'Section B In October 2016 …a Showcase For P H Poets …. [to Each Her/His Own; Time: Its Limitations; Personal Preference; Giving And Receiving; Usually-Monthly Display]' Poem by Bri Edwards

If Section A has filled with 15 offered 'first poems' by now,
or some 'second poems' have been submitted, to you I'll bow,
...and place the overflow of 'firsts', and all 'seconds', here,
in Section B. And to each writer & reader I'll raise a beer....
OR Dr. Pepper soft drink/soda, supplied by Johnston (Brian) ...,
who, because his poems are NOT as fine as mine, ...will be cryin'.

Yesterday I wrote a poem to entertain you all,
though, to please everyone is a goal very TALL.
My main goals in supplying a monthly showcase …
are to commune with friends, AND have a safe place …
to share our thoughts, our writing skills, and such.
A few poems I ask of you poets; that aint' too much …
..is it?

But if you don't have the urge to submit, that's ok.
If you just come to read, NOT comment, it's OK too.
But if you submit and/or comment, then I'll say:
'Thanks for making this ‘nicer' for both me and YOU! '


(September 26,2106)

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*****[ It is nice to receive comments on the showcase page,
but I think it would be even nicer, if the comment deals with
a particular poem, if the comment is sent directly to the
author of the poem. :) bri

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SPECIAL BRI'S NOTE.... on the poems presented in the showcases.

From time to time, I suggest changes in another poet's poem presented for viewing in my usually-monthly showcases; I also do this even when they have NOT been offered! ! ! I do not insist that the changes be made, and sometimes I'm not sure I want to make them.

I am especially fond of suggesting spelling corrections [a task which gets 'sticky' when a word has alternate spellings, especially words spelled one way in my country (U.S.) and another way in 'British' lands, such as U.K. and India]. I also like 'contractions' to have the 'required' apostrophe(s) . Typos are common, and I make them myself at times, but I don't wish to make it seem that misspellings et al are 'correct English'. ok?
thanks.

bri :) [proofreading more than once will sometimes help]

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********* I made a MAJOR CHANGE [in SEPTEMBER] in my showcase presentation. I shall use the first poem submitted by each of the first 15 contributors to fill a SECTION A.

For 'second poems' of contributors each month, plus any 'first poems' received after SECTION A is 'FULL' of 15 'first' poems, i will have a SECTION B, on a fresh sheet of computer space on my PH site.

So each month there will be two showcases listed in my PH list of my poems, with one title ONLY DIFFERING from the other because one will have 'A' and one will be 'B' in my poem's title. I hope this is clear to all of you! ! !


IF 15 poets do not submit poems by, let's say the third week in the month, i shall close the Section A and put any more poems submitted into Section B, up to fifteen (15) poems, including 'late-arrival first poems' and any 'second poems'. Confusing? I hope not, because i don't want to try to explain it again! :) :)

With two (2) sections, i hope to make it more convenient for (especially) dedicated submitters, and readers, and ME to 'use' the showcase. I hope i am correct. I was prompted to do this by one of my 'good PH friends', Savita Tyagi. Thanks. Feel free to tell me if you like the new way or not.
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Section B's: [[I'M PUTTING TOGETHER A SECTION C FOR NOVEMBER, STARTING TODAY, Oct.21st.]]


THE POETS AND THE TITLES: [listed in chronological order as they were received, from first to last]:

1 -Aries Profanisaurus [formerly John Westlake]

359. The Hippopota-mouse

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2 - Eugene Levich

Watching Birds On The First Dawn Of Autumn (23sept16)

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3 - Annette Aitken

The Circle Of Life

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4 - Bharati Nayak

I Speak Not

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5 - Savita Tyagi

A Mom's Point Of View

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6 - Paul Brookes

Autumn's Descent

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7 - Della Perry

Moths In The Louve

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8 - Clarence Prince

The Cry Of A Son

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9 - Douglas Scotney

Idioglossia

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Bri's note: YES, it is a real word! but new to me.

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10 - Tom Billsborough

Moonlit Night

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11 - Stephen Katona

Ginny The Cat Rescuer

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12 - Is It Poetry

............. A Book I Read Said It Could Happen To Me

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13 - Valsa George

A Song Of Defeat

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14 - Bri Edwards

Death In A Rhododendrom

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15 - Brian Johnston

Ph: Family: Surviving Your Own Life

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Bri's Note: You may find Brian's poems more easily if you type, into a PH search box, just the part after the second colon. :)

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There SHALL BE a Section C this month, October. bri :)
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THE POEMS: [listed in REVERSE chronological order, with the first received at the bottom of the list & the last received at the top of the list]

There MIGHT be a Section C this month, October. bri :)


p.s. i DID start a 'C Section', as of late October

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15 - by Brian Johnston


Ph: Family: Surviving Your Own Life

My father and I did not share all that much,
More like passing a truck on the road
Parent's squabbles I overheard offered me clues
And at times I caught glimpse of his load.

His freight always sealed with a padlock in back,
Any breakdowns he kept to himself,
His frustrations were private, his eye on the road,
His deliveries always top shelf!

His company's rules left my Mom on the bench,
He in truth, perhaps liked it that way,
For it left her in charge of all family chores,
His great weakness was children at play!

Long hours of hard driving he'd learned from his dad,
His attempts to steer children went flat,
And his road map to family fuzzy at best
Little Grace for him, tit for his tat.

My mom had unknowingly married success,
So her tears rarely bought her a break,
Childhood poverty left (like a tread in the dust)
Her true voice was the sound rivers make.

Though truthfully she trucked a lot of the load
That my dad sometimes took credit for,
Supple reed that could bend so that he didn't snap,
Her support for him not metaphor.

Her leaving him really was stuff of my dreams
Thought occurred though she might leave me too
Still I fantasied she'd find more happiness then
A true blessing from child's point of view.

My sister experienced similar pain,
For my father's rules always came first
But the bonds she and I formed helped both of us feel
Being male didn't have to mean cursed.

There's mystery still in just how we survived,
But maturity opened new doors
As we learned how to dance to songs Dad couldn't hear,
In between and in spite of our chores.

If favor and love seemed in quite short supply
When he traveled then freedom was ours,
For when chores were done Dad's control died on the vine
And we lived for these magical hours.

My books, rockets, music, and R/C airplanes
Did a lot to help fill in the holes,
I found mentors who lovingly showed me their world
Now my wizards of alternate roles.

My dad never once said 'I'm proud of you son! ',
Didn't want me to get a 'big head, '
Good grades simply expected as if they were chore,
Consequences of failure unsaid.

Our family's glue always duty not love,
I am sure this is how he was raised,
The worst beating I got? I forgot to mow lawn!
Mom and Sister took off, Dad was crazed.

Mom's tears just ignored, how predictable that,
Torn to shreds was my trust in her love!
But if Mom's love was flawed, did Dad's even exist?
God himself dead in heaven above!

Yes, that was the day that I learned how to hate,
Dad's needs and his goals? 'Go to hell! '
It was day he lost heir, that my family died,
And the day I disowned him as well.

Though I was a boy perhaps nine years of age
My eyes only 'looked out' after that,
For his business, his life, now meant nothing to me
With the world he built smelling like scat!

Child's error that I thought my dad had no pride,
Just because it was not shown to me
In rebellion youth often believes he's escaped
But just Grace has the power to free.

Rebellion itself means you're likely enslaved
If you're not him where's freedom of choice
After all, even broken clock's right twice a day
How can this be an authentic voice?

The fact you find value in some other path
Doesn't mean he is totally wrong.
And the fact on occasion he grievously erred
Doesn't mean yours is far better song!

Spent much of my adult life not being Dad
Always viewed overtime with disdain
Nothing ever should mitigate family time,
Lived in fear I might cause my wife pain.

Mom's misery made kids think Dad was to blame
She, an artist, faced demons alone,
With Dad's focus aloof to the needs she expressed,
And yet later she bloomed on her own.

The marriage that I feared was destined to hell
Wound up bringing our parents some grace.
For our mom, not becoming a business savant,
Saw her art bring a smile to Dad's face.

Deciding to search for new truth on my own
College Science seemed like my best bet.
An approach to what's right with no feelings involved,
As I dreamed of my lost safety net.

On joining the Peace Corps in college third year
I felt sure I'd meet Damocles sword,
But Dad gave not a caution and when I returned
My two-year diversion ignored.

When Vietnam War came I tested 1-Y
For I'd put my right hand through glass door,
When I finished my Masters joined Peace Corps again,
Seemed I'd whetted an urge to explore.

My life's greatest irony came when Dad died
Turned out my life was what he had dreamed,
At his grave his best friend shared his pride in his son,
With one word his existence redeemed.

My marriages, job paths, won't tell you much more,
Though my upbringing brought gain and loss,
I've found pain a good teacher and ditto mistake,
Life works best when 'buck stops with the boss! '

For me Science showed itself lacking in warmth
And relationships came to the fore,
Now the give and take found in emotional life
Is my joy every morning and more!

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14 - by Bri Edwards


Death In A Rhododendron …… [ Nature; Predator/Prey In-Miniature; Invertebrates; Medium]

As I came out from behind a backyard bush,
where I'd gone to secretly pee,
I paused to admire its clumps of purple blossoms,
and there I spied a silent …..bumblebee.

I stared at the bee (I was very close) ,
and then I stared some more.
The flower's inner surface was near-white,
and the bee was near the flower's core.

I waited for the striped bee to fly off,
but that darn bee never did budge.
THEN I saw the yellow spider sucking at the bee's neck,
like I would feast on a piece of fudge.

I think the spider had injected the bee,
turning the bee's innards into soup.
Part of bee would be converted to spider tissue,
and part of bee would become spider poop.

I'm writing this sitting outdoors in a chair,
and I just noticed a small spider on my sleeve.
It's a teeny-weeny (little) spider, BUT,
if I see a GIGANTIC spider coming, I think I'll leave!

(May 30,2014)

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13 - by Valsa George


A Song Of Defeat

I hammered some words
Out from the quarry of my brain
They fell around in shards;
Some like boulders, some like rocks and rubble
I picked them up one by one.
Block on block, I piled them up
Thinking I could build a ‘pleasure dome'

But,
When it was time for the workman
To marvel over the beauty and wonder
Of his dream creation
His masonry tumbled down
Like sand castles built
By little hands on sea strands
Or dunes of quicksand sliding down

I have lost count of the times,
This has happened before.
Now that I stay resigned,
Amid a heap of debris

Is there any use feeling remorse?

Like Nero fiddling on his harp
When Rome was burning
I sit on this pile of wreck
Piping my thoughts away
In the cusp between victory and defeat
Exacting as much ecstasy as I can
Before the truth looms large
In all its stark nakedness!

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Bri's note: Having Googled 'Nero fiddled', i have read that he probably did NOT fiddle (in the musical sense) and, if he did, he probably did not have a fiddle aka violin, SO perhaps it WAS a 'harp'. :)

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12 - by Is It Poetry


............. A Book I Read Said It Could Happen To Me

Unlike the tempest or the spinning whirlpool
small bits of my mind float away.
Has it been to long my wit, lost word's I heard.
Dwelling alone my eye's are filled with tears.
Hurry help me place the leaf back on the tree.
I've seen the numb who cut to feel again.
I look through them now to see the other side.
Dimmer is a world where no one loves to sing.
Doomed to wander witnessed through your dream's
If I have lost all love then quicken me.

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11 - by Stephen Katona


Ginny The Cat Rescuer

A dog called Ginny rescued 900 cats,
From all kinds of habitats.
Her owner was Philip Gonzalez,
Who thanks her when he says:
'She gave me love, I gave her space,
She put the smile back on my face.
Cats treated her like a Queen,
If any were in trouble she'd intervene.
Theirs was her favourite smell,
Putting her under a spell,
As she made a beeline,
For every needy feline.'

'Half Siberian-Husky, half Schnauzer,
She could find a cat like a water dowser,
Never seeming to tire,
When there was one more friend to acquire.
One day she found on a building site,
Five kittens trapped in a pipe.
They'd fallen inside,
And without Ginny they'd have died.
Once, in a box full of broken glass,
She found a frightened little mass.
Heedless of cuts to her paws,
She saved a kitten with gentle jaws.

Ginny loved to spend every night,
Feeding hungry cats with great delight.
They'd flock to her and purr,
Saying, 'You're our Cat of the Year,
You have a Golden Heart,
And you're also really smart.'
When she saw a man who was blind,
She barked to change his mind,
From walking into a busy road.
Saving others was her code.
We should all try to emulate,
This star of a cat show in 1998.

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10 - by Tom Billsborough


Moonlit Night

This Autumn night
There will be moonlight in Fuchow,
And there she will gaze alone,
With the children now asleep,
So deep in their innocent dreams
And thinking of me in Changan.
Her black hair wet with the Autumn dew
And her jade pale arms,
Chilly with the cold:
When, Oh, when
Shall we be together again,
Standing side by side at the window,
Looking at the moonlight with dry eyes.

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Poet's Notes about The Poem:
This is an interpretation of a poem by the Chinese Tang Dynasty Poet, Tu Fu. It was written about 755AD. Tu Fu was temporarily held hostage by rebels at Changan, separated from his wife and children.

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9 - by Douglas Scotney


Idioglossia

Images being fraught,
artists carefully choose
which they use.

Some won't be caught
with a square or a bottle.

Some are labelled
idioglottal.

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8 - by Clarence Prince


The Cry Of A Son

My Father oh my Father
I don't want to work any harder
My whole life is nothing but bothers
Yet I'll accept no other title rather
Than a faithful son on whom you can rely
I'm on my knees hear my cry
Leave me not to struggle and die
When upon You I truly rely

Hear me heavenly Father
Move the line that borders
Between Thee and me
If only there is truly such a line
Could it be to cut me from Thy vine
Consider me and help me to get by
I'm on my knees hear my cry
Leave me not to struggle and die
When upon You I truly rely

My Father oh my Father
Must you not take a look farther
You need to see my situation
I'm much like a ship in mid ocean
That's having trouble with its sails
I'm on my knees listen to my cry
Leave me not to struggle and die
When upon You I truly rely.

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7 - by Della Perry


Moths In The Louvre

There are moths in The Louvre
A curious prison
Flitting insane faeries
Smacking tiny, furry wings
On the mounds of oil
Ochre, sienna, cobalt,
They don't care
Still they slap the paintings of faces.
Each line, each brush stroke so clear
But with no idea what they gaze upon.
The Mona Lisa, gathers dust
Fed up of being looked upon
Scrutinized
Her wan smile disperses when all eyes are gone
And in the spotlight of the night
Only the moths in their furry straight-jackets
Are privy to her true expression
Of caged sorrow.

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6 - by Paul Brookes


Autumn's Descent

The mist and fruitfulness
of Autumn as some poet said
are upon us.

they lie milky on the land,
obscuring the buildings, giving
fuzzy edges to the trees
that are rapidly shedding their
Summers foliage.

there is that indeterminate smell,
Autumn's own, in the air
smokiness and damp earth
mingles in deliciousness

apples from the tree in the garden
lie like mouldering tennis balls,
there being too many to harvest,
are left to rot back into the earth
giving sustenance to next year's crop.

the pink of the cyclamen's
peep out from the decaying leaves
giving a last blush of colour
before the grey of Winter sets in.

morning dew lies heavy on the lawn
which glows with a silver sheen
from the low hanging sun
in early mornings platinum light

as the days shorten and the nights,
speckled with diamond bright stars
circle invisible in heavens perpetual round.
masked by the city's light pollution.

happily these invisible orbs
are still seen within my imagination
clear in the memory of childish eyes
bright and fathomless.

so the world turns in her endless cycle.
towards Winter's cruel days
upon the back of Autumn's gentleness

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5 - by Savita Tyagi


A Mom's Point Of View

Here is why Hillary has trouble attracting Millennials!
This is the age group who rebels most from parental authority.
Specially Mom's!
Seeing a mom and a grand ma running for president-
Their reaction- Oh! No! Not Mom Again!

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Bri's note: i think that the 'Mom', mentioned in the title, is Savita.
:)

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4 - by Bharati Nayak


I Speak Not

I speak not,
As I feel
Speaking is not essential;
Silence speaks for itself.
Even eyes speak
Speak thousand words my quivering lips
Unsaid words travel million miles
Sun speaks
Moon speaks
Speaks the thunderstorm
When hearts meet
Mouth says no words
Only the closeness knows
How louder is the heart
When it beats
Beating the loudness of sea-roars.

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Bri's note: after communicating with Bharati regarding my uncertainty about how to read the first three lines [since the only punctuation she had supplied was a period at the end of the poem], she told me to use the punctuation i thought would be appropriate. So i DID. :)

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3 - by Annette Aitken


The Circle Of Life

A boulder's life it would be
when first it fell into the sea
bashed around for years on end
boulder then became extinct

Rediscovered it's now a stone
soft and smooth rough edges gone
feeble though all this may sound
destiny was still not found

Stone evolved into a pebble
grinding like a piece of metal
pebble dissolving into sand
building castles made by man

Circle of life begins again
sand rejoined with fresh cement
turned and twisted once again
a boulder's life begins again.

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2 - by Eugene Levich


Watching Birds On The First Dawn Of Autumn (23sept16)

Green Cay
Hot summer
The winged multitudes stayed north
But a cold Canadian wave sweeps
Down east tomorrow
And soon will return
Our glorious variety
Of avian beauties

Today, however, birds are rare,
Red-wings a pair
A boat-tail grackle
Fledgling moorhens
Without their mom or pa
A pair of large birds flying
I can't tell what they are

At the end of my walk
I meet Mrs. Wong
From Nanjing
With a lovely accent
In Mandarin

In south Florida
That is a rare bird indeed!

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1- by Aries Profanisaurus


359. The Hippopota-mouse

Ernie was a happy gray mouse
he lived alone in a large doll's house
had a diet varied and sweet
a nicer mouse you would not meet

Then one day he noticed he was getting really big
(possibly due to him eating like a pig)
but as ever larger his stomach grew
he suddenly noticed that the rest of him was too

Soon he was towering over dogs and cats
his furry stomach filled with fat
everything was huge even his ears
now he was something people respected and feared

He lives alone in a enclosure in a zoo
how this happened he hasn't a clue
where he was once tiny and sweet
he's terrified of crushing things with his enormous feet
when once he was a happy rodent in a doll's house
now he is a lonely hippopota-mouse


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Have a NICE day!

bri :)

look for a Section C, coming shortly to your screens! :)