Section C In January 2017'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 Different Tastes] Poem by Bri Edwards

Section C In January 2017'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 Different Tastes]



Section B this month is but nearly half full; it's true,
BUT I've got some for 'C' ……and LOTS more to do.
I've got to grovel AND implore [yes, that means to beg] …..
for MORE poems to knock this display UP a peg!

I'll make a resolution for the New Year: Our 2017.
I Resolve to bring Showcases like you've never seen,
For that I'll need some PH poets' fine cooperation,
Because MOST of the poems are not of Bri's creation!

I've toned my introductory poem down this time for 'C'.
I suspect some of last month's Readers thought less of me …..
for talking as I did about the future U.S. president's wife.
I hope last month's poem caused, between YOU and me, NO strife! !

(January 10th, 2017)

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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! ]

PLEASE PROOFREAD your poems! :)

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The POETS (and titles) , up to 15, listed chronologically (more or less) in the order I received them:



1 - John Westlake

542. Chains Of Guilt

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2 - Lynn W. Petty

Is The Doctor In?

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3 - Eugene Levich

Female Spiders

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
4 - Bri Edwards

Bri's Tombstone....[ Fun; Side One And Side Two Of My Epitaph; Fantasy; Death; Memorial; Very Short]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
5 - Clarence Prince

On A Certain Day

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6 - Della Perry

The Jack Russell

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7 - Bharati Nayak

Earthquake

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8 - Andy Brookes

Sgraffitto, Graffiti And Alphabetty Spaghetti Rain

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9 -? ?

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10 -? ?

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


15 - by? ?


?
?
?
?
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11 - by? ?


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10 - by? ?


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
9 - by? ?


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
8 - by Andy Brookes


Sgraffitto, Graffiti And Alphabetty Spaghetti Rain

I dreamed it rained the alphabet
raining like alphabetty spaghetti
Tee's and O's and F's and Gee's
which joined to make words
as they fertilised the white paper fields
threaded through with streams of ink.

soon the rain cleared and left,
there on the wet pavements,
words, lines and phrases,
everything that had to be written
just lying around waiting
just for me to pick them up.

in anguish I saw the letters
flowing down the drain,
a spiralling vortex of words.
how many poems were being lost?

bravely I struggled against the tide
but the dam had burst
and I woke thinking, how many
myriads of poems I had lost.
thoughts that skimmed the brain
to be lost in the ether,
never to be born.

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7 - by Bharati Nayak


Earthquake

Me, the Earth
You see my beautiful face
The beautiful sky and greeneries
Lovely flowers and sweet chirping birds

You dig
Dig and build
Your sky rise

You burn
Burn my woods
You cut
Cut my forest

You stop
Stop my flow of rivers

The exhausts of your vehicles
The soot of your industries
The toxins
Of your weapons
Pollute
My water and air
My children
Animals and birds
Forest and flowers
Die of exhaustion

I cry
Cry of pain
Cry of anguish
Cry out of anger
Boil and boil, under
My crust

I heave hard
Boil anger
Shake and shake
I want to bring down
Your sky rise
Crush them to ground
I become angry
Really angry
I shake your pride
Crush your vanity
Raze them to ground
Then I sigh of relief
And become normal
Once again
I engage in my creation.

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6 - by Della Perry


The Jack Russell

He reclines at the rear of the grey sofa
Imprinting his shape into cushions that will never regain their shape
Exhausted from stressful howling at the view
of workmen smoking on driveways
Blowing smoke nonchalantly into the cold, February breeze
Pointing and laughing at the dog show.
Earlier he crazed himself into a manic frenzy
So much so that now he cares not that the same men stand there
His breathing is slowing
He has stretched out against the warm radiator
Heating his tiny paws
His rough coat lifting up and down as he breathes steadily
Tail tucked beneath the dark spot on his bottom
The television drones
A Dali type melting clock ticks loudly from the mantel
The wind shakes the trees outside
As the workmen's smoke drifts through the branches
The hound sleeps.

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5 - by Clarence Prince


On A Certain Day

On a certain day
The Lord shall be on the way
That time He is coming to stay
As man is without power to control
A world that's too big for man to patrol
Giving way to stealing and killing
While others are weeping and wailing
Some are urging God to be closer at hand
Those who understand they shall stand
In line with those of His happy band
For their place in God's promise land
Note the Lord shall be on the way
Here is what I can surely say
The righteous they should be glad
But as for the ungodly it'll be sad
Sinners seek for your repentance
Give up of your worldly inheritance
Save up treasures in heaven
Where moth and rust cannot destroy
Where thief won't break in and steal
Where life will no longer be on wheels
Where the enemy won't be hard at your heels
Seek to find you some salvation deal
The Lord shall be on the way
This time He comes to stay
It'll be on a certain day.


All rights reserved.

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4 - by Bri Edwards


Bri's Tombstone....[ Fun; Side One And Side Two Of My Epitaph; Fantasy; Death; Memorial; Very Short]

Side ONE

Lay no flowers
at my grave.
But bring me
Ice Cream instead.
I don't know if
I'll enjoy it.
I won't know....
till I am dead.


Side TWO

I planned to out-
live my last wife.
I'd had enough,
had the 'last straw'.
But I was first to
lose my life, as...
SHE was FASTER....
'on the draw'.


(December 17,2016)

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3 - by Eugene Levich


Female Spiders

They came out of the sea
Those amoebas that became we
Some of these amoebas developed into spiders
Female spiders kill their male partners
After sex
And devour them
'Yum, yum! Tasty! '

Haven't they heard about gender equality?
Or just about being nice?
Those males had given them
Presumably a good time in the web
And then provided them with myriad babies

Why do they kill them?
Is it because there are no spider divorce attorneys?
And what does this male arachnocide
Tell us about human women today,
Descended from the same amoebas
Out of the sea
As those murderous female spiders?

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Bri's Notes:
Don't worry, guys; i THINK Eugene is pulling our collective leg(s) . :)

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2 - by Lynn W. Petty


Is The Doctor In?

For Dr. Granzella, The Last of The Few,
Who refused to succumb to the corporate
Dictum of 'Profit before the patient.'

What happened to our world of medicine?
What happened to that miracle of trust,
That wonderful relationship between
Oneself and one's own doctor? One's belief
That cure commenced upon the doctor's touch,
That touch of imminent recovery.
What happened to those men, who made a life,
Not just a living, from the treatment of
Disease? Those gentle men whose purpose was
To cure the sick, assuage the dying of
The fear of death, who knew his biggest job
Was to encourage, to the maximum,
The patient's will to live, by faithfully
Adhering to the dictum of his skill,
To 'Do No Harm.'
The art of medicine
Has lost its human touch, defamed by thirst
For profit and the corporate bottom line,
Depriving doctors of their self-esteem,
Reducing them to educated clerks.
Depersonalization, therein lies
The tragedy. Compassion, warmth, concern
Have been exchanged for cold, insensitive
Technology. Big business has replaced
The friendly disposition found between
Physician and his patient. In the quest
For gain, a life equates to corporate yield.

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1 - by John Westlake



My guilt appears to have forged itself
into a heavy chain of steel
a collar has clamped around my neck
choking me with its weight

It seems to get heavier every day
as it snakes behind me rattling evily
hindering my intended progress
constantly holding me back

Then one day I noticed some rust
that appeared to spread slowly through
with a mighty tug I broke loose
showering the links into the air
they evaporated in the morning sun
as if they have never existed

Am happy to enjoy my new found freedom
as I stride on with more confidence
guilt will never burden me in the same way again
am free to continue my growth
with nothing to drag me back
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[SOMETHING 'NEW' FROM BRI: 'if you like a poem here, please consider letting the poet know it. i get no reward for you doing that, and....maybe you will not either, .....except for knowing you may have brightened some poet's day! i sometimes receive comments on the showcase and particular poems, but that does not mean the POETS see the comments.'

bri :) ]

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Thanks for joining us in Section C for January 2017! See YOU in February?

Bri :)
Bri Edwards

Tuesday, January 10, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: poets,sharing,poems
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
another year, another dollar.

bri :)

bri :)
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