a journey
to the great blue ocean,
to rise once again as clouds,
to kiss the forests,
to touch the mountains,
to enjoy the climax of a love,
and to die and fall on the earth
as romantic rains,
having passed a lovely life cycle,
with a firm belief
he will be absorbed by the roots
he will change his shape,
and blossom as colorful aromatic flowers,
inviting butterflies and many other insects
once again it's love!

A fearless journey,
passed as a pleasant dream,
an endless cycle during that,
no morals were needed.

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21 - by Della Perry


We Are The Seasons

We are the seasons
The changing seasons, always different
Always changing.
Sometimes we are the summer
Bright and warm, eager to rise
Glowing with happiness and pride.
Other times we are the autumn
Drooping, dying, falling apart
To the ground like hard, crumbling brown leaves.
A cherry blossom without the show.
Some days we are the winter
Cool, cold, impervious to others.
Sometimes we are the spring
Reborn with love and hope
Opening like the elegant daffodil
Tall and proud, changing
New and excited.
Changing seasons.
We are like the seasons

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Bri's note:

Della informs me she is very busy, but she said
I could help myself to her poems to be used in the showcase.
So I have.

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20 - Bri Edwards


What Fruit For Ex-Spouses? ..... [humor; Very Short; Fruit; PH-Inspired]

It is said 'An apple a day keeps the Doctor away.'
Hmm? Does a fig a day keep creditors at bay?

John Westlake says 'ANY fruit will work instead,
but you really must learn to throw AT their head! '

(November 13,2014)

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Bri's note: John Westlake aka Profanisaurus suggested a coconut.

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19 - by Douglas Scotney


Sensitive YOU

after the Hammerklavier
YOU
the woman in green
no aquamarine
YOU
who had failed to muffle your ruffling-through of your stuffed bag
for lollies wrapped in cellophane
and had passed one to the embarrassed woman in front
and had unwrapped two
one for your partner
and one for
YOU

YOU
added to insult
by rising first with applause

Sensitive YOU in aquamarine
who had sensitized this ear
to every sound
but the ones it came to hear

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Bri's note:

(found, using Google) : [who knew! ? ]

'Piano Sonata No.29 (Beethoven) - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
https: //en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Piano_Sonata_No._29_(Beethoven)
Wikipedia
Ludwig van Beethoven's Piano Sonata No.29 in B-flat major, Op.106 is a piano sonata widely... The Hammerklavier also set a precedent for the length of solo compositions (performances typically take about 45 to 50 minutes) .'

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18 - by Loke Kok Yee


Politicians

A government in denial,
opposition in disarray.
Such are the political clowns,
that's running around loose to-day.
Opportunist sans borders,
and each other they will betray.
All having their own agenda,
that drives them to join the fray.

Whichever way the wind may blow,
there will be hardship to endure.
They'll spin and tie themselves in knots,
for governing, they have no clue.
This comedy will continue
and there's not much that we can do.
Except to sit back and enjoy,
the moronic crap that they spew.

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17 - by Savita Tyagi


The Terrorist

The terrorist - Raktabeej* malicious
Born of his own spilled blood -

In wicked human minds, devoid

Of humane and pious virtues,

Respects no boundaries and

Recognizes no barriers in cruelty.



A terrorist has no religion, no creed

No nationality, no caste and no heart.

Harbinger of poisonous ideology,
Masked with countless identities, 

It's an acid thrown with vengeance, 

From unmarked hands upon decency.



He tramples upon nobility of thought,

Rooted in human mind that nurtures

Instinct of freedom and compassion.
He longs to extinguish the light that

Embraces the art and literature to breathe

Life upon altar where love is worshiped.



Let us protect the light of altruism

That burns in millions of kindred hearts,
From a much despised ruthless invader.

Let us allow wisdom to block the terror, 

To rise in solidarity with like minds,

Invincible and strong like a solid rock.


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Savita's note:

* Raktabeej was an Asura (demon) . His story is narrated in Ancient Sanskrit book 'Devi Mahatamyam'.

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16 - by Bharati Nayak

Kavita

Jeun duhkhati
Mana bhitare sadabele
Guru guru heu thae
Phutiba phutiba boli
Phutiparu nathae
Otha upare thara thara kamputhae
Akhi konare ashru bindu hoi basi rahi thae
Chhati tale tira hoi bindhu thae
Puni bele bele
Nai dhara hoi bahi jaae
Baspa hoi dunia khedi jaae
Phula hoi futi jaae
Sieta jibanara kavita
Sabdare chhanda
Sukha Duhkha ra paribhasa.

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Bharati's Poet's Note—My poem' Kavita'is a poem in Odia language.It is spoken in Odisha which is one of the states of India bordering its eastern coast.In India there are about 460 languages spoken.There are 22 major languages called, scheduled languages which are used for official purpose.Odia is one of the scheduled language of India.
In my translated version I have made slight changes to make it more poetic.The line'It is that pain' is repeated in its English translation while in my Odia poem it is used only once. Likewise I used ‘Rhythmic dance ‘ in my English translation while in it Odia poem it is ‘rhythmic expression',
As I have no software for typing in Odia script, I render it in English script.

Poetry
(English Translation Of Odia Poem-Kavita)
It is that pain
Which torments you always
It is that sorrow
Which wants to come out
But alas, can not

It is that pain
Which shivers on your lips
and sits as a tear drop
In the corner of your eyes
It is that ache
That like an arrow
Pierces your heart

It is that pain
Which sometimes
Flows in torrents
Like a river
And spreads the whole world
Like water vapour
Blooms to beauty
Like a flower
It is poetry
Of life
It is
The rhythmic dance
Of sorrow and happiness
Woven into words

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15 - by Annette Aitken


A Sandwich Full of Sunshine

I woke this morning feeling blue
wondered what could lift this mood
a forklift truck, a big digger
or maybe something even bigger.

Then,
a thought just popped into my head
I'll make a sunshine sandwich instead
start it off with a special loaf
it's great for making the best toast.

Then,
take two slices of rainbow thick
spread some fairy dust into the mix
then add a little spice of life
with care and attention and some good advice.

Then,
A touch of love, a charming smile
there's always one tucked away inside
a sprinkle of some happiness,
a tickle or two in case of mess

Then,
Pull up a chair, sit at the table
take a look at your creation
relax, enjoy, let out a sigh
a sandwich full of sunshine standing by.

Now Eat.

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14 - by John Westlake


345.

The old man told me not to swim in the lonely lake
with its golden lilies and crumbling jetty
warned that I could lose myself
I didn't pay attention to his words
and dismissed them as rubbish
what could he possibly know about me

As soon as I dived into the water
the visions started to appear
twisted fragments of long forgotten memories
danced with possible futures before my eyes
mixing and blending together
until I could not tell one from the other

Claws of fear gripped my mind
and dragged me to the centre of the deep
not willing to let me go
suffocating me as I fight to escape

Eventually I am snared by a hook
and pulled to the surface again
the old man helps me out of the water
wrapping a towel round me as I shiver

I look in to the old man's eyes
and see the tears forming in his blue grey eyes
before I can ask him why
he speaks out in my voice

'Many years ago I swam in this lake
and lost myself in the depths of fear
have lost count of the years I've been looking
but finally I have found who I was
and the one I was is you'

I looked into his eyes and saw myself staring back
could it be that this is a warning for what the future holds
as I wake up with a violent start
and realise it was all just a dream

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BRI's note:
Some of John's spellings, as in some other member poems, are the spellings in U.K., India, etc., but they are different than
the spellings used in the U.S.

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13 - by Loke Kok Yee


Kleptocracy

Politicians untainted,
are like gold at rainbow's end.
Elusive as a flower,
in the barren desert sand.

Glowing like a candle bright,
through a dark path lined with lies.
The flame quickly extinguished,
when power comes blowing by.

Promises are like Mayflies,
flirting in the sky so gay.
With electoral puissance,
no honour left to display.

Greed allowed and unbridled,
grows voracious appetite.
Consume all along its path,
for the rest an ebbing tide.

Evil can only flourish.
in those with an wicked heart.
Talks of race and religion,
do they really play a part?

Dark clouds lined the horizon,
soon a deadly storm will break.
When the dawn brings tomorrow,
will grief follow in its wake?

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12 - by Kim Barney


The Storm

The storm is an angry lion;
With one hoarse, strident roar
He sends the small animals
Scurrying to shelter.
The gnashing of his teeth
Is a flash of sparks
That precedes the raucous
Rumble of his voice.
His nebulous mane is dark and dense,
A signal of his danger.
With an icy claw
He strikes and slashes the saplings,
Striving to evict his prey.
Failing in this,
He drenches their domain
With bitter tears of rage.

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11 - by Sk Nurul Huda


It Is Poetry

To prove that he is not a robot a few lines the user writes,
As a software developer I had to go through without fights;
At the first reading it seems an exceptional and funny tale...,
oh it has an ironical tone on politicians to catch which I really fail,
Next reading it reveals its deeper sense breaking my mind's fence,
I feel I am in a story class in school again, I take it seriously hence;
Third reading reveals your emphasis on self-power and potentiality,
More shall we read more it will feed that increases my curiosity;

Do people not call this kind of lines poetry I call first tale of fun?
O! Hear my casual writer; do you know simply what have you done?

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10 - by Brian Mayo


Snot My Problem

Why should I bother to scribble a verse?
Who's going to compensate or reimburse
This poet for wasting his precious time
Polishing syllables, meter and rhyme?

What's my incentive, a vicious attack?
A kick to the groin and a knife in the back?
Where is it written that I must create
Something on which you will then defecate?

Maybe my time would be much better spent
Harvesting boogers for rubber cement…
First, I would steam them to kill any germs
Then I could sell them to publishing firms.

I'll have the last laugh, by hook or by crook
My snot's the binder in your favorite book.

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9 - by Andy Brookes


Foolish Age

The drum rolls loud like a scion of thunder,
Vibrating the floor ringing my chest cavity,
Oscillating bone.
Ignoring this event beating my ears into submission
And its attempt to sync my heart,
I eye the vain attempts at cool studied gracelessness
Of the participants of this Bacchanal on the dance floor below.

Water droplets hang from the window frames
Shimmering in the negligent noise
Which spills profligate, energetic and recurrent.

Eyeing the dancer's trance, illumined blue and red,
or covered in pulsating concentric circles.
I reflect, that in their urban chic clothes
and untidy expensively styled hair,
they wish to be different
but end up, I think sadly, cloned.

Lured here to have fun,
by my much younger friends,
I feel a leviathan chasm of age
and wish to be elsewhere.
But I am hoisted by the petard
and my own pride at others' flattery.

It will be a long night.
reflecting, tomorrow I will suffer for my betise.

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8 - by John Westlake


343.

I want you to imagine a country
where violence and crime do not exist
prisons could be turned in to something else
like homes or shops
an age of homelessness can end

I want you to think of a hemisphere
where borders do not mean anything
and countries have nothing to fight for or defend
we can have a break from pointless wars
an age of war can end

I want you to picture a world
where people don't kill or die
for their skin colour or the god they worship
the religions of the world unite against hatred
a new age of understanding can begin

I want you to see a universe
where the ill treatment of animals is non-existent
and no beast or bird is wrongfully harmed
we respect those who share our worlds with us
a new age of cohabitation can begin

If you can picture these in your head
and believe that they are possible
why can't we start work to make these happen
and the age of humanity can continue

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7 - by Savita Tyagi


A Bird's Chase And A Bee's Flight

On one of my morning walks when the
Day felt ignoble and routine, suddenly
A black bird with a coarse shriek came
Flying violently in air above my head.

Her plumage looked wet and unkempt.
She was preying upon a wasp or a bee.
The spunky wasp flew with all its might.
In a duple' time the chase was over.

The distraught bird probably heavy with
Damp feathers had lost its battle for food.
Today the bee won the fight for her survival.
Tomorrow she may not be so lucky though.

But for now she can be grateful and rest
In the shady crevices of oak branches.
I watched the weary Grackle too, taking
Shelter in the opposite cluster of pine needles.

The frenzied atmosphere returned to vacant
And languid idleness of hot summer morning,
But not before it made my regular walk under
Cerulean sky a bit more exciting and of a show wild.

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6 - by Kim Barney


Ant Highway

Visible from way up here
Almost two meters above.
Serpentine, slithering back and forth
A string of leaves from a nearby tree
Propelled by hundreds
or maybe thousands
of tiny ants.

This highway is silent;
No horns blasting,
No tires screeching,
No broken mufflers.

Silent, that is,
From this altitude.
Perhaps if I were there
Down at ground level
It might be different.

If I were the size of an ant
The noise from this highway
Might be deafening.

All those thousands of feet
marching past, the racket
from those huge leaves
rustling overhead.

Could be that they talk
to each other:
'Careful, Frank, don't step
in that mildew there.'

But then again, ants don't
have ears, do they?

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5- by Is It Poetry


Amongst The Dead I'm Home

Amongst the dead, I'm home.
The many fires I started as a child
have long gone out.
Inside the womb I heard them speak about.

Before the warning came, I felt the light.
Swimming before I could, I had no choice.
Stripes of red and blue came with a heavy cost.
Hence from whence I came and now I'm lost.

Not knowing who they were, they made no sound.
Lumps of clay that smelled of loam and earth.
So in speaking, here they spoke.
Waiting, waiting, wait, such volumes spoke.
The dead retired to sleep without a voice

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4 - by Akhtar Jawad


The Adventurists

He walked on a road ending on a ditch,
And there was no danger sign to alert,
His curiosity kept him moving forward,
An adventurist who succeeded in revert,
Snapped the ditch and while coming back,
Put a danger sign on the dangerous track.

My salute to such so many adventurists!
But those who could not stop and fell,
And the world forgot their great sacrifice,
My tribute, my tears, my words to tell,
You're greater than those who didn't fall,
Humanity is grateful to taller than the tall!

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3 - by Bri Edwards


Bye-Bye Jimmy.....[Nature Observations; Death; Personal]

Two days ago out our window in the morning
a unique event appeared to me without warning.
Among the trees, of our neighbor's southern slope,
I spied a large deer which I felt had little hope
of making it to the next day's dawning.

I saw it prostrate, its head weakly raised a bit.
One large ear moved but was about to quit.
One proud antler rose above its head,
but I thought 'this buck is nearly dead.
It will cause no more springtime 'fawning'.'

My wife was near me and I alerted her.
By the time she looked, the deer did not stir.
But she thought he was alive and that he looked her way.
She may have been correct, but who can really say?
She named him 'Jimmy'. I don't know why.

My wife urged me to write this farewell note,
the first such poem I ever wrote.
Two days have passed and Jimmy lies there cold,
no longer roaming hillsides, no longer bold.

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2 - by Tom Billsborough


The Singing, Ringing Tree

From the singing, ringing tree
Tall winds reap plaintive melodies
On a wild moor,
High above the valley floor.
Aeolian music whispering
Sonic magic by fate alone
Ringing through the hollow steel tubes
Of varying lengths and disparate angles
That suggest the structure
Of a gale-tormented tree.
Echoes by its random, melancholy sounds
Cathy's ghostly low refrains
Calling vainly for Heathcliff again and again
Across the purple haze of indifferent heather.
Or Orpheus' muted lyre mourning
His final loss of Eurydice.



- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

1 - by Bharati Nayak


Happy Birthday
Happy Birthday, My friend
Let your pages
Be filled with
Flowers and poetry

Many wrinkles
Life's years have added
But they have
also given us
Many reasons to smile
To turn the wrinkles
Into milestones
In the annals of history

Life has given you
The power
To turn water into vapor
To make a cloud
And a rainfall
on the parched ground
Where greens will grow

Let the dullness
Be wiped from any Grey day
Be filled with brightness
And turn it a full day
Let the seven colors of life
Make it as white
As the brightest day.

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THE END

I HOPE YOU ENJOYED

bri :)