Section A In December 2016's ' A Showcase For P H Poets'... [ Up To 15 Poems From P H Friends; Expanding Horizons For P H Members & Visitors! ; Different Poems For Varied Tastes] Poem by Bri Edwards

As November comes to its final week.
allow me to ink some words quite meek**.
[they won't be heard above a mouse squeak]
'Please, at this showcase, will you peek? ? '

November's showcase was a rousing success,
for me, if not for many others, I do now confess.
I do my ‘thing' on PH and you all do ‘yours'…..but …
I'm sure many of you, like me, have other chores.

I like the ‘new' format of my/our monthly display,
but if YOU do not, all I can say is: 'A, B, C is OK …..
with me! '
So send me a poem(s) to share, or just you read,
and comment perhaps, …..OR simply pay no heed.

(November 24, 2016)

Bri :)

** definition 3: not violent or strong: moderate

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Some information for Contributors AND Readers of the showcases:

Each Section (A, B, and maybe C) will hold 15 poems, maximum. EACH Section will accept ONE poem per poet, any length, any topic, any style, BUT I, Bri, will decide which poems are used. Unless a poet has arranged for me to ‘help myself', I shall wait for poems to be offered by the authors, all of whom ALWAYS will receive recognition for THEIR words.
The poems need not be new, need not be on PH already, and need not be in English [but English translations of non-English poems will be appreciated! ].
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THE POETS (and titles) , up to 15, listed chronologically (more or less) in the order I received them:

1 - Daniel Brick

Between Them

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2 - Bharati Nayak

I

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3 - Lynn W. Petty

My Bookcase

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4 - Akhtar Jawad

Full World's Choice

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5 - Brian Johnston

Morning Traces of Love

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6 - Savita Tyagi

Icicles

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7 - Bri Edwards

He Died For ……YOU? …..[Sacrificial ‘lamb'; Man's Best Friend? ; Kind Of Short]

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8 - Clarence Prince

A Poetic Prayer! ! !

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9 - Andy Brookes aka Paul Brookes

Sessions On Sexuality And Saving Souls

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10 - Kim Barney

Buttered Corn

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11 - Della Perry

She Was Like A Rainbow - Rainbow Girl

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12 - Is It Poetry

Watching His Head Go In

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13 - John Westlake

410. I Love Being A Football

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Bri's Note: 'British-style' football aka soccer in U.S. ;)

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14 - Valsa George

Tidal Waves

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15 - Ruth Walters

Problem Solving

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[up to a maximum of 15 poems in each Section] [go to Section B? ]

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THE POEMS (and their authors) , up to 15 (usually) , listed in REVERSE ORDER of when I received them.


[up to a maximum of 15 poems in each Section]

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15 - by Ruth Walters


Problem Solving

Her problem was tough,
kind of dark and impenetrable.
So she decided to drill him,
made a hole,

got through his
hard enamel surface
and down to his sensitive,
nerve laden dentine.

Not content with that
she dug out the root of his issues,
exposing the pulp chamber
until it bled.

Yes she drilled right down
to his bone,
that osseous mass
in his thick, stubborn head.

Aha, she thought,
'I should have guessed
I see the trouble now
oh yes'

He didn't wriggle, cry or
spit, or even swear
one little bit
he was, cold, stone dead.

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14 - by Valsa George


Tidal Waves

In dazzled astonishment
She looked up from her reverie
As she heard the flap of wings overhead
And saw the flash of laser beams in her dim lit room
Before her, stood a winged seraph
A radiant silhouette with such gentleness and grace
As never beholden on any human face
With its hands raised in benediction,
It saluted Mary and said
'Blessed art thou amongst women…
……………………………………
The rest she heard in a trance.
Unable to comprehend what was said,
The girl looked up nonplussed.
Again it said, 'The Holy Ghost shall come upon thee
And a son shall be born of thee
Whom you shall call Jesus'

In that nanosecond of a new revelation
Did Mary's world shatter like glassware
Or did her virgin womb thrill with new life
Did she swim in the waters of joyful tidings?
Or gyrate in the sweeping swirl of tidal waves

For the girl already espoused to a man
In whose dreams his comely form had begun
Flitting in and out
Was it a moment of silent ravishment?
Or of stupefied bewilderment
Did a dagger cut through her heart?
Or did her soul take wing in flight? ? ?

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13 - by John Westlake


410. I Love Being A Football

I love being a football
and to hear the crowd roar
when someone puts me in the net
am happy to help them score

It's a wonderful feeling to be caressed
by the feet of players with skill
when they do the flicks and tricks
it gives me a cheap thrill

Am happy to roll along
or fly through the air
as long as I am the one they all want
about the rest I could not even care

Yes I love being a football
even if the goal posts are just two sticks
put your foot through anywhere on the pitch
as that is how I get my kicks

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12 - by Is It Poetry


Watching His Head Go In

Ahead of me the road I see, very few in walking can.
Certainty it's wide and long, despite its length,
I am.

My humming bird his tongue is long, a flower's
Neck is deeper still, until his head goes in.

Knowledge gained about it, as I watch it come each day.
Each day, he's in a different spot,
And even though each face he's kissed, he has solved
a thousand mysteries.

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Bri's Note: i know iip doesn't mind that i 'corrected' a few minor typos. :)

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11 - by Della Perry


She Was Like A Rainbow - Rainbow Girl

She was like a rainbow
A delight after a storm
Shimmering so elegantly
And vibrant against the backdrop of sky
Everyone gazing towards her magnificence
Delightful and dazzling like a summer bloom
But alas, gone too soon
For the arc of the rainbow
It slowly fades into the blue
Leaving us saddened, numb in the gloom.
She was like a rainbow
She shone so wonderfully, then
Faded and left us all behind.
Olivia, she will never be forgot.

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10 - by Kim Barney


Buttered Corn

My aunt and uncle's mailing address
Was in Auburn, Wyoming
But they actually lived just across
The border in Idaho.

We went to visit them once
When I was just a lad,
My sister and two brothers
With my mom and dad.

My two younger sisters
Had not yet been born
And we got into trouble
Over buttered corn.

They served us hot corn on the cob
And boy, did it taste great!
We slathered on the butter;
It made pools on our plates.

We also freely sprinkled salt
Because we loved the taste.
We gave our dad cause to find fault
Because of our great waste.

My father got quite angry
But didn't say a word,
That is, until much later
When he could not be heard
By my poor aunt and uncle.

He scolded us quite firmly
And made us feel ashamed.
Because we were so wasteful
We really should be blamed.

As punishment he told us
That never, never more
Could we put butter on our corn.
Now wait- -there is yet more:
Salt was forbidden, too.
From joyous pigs an hour before,
We now were feeling blue.

This new edict caused us to mutter.
How could we live without our butter?
And so we did devise a plan
We thought just might fool our Old Man.

We were still allowed
To put butter on our bread
And so we did
And slightly thicker than usual
But not so much
That Dad would notice (we hoped)
And then when he wasn't looking
We would roll the cob of corn
Across the slice of bread.

I don't remember now
If we got caught doing this
Or if I just got tired
Of trying to fool him
But I did stop doing it
And to this day
More than sixty years later
I do not put salt
Or butter on my corn.
I actually like it that way.

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9 - by Andy Brookes


Sessions On Sexuality And Saving Souls

When I came 'Out'
My parents insisted that I go to see her.
she holds out her cold fish hand.
behind her a picture of a very European Christ smiles down,
the very image of a white Anglo-Saxon male.
dressed in pristine robes the colour of the morning sky
a sickly smile plastered on his red lips, long blond hair
draped tastefully on his shoulders.

she blasts me with her double barrelled name.
her smug tightness blazed from icy blue eyes,
you think you know, she seems to imply but I am an enigma.
she does it to make me uncomfortable
but I have seen this high handedness before.
this right to be superior, to keep people off centre.
she does not know I am always off centre.
I quit enjoy it

her insecurity, which she tries hard to mask,
comes form her hollowed out interior.
I wonder if I prick her with words she'll burst
implode shattering shards of fine glass
like a light bulb and expose her elements.
she has the air of someone with deep seated pain
ready to burst. to release the putrid excrescence within.
easier for her to deal with other's problems than her own I think

how do you feel about what you are she asks,
its meant to be probing
but really it just an opening gambit..
well how do you? I ask reflective.
I know how to play the game, I see her wince,
it is just the flicker of an eyelash but there all the same.
we're here to talk about you she smiles thinly.

I think you're much more interesting,
I say, all those letters after your name,
like a row of tiles in Scrabble.
I have back footed her I know but she,
to give her credit, recovers.15 all I think
we tussle through the rest of the session
probing each other for responses
never giving ground.
why do you hate women she asks,
as if this is the route to and the root of my sexuality
I don't, I say, I just prefer men
but I love to be in women's company.

Well it's a life style choice she says you could choose otherwise.
No I say buying a new car or choosing to live in a certain area
is a life style choice. I have no choice
except to accept or deny and that is no choice at all.
with Jesus she says anything is possible and
you're not going to get much out of these sessions if you don't at least open you mind to other possibilities she responds
but she knows she has lost me.
In a final desperate ploy she asks me to pray with her
I do, more out of politeness, after all it seems to make her feel better.

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8 - by Clarence Prince


A Poetic Prayer! ! !

Lord as we look to Thee today
Protect us from any temptation
And lead us in ways of soberness
That we will do all things righteously
Turn us away Lord from doing wrongs
We need your guidance everyday
Lord as we look to Thee today

We are weak but You are strong
We need Your help to take us along
Help us according to Thy words
Allow Thy words to work for us
It's for goodness' sake we truly lust
And in Thee we've placed our trust
Lord as we look to Thee today

We are looking to You for enough
Give us each day even just enough
We know all Your words are true
Upon Thy promises we will rely
Then help us this day to get by
We know You hear our every cry
Lord as we look to Thee today

Pour out great blessings down to us
So that upon Thee we will focus
By which You will be glorified
And our souls will be satisfied
According to Thy words we pray
Supply all our needs without delay
Lord as we look to Thee today.

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7 - by Bri Edwards


He Died For ……YOU? …..[Sacrificial ‘lamb'; Man's Best Friend? ; Kind Of Short]

He was born in a quiet stable, amid livestock;
where His life would lead Him would be …..a shock.
Or ….did He know already?

His infancy and youth were quite routine.
He matured. His devotion to people was keen.
It seems …..to save Men's lives He was Fated,
But until He was a young adult, His fate waited …
for Him.

Then He was put on a 'fast-forward track', and ….
from that moment there was no looking back.
He'd performed miracles, or so some had said,
and His greatest one was yet to come. But it would make …..Him ……'dead'.

He was attended by many, was poked and prodded.
Some had doubts. Others had faith and their heads nodded.

He was securely fastened before His blood was shed.
He felt at one point: 'I'VE BEEN BETRAYED'. His Fate!

With the process started, His movements ceased.
Later, His wound was wrapped; He appeared deceased.
BUT, the next day ‘life' returned. He was lifted up.
Now, again, He felt [at least nearly] like a pup.

Things were very much changed. He saw new faces.
And soon He was being put through the paces ….
of a medical research Dog, …….with an Artificial Heart!
If He could have spoken, He'd have said: 'Doc, how great thou art! '

arf! Arf ARFFF! !

(October,29,2016)

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6 - by Savita Tyagi


Icicles

In a night of icy rain
Icicles jingle on my window
Like musical notes
Of silvery crescendo
For earth's winter score.

The crystal decorated grass
With shimmering rain drops
Is a nurturing gift from the gods
To their distant cousin earth-
In need of heaven's grace.

Affluent with silken pearls,
The crimson berries are
Glowing in Christmas light.
The sky displays an occult
Luminosity at celestial height.

The reflective solitude of
The hazy Christmas night
Spreading calm of Nature,
Is wrapped in a chilled gown
Of amazing wondrous warmth.

This is the holy night of
Pure beauteous calm,
Of love's dripping in
Icicles formed.

May peace be upon all.


(12.22.2013)

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Poet's Note: As you can see it is an old poem. It will be part of an anthology book next year. With this poem just want to wish you and all our poet friends a Merry Christmas and happy holidays.
Savita

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5 - by Brian Johnston


Morning Traces of Love

I love to wallow in the warmth that you have left behind,
That effervescent quality of love that says you're near,
A snail like trace that shimmers on the bedsheets in my mind,
Now lying where you were with still warm quilts pulled up to ear.

The perfume of your breath gives bloom to pillow for your head,
As if rose petals were the only crown you ever wear,
The parting glow of pearl like teeth make human lips more red,
And softness born of breast and thigh must struggle to compare.

The bread of heart behind your words like poems feed my soul,
The umbrella your presence brings, pure shelter, brooks no change,
The servant's role, that on most days, would seem your only goal,
Where lives the man so foolish he one hair would rearrange?

(Nov 28,2016)

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4 - by Akhtar Jawad


Full World's Choice

Fine Arts and Literature beautified by you,
Is there anything not dignified by you?
Where there is beauty it's not a man,
It's a woman and it's only a woman,
We walk and she moves like winds of springs,
We talk but she doesn't as she always sings,
We loose our beauty with the growing age,
But you! Mother Teresa the beautiful sage!
May be black or brown, may be white or pink,
A woman, a write of heart in colorless ink,
She is a rhymed poem in a touch script,
Close eyes, open heart to read the encrypt,
You say you are only the half world's voice?
Sweethearts be sure to be full world's choice!

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3 - by Lynn W. Petty


My Bookcase

There is a friendship in my books,
Each a confidant that fits the vagaries
Of my mood.
Alone, sitting in my study, surrounded
By my bookshelf friends,
I find consolation sharing conversation
With Dante, Goethe, Homer.
I find comfort knowing
Their knowledge has sustained the test
Of time and censure.
What solace to walk along the stream
Banks of the mind;
To tramp the hills of thoughtful expectation,
Through an interchange of learning.
My relationship is special.
They ask for nothing but, give their all.
They commit but, never ask for commitment.
They are never clinging, pressuring or reprimanding.
As select intelligence, never failing;
They aspire only to my intellectual needs.
They light my loneliness through
The illumination of my mind;
Giving substance to the images of my brain,
Leading me to the phantasmal embrace
Of Juliet, Beatrice, Miranda,
Or the battlefields
Of King Arthur, Roland or El Cid.
They are the voices from the past, guiding
Me through the fields of discovery;
Filling my soul with understanding.
As shadows descend upon the evening of my life,
They grant me strength.

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2 - by Bharati Nayak


I

Where was I?
I rose from null
And one day
Vanish into void
For a short period
I play
On this stage.
I pluck my words
From the trees
There are millions and millions
I choose a few only
To write here
And put my sign
Because when they will come
They will find me
In these letters
Because in these letters
I am and will always be
In my presence and absence
For generations from here
Because these words
Were there and will be there
In their absence and presence.

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1 - by Daniel Brick


Between Them

Images near the center
of my brain now cluster
in a mental valley
in reflective togetherness
independent of my thought control.
'We no longer want to be part
of your brain activity, '
they tell my ambassadors.
'It's just electrical charges
and synapses, fiery emptiness,
activity to no good end...
We find our new identity
in the spheres of the Outer Mind:
its antiquity, its diaphanous unity,
its vast extensions. Of these things
you are willfully ignorant! We lived
long enough in your decaying labyrinth
of impulses and flashes of connection.
We seek the deep repose, the ample
spaces, the openings into a heightened
existence. Can you comprehend this? '

My ambassador images returned
and resumed their brain activities,
chastened and confused but faithful
to my thought control...How I am
torn between these faithful images
and these dissident ones. Who am I
to judge between them?

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NOW: if you have read your 'fill' from the treats above, please consider going to Section B of December's showcase.

Thanks

bri :)