April 2023 Showcase Of Five Poems I've Enjoyed Recently Here On Poem-Hunter....[ Poems; Poets; And A Lot Of Other Things! ! ] Poem by Bri Edwards

Introductory Poem:

'Time moves on' some SAY, and I too shall move on some DAY! Don't cry, not yet,
because no 'moving day' is yet set. I've had a good life and now feel not much regret.

Now, as CIRCUMSTANCES DO ME ALLOW, I'll loaf about like one cute Calcutta cow,
and share some poems & MESSAGES with 'you' on this site. In fact I'll do so now.


POEMS:


1 -

April, Dear April


April, dear April, I beg you come soon -
And bring your sweet primroses too.
Let them join in with the daffodils' play,
As skies offer sunshine anew.

April, dear April, my blessed spring child,
Ornate in your yellow and white,
Teasing the birds into trilling their songs
And dancing to music of flight.

April, dear April, come enter my dreams
And rid me from cold winter chills.
Banish the rain and those blustery winds
And warm up our countryside hills.

April, dear April, I know you can't stay -
You have to move on ‘till next year.
And though I shall cherish the glory of summer,
You'll always be my month most dear.


Mark R Slaughter

Tuesday, February 17,2009

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2 -

An October Night (Halloween Poem)


the wind whispers
a wary warning
There was plenty, still
early this morning

These primal urges
are hard to fight
an unholy diet
a dark appetite

The pavement scrapes
with scuttling leaves
I'll pull the drapes
and hope to deceive

The moon suffocates
in ominous clouds
shut off the lights
heart beats too loud

then the neighbor's gate creaks
but its not the the wind
that seeks to feast
on fearing humans

red brake lights
a car crawls by slow
the shadowy shapes
on my dark doorstep know

that the empty window
of my house lies..
the horrible truth
hides deep inside

everything tonight
could have been just dandy
but now the demons have wrath -
Cause I ate all the candy!

Happy Halloween!


Chuck Audette

Monday, October 31,2005

Bri Edwards' Notes:
The author amuses me with his humor at the end of an otherwise
serious-sounding tale, and I feel I understand the poem well enough.
And I enjoyed the rhymes and alliterations.
But I've found what I consider grammatical errors, which alone don't
cause me to reject his poem, but I'd rather not see errors. Some of
'them' may be his 'style'. I don't know.
In stanza 5, I believe 'its' should be 'it's', the contraction for 'it is'.
Such an error is an easy error to make, ....even for writers who 'should
know better', like me!
I also feel there are some punctuation marks missing, AND that
some sentence-starting words are lacking capital letters.

I'D define 'WRATH' here as: 'Fierce anger; vehement indignation; rage.'
But I'd not take 'wrath' too seriously here!
On the poem's page on PH, the author gives titles of his which you
might like if you like this one.

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3-

April 14,1865 At Ford's Theater


A comfortable rocking chair, a woven shawl upon his lap,
Lincoln sat in the Presidential box with trouble lurking at his back.
His guard had a terrible thirst-which he quenched at the neighboring bar.
The war was over after all-Who expected an attack?

Booth stealthily climbed the stairs, with murder on his mind.
John Wilkes spotted his prey, through a hole he had drilled in the door.
The South must be avenged! He would salvage Southern pride.
He unloaded his derringer in Lincoln's head; the last Union dead of the war.

Clara Harris was screaming in terror, as Booth slashed her Beau to the bone.
'Sic Semper Tryrannis: ' Booth shouted, announcing the deed he had done
Booth's spur caught on the star spangled bunting as he vaulted toward the stage.
Booth limped across to the door- His leg broken, bad luck for a man on the run.


John F. McCullagh

Thursday, April 9,2015

Bri Edward's Notes:
Abraham Lincoln was the 'Civil War President' of The United States
of America until he was assassinated (killed) in 1865, by John Wilkes Booth.
'Bunting' is a flag or decoration made of bunting'. AND...'Bunting was
originally a lightweight worsted wool fabric used by the Royal Navy to make flags. Today, bunting can be any festive decoration made of fabric - or even something plastic, paper, or cardboard designed to look like fabric'
'Clara Hamilton Harris (September 4,1834 - December 23,1883) was an American socialite. She and her fiancé Major Henry Rathbone were the guests of President Abraham Lincoln and First Lady Mary Lincoln when John Wilkes Booth shot the president at Ford's Theatre in April 1865.'
'Sic semper tyrannis is a Latin phrase meaning 'thus always to tyrants'. In contemporary parlance, it means tyrannical leaders will inevitably be overthrown. The phrase also suggests that bad but justified outcomes should, or eventually will, befall tyrants.'



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4-

When He Dies

When he dies leaving me to grieve
and nature drags him off
for worms, I'll buy a parrot,
I'll teach it to say 'I love you'
Ti amo in Italian,
and 'go to the toilet now
if you require lunch'
or 'where are your manners' and
'enough of your rhetoric' the way he does.

When he dies, I shall give the parrot
dirty looks and tell it to be quiet,
demand it stop snoring and farting and barracking,
berate it regularly to keep me sane.
When he dies, I shall hold my own counsel,
just me, myself and the parrot
for all that I know is of no
concern to others;
his secrets will die with me.

I'll cry, blooded tears, alone when he dies,
share my lunch with the parrot,
preach to the parrot, worry the parrot; poor parrot,
and it will be the most handsome,
most clever parrot in the all the world,
though ugly with rage at times, as he was.
Are you surprised?
That's right, for when I feel sad, I will remember all his faults
so that I can bear to live without him.


Ruth Walters

Saturday, April 1,2023

Ruth Walter's Notes:
'This is a funny little love poem and I cry when I read it back to myself.'

Bri's Notes:
I haven't, yet, asked my PH friend, RUTH, whom she refers to with 'He'.
Is 'he' a person she's lived with or is 'he' from her imagination? I think he IS a person.
Sometimes READERS MAY NOT WANT TO KNOW all thr facts/details, preferring to interpret a poem as he or she wishes to. I have written many poens with imagined characters, and still I've had 'a tear or two' by the end of some of them. What do YOU, my reader, think? ?

p.s. I admit that I am NOT absolutely sure if 'whom' or 'who' should have been used by me.
I'll never say: 'English is a language I've mastered! ! ! '

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5-

Paper Frills Decorative Holders For Turkey Legs....[ Kids; Parents; Food; Dining; Horror? ; Humor; Thanksgiving ]


(Some definitions are given AFTER the poem)


I don't dine in five-star restaurants; no frills I need while eating;
I've no desire for a waitress to help me with my.......seating.
But, in seeking new poem titles, it may seem I search the dregs*;
today I found 'Paper Frills Decorative Holders for Turkey Legs'.

I've seen photos of such holders, years ago, in magazines, but,
as you may have guessed, I don't dine on fancy food aka cuisines*.
Amazon advertized the Holders @ about 6 dollars for a pack of 8, but
I can lick my sticky fingers if I have to; at home I lick my own plate.

But it's not simply leg holders for drumsticks* which this poem is about.
In fact, what I thought of would perhaps cause a diner to shout, ....
and perhaps even run from her meal, panic showing upon her face,
forgetting she's dining in public, doing what others might call 'a disgrace*! '

What I THOUGHT OF:

I thought: What if I were seated at Grandma's house and was asked: 'Bri, ....
which part of this beautiful Thanksgiving turkey would YOU like to try? ? '
Let's say I was ten years old, and the drumstick 'holders' caught my eye.
I'd not seen a 'holder' before; I said 'drumstick'. Mom might say: 'Oh my! '

Well, except for the white paper holder, a drumstick was ALWAYS my choice,
....even though there were only two, and I knew a few, like my Aunt Joyce,
would want one too! Anyway, I was asked and what was I supposed to do? !
A drumstick with holder was mine, I held it high, and on it I began to chew.


What happened NEXT? !

All seemed ok at first. I fooled around with the 'holder'; I pulled away some frilly white fringe.
After a while, the holder loosened and I set the leg down, and then I began to CRINGE*.
Instead of seeing just the cooked end of a leg bone where, in life, the bird's 'foot' would be,
the bone beneath the holder began to lengthen, to grow! ! I wondered if others could see.

At first I tried to ignore 'it', as I scooped up peas I'd embedded in my mashed potatoes.
I poked my fork at the broccoli, tried some cranberry sauce. I'd have prefered tomatoes.
The holder was still hiding what was happening, and others were enjoying their food.
I WANTED to excuse myself from the table, but Mom would say: 'Bri, that's pretty rude.'

I peeked more under the holder, which was failing to stop what looked like scaly skin.
Yes, skin, shiny and black was forming on the lengthening bone that was within.
I tried, when I thought no one was looking, to put the leg in my lap in a cloth napkin.
But then my big cousin, Mike, said to me: 'Bri, keep eatin', boy, what's happenin'? '

A few more relatives looked over at me. I said: 'I'm getting full. I'll sit here and just rest.'
I was holding the 'leg' in my lap, and I was trying to decide on a plan which was best.
But, ALL OF A SUDDEN, I felt something clamp around my middle finger; it did HURT.
'MOM, I really NEED to leave the table NOW! ! ! ' Yes, that's what I did then loudly blurt*.


The Disgraceful Ending....for now at least

NOW my Mom was NOT my 'loving mom', and my dad also looked for sure upset.
Mom said: 'Bri unless you are desparate to use the toilet, DO NOT.............LET...
ME...hear.... another peep out of you! ' 'Yes, Mother' was my 'forsaken cry'*.
For a few minutes more I struggled to not cry and bolt* from the table. I DID TRY!

The pressure on my finger increased dramatically; I could see a few turkey toenails.
Before too long I felt like a boat, with hurricane-force winds filling my boyish sails.
And so I disobeyed my dear mom, as I screamed & ran outdoors, panic upon my face.
So help me G--d, I'll never forgive any of them if any should dare call me a disgrace!

The next Thanksgiving, I gave Aunt Joyce 'my' drumstick.


DEFINITIONS:

*dregs: I'm using dregs to suggest something left over when....
all the 'Good Stuff' is already taken by others.

*cuisines: It need not be fancy to be a cuisine, which may just....
mean food!

*drumstick: the (usually cooked for humans to eat) leg of a bird, NOT including
the thigh or the foot

* disgrace: I'll suggest: 'Loss of honor, respect, or reputation'

* cringe: 'To shrink back, as in fear; cower.'

* blurt: 'To utter suddenly and impulsively.'

* 'forsaken cry': I, Bri, am not sure how to define this. To me it indicates that I'd given up
the hope that Mom would just let me LEAVE, trusting me to know what was best for
ME. How could I have expected her to believe the truth IF I told her what was
happening?

* bolt: here: 'to move or proceed rapidly: dash'

Bri Edwards

Sunday, March 26,2023

Topic(s) of this poem: for kids, parents, food, thanksgiving, fantasy fiction, horror, humor

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END of this showcase!


THANKS, Readers, FOR STOPPING BY! !

bri edwards, aka Brian Edward Whitaker, now (in 'his mind') The KING of the U.S. state of South Carolina; you may all bow down to me; no kissing of feet is required (yet) .

:)