Bri Edwards

Gold Star - 69,168 Points (some time ago / Earth, i believe)

A Showcase For P H Poets: November 2015: Section ' B '...[10th Monthly Showcase Of Poems; Some Changes; A New Poem Introduction! ; “fun”? ] - Poem by Bri Edwards




In this SECTION “B “of November 2015 showcase, the poems will be (generally) of the following length: MORE THAN 12 LINES AND LESS THAN 51 LINES. Each poet may have one poem in this section; second poems (OR late 1st poems) of similar length shall be in SECTION “C”.

THE POETS:
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EIGHTEEN: BRIAN JOHNSTON (United States; Male; 72)

I Have Done Verse

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SEVENTEEN: CLARENCE PRINCE (Canada; Male; 75)

'Make Hope Cure Dope'

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SIXTEEN: LORA aka LORRAINE COLON (United States; Female; -)

Aftermath

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FIFTEEN: EUGENE LEVICH (United States; Male; 78)

Who Is Bri? ... Written At 6 Am In A Diner In Honor Of Ph Poet And Fearsome Wit, “bri” Edwards

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FOURTEEN: SEEMA JAYARAMAN (India; Female; 43)

Dawn's Aural Litany

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THIRTEEN: CHARLES DARNELL (United States; Male; 67)

Drowned

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TWELVE: JAK BLACK (United Kingdom; Male; 41)

The Pit Pony

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ELEVEN: DELLA PERRY (United Kingdom; Female; 41)

Searching

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TEN: KELLY KURT (United States; Male; 57)

Head Of A Pin

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NINE: ELENA PLOTKIN (United States; Female; ?)

Geniuses Unite

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EIGHT: VALSA GEORGE (India; Female; 61)

A Poem

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SEVEN: MELVINA GERMAIN (Canada; Female; 70)

Faded Red Dress

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SIX: JOHN WESTLAKE (United Kingdom; Male; 31)

257. The Perfect Relation-ship

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FIVE: XELAM KAN (Pakistan; Male; 96)

Psychosis

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FOUR: SAVITA TYAGI (United States; Female; 67)

Esoteric Half

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THREE: RAY HART (Australia; Male; 69)

My Sinful Man

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TWO: IS IT POETRY (United States; Male; 100)

Russian Gays Are The American Sex Offender's

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ONE: BRI EDWARDS (United States; Male; 67)

Mary’s Pet

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THE POEMS:
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HEY! This section (B) is getting 'too long'! ! Look for more poems of 'medium' length in my/our November's Section C. Section C is where I stash '2nd poems' of this length from poets as well as 'late arrivals of the month'.

Thanks. bri :)

(Brian, yours just got in here 'under the wire'!

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EIGHTEEN: by Brian Johnston


I Have Done Verse

Oh what is my life without you Poetry
And how could my love be in season,
All those hearts that you touch
(For your words say so much) ,
Without you could Science find reason?
You are the strings on the harps Angels play
You are my drink in the heat of the day,
My consolation when I lose my way,
Beauty that tells me what God has to say...
Only you Poetry, only you!

Oh what is my life without you Poetry?
Let me live in the light of your charm,
Your muse so much brighter
Makes everything lighter,
Your wisdom the soil that I farm.
What pulls me from sleep in the darkness of night,
What brings the hope that I’ll see morning light,
What brings me the courage when I have to fight
And who would I be without voice, ears and sight?
Only you Poetry, only you!

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SEVENTEEN: by Clarence Prince


'Make Hope Cure Dope'

Fear not, for as you live
You have got a hope
Just keep away from dope
Even if life should take a dive
As you could perhaps find
Know this: life is not always kind
Fortune wise, you, it could despise
But still that's not so much a crime
There are others without a dime
Life is like a steep hill to climb
It can stretch your every limb
Even then, you must still keep hope
And remember there's a Saviour
He's Lord, in Him there's favour
With each soul He'll share love
He helps the helpless to cope
Then keep away from dope
And live your life with hope
Make hope cure dope.

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SIXTEEN: by Lora Colon


Aftermath

Hands that I kissed with unspoken reverence
Knew my terrain well, not timid in their touch,
Now the gentle rays of the moon stroke my face,
But can I forget those hands I loved so much!

When I saw my reflection in his eyes
I had to dive in, just to see where it leads,
Now I'm drowning in my tears of loneliness,
Panicked like a swimmer enmeshed in weeds

Each morning, awakened by his kisses,
I struggled to understand how this could be,
Was this mine to keep, this heaven I had found?
Then hell appeared, answering each inquiry

Why did I foolishly gamble my heart?
I was blinded by a prize I could not win!
But only after a heart has been shattered
Can the light of truth and reason come in

Yet, I will not regret having loved him,
I reject the implications of wrath,
But how do I tolerate this missing him?
Lord, give me strength to cope with the aftermath!

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Bri's note: This reminds me of high school; I had gym class after math.
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FIFTEEN: by Eugene Levich


Who Is Bri? ... Written At 6 Am In A Diner In Honor Of Ph Poet And Fearsome Wit, “bri” Edwards

Who is BRI...
That all the Brains commend him?
(Sorry Shakespeare... Willy!)

NO ONE is named “BRI”...
A problem that troubles me;
His true name’s a mystery!
Known only, I guess to He,
(I know, I know, it should be
an object pronoun grammatically!)
And his mommy and daddy, maybe!

Sir, what will you breakfast on today? ”
Well, I'll have two bri-
oches with a wedge of Bri-
e, and then a bri-
sket of beef
Along with some coffee,
No, make it tea,
And toss in a shot of Bri-
stol Cream Sherry.
To keep things merry
As I ponder this quandary.
Do you think he’s told his wifey?

As his religion’s a bit shaky
I sniff a whiff of bri-
mstone in his vicinity.
Not of the Tribe, he’s had no bri-
ss; so maybe he’s at the bri-
nk of the great, deep, abyss
Because of the contents of his bri-
efs; but I guess he’ll cross that bri-
dge when he comes to it! We’ll see!

He isn’t Bri-
ttle; Nor is he Bri-
tish. He is certainly Bri-
lliant and quite a Bri-
ght light!

But could “He” perhaps be a “She, ”
The other Edwards, Bri-
tney? Well no, not a possibility;
We’ll just have to wait and see
To uncover his identity
To discover who might be
THE REAL BRI! ! !

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Bri's note: I really did NOT pay 'Gino' to write this!

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FOURTEEN: by Seema Jayaraman


Dawn's Aural Litany

Patter delicate feet, padding lightly
amongst crimson saucers erupts
righteous riots spontaneously
disrespect to dawns peace, bursts
winged foragers squabbling brazenly

hauled from slumber land abruptly
barely over headboard, extended nape
prise open a lash disobedient, flagrantly
popping one pupil, unfocussed gape
ensuing tree top bar brawl blatantly

cursing hidden raven, crowing nosily
unfocussed eyes surprise pair of robins
madly arbitrating chores domestically
hopping o'er delicate blossom crimsony
crested napes banner scarlet unapologetically

lashes as they rolled down, hauled rudely
atop the highest scarlet tulip crown
working curved hookbills furiously
a squawking majestic Jade, unyielding frown
into the trodden blossom blaring ominously

sighing loss of dreams, settling dormancy
drawing from a full headed cluster
holds a feebly trilling aural litany
lovebirds, gesticulating in full fluster
lashes fully opened by sounds heavenly
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Copyright ©Seema Jayaraman, Mumbai 5Nov2015 All Rights Reserved
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Bri's note: I have excused some of the misspellings, as Seema has good excuses for having them! ! ! read her 'About me' and you'll know what they are! ! :)

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THIRTEEN: by Charles Darnell


Drowned

Beneath a cold sea,
Fathoms down,
She settled long ago.
Breathing water is unnatural
For her species,
And, having no gills,
She died.

Time, crabs, and other
Scavengers made a meal
Of her remains,
Her bones picked clean,
And she lies,
In watery repose,
Her bones now home
To sea plants,
Dancing in the currents
Along the sea floor.

Long before, these white,
Brittle arms held
Warm children,
Caressed curls,
Reflected smiles in
Sparkling eyes.

Those eyes, long gone,
Leave sockets now for small
Fish to flee.
Her ribs now hold
A red lobster
Where once beat
A happy heart.

Her pelvic bones
Now mother a horseshoe crab,
Herself mother of millions,
And her long leg bones,
Bent crazily,
Anchor a coral colony.

Long ago she drowned,
Gave life while she lived,
Gives life still,
In this death.

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Bri's note: I did not find this in Charles' list of poems, though there were several listed on PH with the same title.
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TWELVE: by Jak Black


The Pit Pony.

Steel was his name, his coat iron grey.
Bred to work by night or day.
Low but broad, his strength plain to see.
For hard graft he’d earn a master’s degree.

Small pricked ears, his eyes large and kind,
His roman nose so well defined.
His large feathered feet were sure yet spry.
A heart and mind to do or die.

Born for a lifetime of work, underground.
In mining communities were these ponies renowned.
They’d taken over the job of mother and child.
The old method of hauling then restyled.

Steel would haul coal, each dram carried a ton,
From pitch black depths to greet the sun.
Lathered with sweat he’d toil all day.
At the end of the shift a square meal his pay.

A slave to man, he had no voice.
His home dusty darkness, he had no choice.
For two weeks every summer he was unconfined.
At loose on the common, no daily grind.

Two hundred pit ponies at their holiday home,
Acres of grassland in which to roam.
The sun on their backs, the wind in their hair.
Free from bondage, time to just stand and stare.

Two weeks quickly passes, back to the mine.
Hauling coal, once more, up that steep incline.
For twenty long years he’d give of his best,
Then off to slaughter and eternal rest.
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Bri's note: I find that 'graft' is 'mostly British' for:
'work; labor', unlike the definition common in the U.S.

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ELEVEN: by Della Perry


Searching

Gazing below, the jade water is as clear as a pane of glass
Golden, shimmering sand spreads like butter across the land
Noisy, busy birds fly over above white clouds
Soaring high then low on the wind
A new story told in every grain of salty sand.

The calm, cobalt sky, a blanket above the caged world
White figures dancing across the blue, like a shroud
Birds free, alive on warm air
A most beautiful land of white and blue
Lifetime's hidden in every storm cloud.

The wonderful, rolling meadows crocheted across the land
To live outside in this beauty for always I would
Chattering, winged angels fly from branch to stem
Nature's Eden, wild garden
A dream with each creature of the wood.

To flit between each part of the world
Free from the cage
And seek myself from above
I know I would if I knew I could!

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TEN: by Kelly Kurt


Head Of A Pin

It could happen at any time
In the distant past, a bottleneck
Ten thousand pairs sustained
Exponential growth bolstered
Dark Age plagues reduced harshly
Warring through time degraded
Button push now could purge
Annihilations of species have been environmental
Ice ages, volcanism, impact winters
Average extinction rates for mammals is fleeting
In geological time
As little as one million years
No species has yet been responsible for its own demise
Natural selection has enhanced
A comet could strike
Super volcanoes could obliterate
But I could win the lottery too
Eventually, the sun will consume
By then, either we will have grown up, wised up
Spread throughout the galaxy
Or destroyed ourselves long before
Whether incrementally, selfishly, devastating our environment
Or in one fell swoop, a maniacal conflagration
If self-inflicted, the Earth will better off
Rid of a provisional parasite
It is up to us
Now

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Bri's note: the title sounds vaguely Biblical to me. :)

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NINE: by Elena Plotkin


Geniuses Unite

The world was facing a catastrophic end,
The leaders had stopped playing pretend.
This wasn’t just a matter of grave urgency.
This was a world-wide emergency.
Lives were at stake, and not just the masses.
This emergency affected all of the classes.
Suddenly in an act of total desperation,
A message rang out in each nation,
“Geniuses Unite. Yes, Geniuses Unite.
We need your brilliant ideas to help us out.
We need ideas that will save the world.”
And so the Geniuses heard the call and ideas swirled.
They thought and argued and pulled out their hair.
They screamed and shouted and waved fists in the air.
And then suddenly the hair-pulling and fist waving ceased.
And there was such a calm silence almost a deathly peace.
What happened had all the geniuses died?
Did they kill each other? Was it a massive suicide?
But no, they were all still alive, no one was dead.
They just all reached an agreement instead.
The leaders all patted themselves on the back.
Finally they will have a plan to counteract.
The people celebrated as hope filled their hearts.
Families came together that had been torn apart.
Tears and laughter rang out through the air.
Gone was the misery, the worry, and despair.
And all this before the Geniuses had a chance to speak.
Can you imagine the joy and happiness next week
when the spokesmen for the Geniuses shares their plan
To save the planet, the world, the animals, and all of man?
And so finally the week had passed and the spokesman appeared.
It wasn’t at the UN like many believed but somewhere else via live feed.
He said “You needed a miracle, a plan, an idea to save the world,
And so we came together from every nation and the ideas swirled,
We thought, we argued, we pulled out our hair,
We screamed, we shouted, we waved our fists in the air.
And then someone said what we all knew was true,
‘A billion geniuses can’t fix what one idiot can do.’
And we unfortunately are less than a billion and you are definitely more than one.
So sorry to have to break the bad news but we are doomed every last one.'
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Bri's note: (c) 2013 Copyright Elena Plotkin

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EIGHT: by Valsa George


A Poem

As I wondered what I should write
And floundered in my own confusion
I thought – why not write about poems
That set me thinking what poems are
A poem could be anything, we know
At best it is distilled thoughts put into rhyme
Or a moment caught in time
A window glimpse into the world
An engrossing passion’s ardent curl
A snap shot of scenes from Nature- wild
Or a slice of life, birth or death

Sometimes it could be a yearning
Or an image long hung on a pole
A thought turned inside out
Or the emptying of a mind about to spill
It could be the liberation of a fancy
For long held in thralldom
A gnawing pain, long suppressed
Or a secret, never divulged

As I pondered over the subjects’ enormity
And a poem’s vast scope,
I asked myself- ‘Why hesitate? ’
Soon I felt a stir inside,
My thoughts broke loose
And a terrible block lifted off my head
My silence became audible
I embroidered these thoughts
Into the pattern of a poem

Here it is before you, have a look at it
Will it annoy you or will you enjoy!

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SEVEN: by Melvina Germain


(375) Faded Red Dress

There you were a sight to behold,
quietly sleeping, in shimmering folds.
No heart to disturb your precious rest,
I left you lying there in a faded red dress.

Dream my darling dream as only you can
listen to the song birds, hold them in your hand

I’ll take a walk several blocks away,
When I return we’ll start our day.
beautiful morning, bright and clear,
a glimpse of your shadow mystically near.

Dream my darling dream as only you can
Listen to the song birds, hold them in your hand

Your body laid still, no breathing came.
Fell to my knees and called out your name.
You left me that morning in a faded red dress.
Dreams of a future never will be blessed.

Dream my darling dream as only you can
Listen to the song birds, hold them in your hand

Now all I have left are the sweet memories,
of a beautiful woman, who composed my heart.
I cry every night as my hands firmly press,
the ruffles so sheer, of that faded red dress.

Dream my darling dream as only you can
Listen to the song birds, hold them in your hand.

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SIX: by John Westlake


257. The Perfect Relation-Ship

They walk around in the beaches of life
gathering wood and searching
looking for a partner
so together they can create a boat
to share their love

Once the one has been found
the ship building can begin
until it is ready to be launched on love's high seas
where it should belong

Once in a while a storm will arise
and their vessel be put under threat
the strongest will survive
the weakest will break up and sink
the occupants washed ashore to begin again

The strong ones may have children
who will grow up upon the deck
only when they are old enough will they be set ashore
to begin their own search

They walk around in the beaches of life
gathering wood and searching
looking for a partner
so together they can build
the perfect relation-ship

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FIVE: by Xelam Kan


Psychosis
Only few dare to see
the darkness of day,
when the sun shines
up in the sky.

But I am in search
of place, where
people may live
without ambition or mate.

My inflated senses are
obsessed with conciets
she yield
from the psychosis.

I pray thy blindness O heart,
better go and catch some Zs.
the pangs of spotlight
is not for you.

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FOUR: by Savita Tyagi


Esoteric Half

A life time of happening
My little heart is flooded with.
Filled to the rim experiences pour
Like waters in deep ocean,
Sweet, sultry, multi odoriferous.
Away from worldly struggle
When darkness deepens
Behind closed eyelids,
The inner chambers light up
With occult lights.
Body and senses laid to rest
Mind cajoles for life's forgotten sap.
Unique images like glow worms
Crawl from mind's crusty fissures
To create strange concoctions.
Upon steep planes of subconscious
Truth and illusion merged at once
crossing over three dimensions.
One who enjoys unperturbed
Vision and fantasy undisturbed
Itself camera, light and action
For dreams of sugar plum and evenings of fun;
My esoteric half extremely intelligent one
Lighting up the dim corners
Venturing through deep tunnels
Sustaining mental tribulations
Always alert and awake
Commands then all movements
And pleasures partake.

11.4.2013

Note:
Inspiration for this poem came while reading Bhagavad Geeta Ch.ll sholka 59.

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THREE: by Ray Hart


My Sinful Man

My sinful life says you have no worth,
Go ahead enjoy a life of laughter and mirth,
That is the old man in me saying his last,
For slowly he’s becoming my past.

I search in every corner of my life,
Without His strength, I would seek strife.
For I am but a sinful man,
Moreover, left to self would deny God’s plan.

Into every dark corner, I reach to cleanse,
As I do the Spirit, my life He mends.
The man of sin is hunted down and sanitised,
He will not go without his chilling cries.

Nevertheless, washed in the blood am I,
I care not for the old man of sin and his cry.
This saved sinner has his name in heavens book,
Your salvation gained His death it took.

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TWO: by Is It Poetry


Russian Gays Are The American Sex Offender's

Be neutral and at best if you can not
fan the flames of hate mixed with your fear.
Russia and their gays
the United States their Homophobia
by creating sex offenders.

Russia clearly harms their gays
America launched preemptive strikes
by paying Doctors
to read the minds of those and claim
that you are now a sex offender.

Which is worse a gay they open are
you claim that they
have human rights but would you
let them raise your children
I thought not.


The police in
America luring in the false made claims
their activities fully spent in time with
a minor when their not.
Russian members of another anti-gay groups
openy gain the publics ignorant confidence
to do their dirty work.

By seeking to lure each gay (wo) man out then
to an online gay sexual site.
The Russian homophoic sting operation, and as in America
their placed on T.V.
Physical and emotional abuse, and this abuse in posting on
the internet and the video to humiliate then runs.

Not surprisingly,
the perpetrators their like here are proud of their efforts,
with access to their producers and not rethink
your position to ideas
where like here like there the publics free to them attack.

Remember in Russia
there's a gay behind each leafy bush
as ignorance grows and shows.
While in America
a pedophile like laws unwise that states
that you are going to snatch and rape
every single white lost child.

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Bri's note: 'homophoic' I'm sure is meant to read 'homophobic'. I am not making other 'corrections' this time.

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ONE: by Bri Edwards


Mary's Pet....[humor; Human Nature; Pets; Scary? ; Grade School]

Mary was a little weird, a fact with which you'll soon agree.
And if this story sounds familiar, I hope you'll forgive...ME.
She attended Beavis Elementary, just around the block.
She left for school each school day, by eight a.m. by the clock.

Now, one day was 'Bring a Pet to School With You Day'.....;
that could turn out hectic, but NOT tragic most would say.
After all, what could eight-year-olds bring to class that could break ANY rule? ?
(Soon, you'll find you are wrong, my friend. Mary was weird.... and cruel.)

She could have taken her lamb to school, as in the nursery rhyme.
Her classmates would enjoy it. The thought's almost sublime.
But what instead did Mary take from her home menagerie?
Something cold and sinister that would make even teachers flee!

When Mary got to school that day no one paid her any mind.
(She was weird of course.) That she appeared with no pet was fine.
The day progressed quite nicely with dogs and cats; even one rat.
But Mary fidgeted more than usual in the BACK ROW where she sat.

Now as I said there were lots of cats and dogs (and one guinea pig, some birds) :
that day the poor janitor was kept busy, sweeping up their turds.

Each child was given time in class, to show and talk about their pet,
but a half hour before the recess bell, Mary had not talked or shown one......yet!
When she was the last one left, who'd not stood at the teacher's desk,
the teacher, Mrs. Apple, called her up; she thought Mary was a PEST.

'Mary dear' (that's what Apple SAID, though it was NOT.....what she thought)
'you are now the last one, my dear, left to show us what you've brought.'

At that, with a smirk on her face, Mary reached for her cute rear;
one especially precocious boy thought 'her ass? ', with hope but ALSO fear.

So Mary reached down the back of her skirt, and SLOWLY she did take....
a two foot long, glistening-black, Tanzanian hooded cobra snake.

The teacher fled; some children did too, but SOME were mesmerized.
They could NOT believe what Mary had brought though they saw it with their eyes.
The 'Day' was NOT as successful as the principal hoped it'd be.
Five classmates died of cobra bites. Three are still in comas. Hee-hee.

(Nov.2012)
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bri :)

Topic(s) of this poem: poems


Poet's Notes about The Poem

November's showcase in 2015 has several 'Sections'. See 'Section' 'A' for details. Section A has shorter poems.
thanks. enjoy! bri :)

This section 'B' is for poems containing more that 12 but less than 51 lines. 'Second poems from poets' and 'late arrivals'...of this length....can be found in Section C.

Section D is reserved for even LONGER poems!

Comments about A Showcase For P H Poets: November 2015: Section ' B '...[10th Monthly Showcase Of Poems; Some Changes; A New Poem Introduction! ; “fun”? ] by Bri Edwards

  • Clarence Prince (11/25/2015 10:30:00 AM)


    Blessings to you, Bri, for finding time to put all those poems together in your PH showCases; we are all blessed to have you here! Take care and I wish you enjoy a great ThanksGiving when it comes! (Report) Reply

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  • Charles Darnell (11/22/2015 4:43:00 PM)


    Wish I had time to comment on each piece, but enjoyed the ones I read especially Kelly Kurt's, Lora Colon's and Brian Johnson's. (Report) Reply

  • Seema Jayaraman (11/16/2015 7:23:00 AM)


    thanks Bri, to have finally made it to your hall of fame and with so many luminaries I am already following on PH with their best musings so neatly arranged here for easy reading.. (Report) Reply

  • Savita Tyagi (11/8/2015 7:20:00 PM)


    This is certainly a better arrangement. Read and liked Ray Hart's poem. Seeking pleasure can not be sin though. (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, October 28, 2015

Poem Edited: Sunday, November 22, 2015


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