A Showcase For Ph Poets: March 2015: Section 'A'.... [sharing Poems; Not A Contest; Monthly On Bri Edwards' Ph Site] Poem by Bri Edwards

I’ve started a 'showcase' on my PoemHunter site,
which is NOT a contest; it’s no arena for a fight,
but instead a place where once a month I shall post..
a poem from you, a PH member, which you’d like read most.

NO title, topic, nor length** do I plan to require.
Just send in a poem to set the PH members on fire.
Send to 'A Showcase For (PH) Poets', care of me.
Let's show off our stuff, and this also is free!

I was intending this to showcase poems by you, the member,
BUT, heck, send someone else's *** if you'd like, BUT remember....
to NOT get me involved in copyright disputes, please.
Of course if I were sued, there is NO money from me to squeeze!

(February 28,2015)

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So, now for some information about my March SHOWCASE for PH poets:

In anticipation of a great response for my first showcase [I sent notices to about 75 members from my inbox and my list of PH friends], I have added to my poem's title: “section ‘A’ ”, but there may never be a “section ‘B’ “.

I plan to submit one of my own short (24 lines or less) poems, and one of my LONG ones (which may go on for a couple of pages) . Therefore, and since I will allow other members to also submit two poems per month [if one is 24 lines or less], I may well add a second, third,4th, etc. 'section' so readers will not have to scroll up and down too much to refer to poems and the comments area below the poems. Understand? I hope so. This first 'section' is 'A' and I shall follow the English alphabet: A, B, C, etc. IF I FEEL A NEED TO DO SO.
**For all members, you may submit two poems as long as the shorter one is 24 LINES OR LESS; I will use my own discretion if, for instance, your shorter poem is 26 lines long.

I also plan to have a LIST OF POETS [whose poem(s) are included in a section] above the posted poems.
***I WOULD LOVE TO HAVE ALL POEMS BE WRITTEN BY PH MEMBERS, and be submitted by the authors. If you choose to submit a poem by another PH member I will try to verify that the member agrees. Poems attributed to non-members I may want to ask about also.

Starting off will be the first poem submitted to section 'A' of March's showcase.
[PLEASE READ THE POET'S NOTE ALSO FOR MY 'A SHOWCASE FOR PH POETS'.]
I WILL ALWAYS GIVE THE AUTHOR’S NAME WITH THE POEM POSTED.
My first showcase was in February 2015, and I consider it to be a success, with almost 20 poems to view, from almost as many poets. My thanks go to all contributors! ! This is meant to expose poems and poets to readers and to provide some entertainment and/or enlightenment and/or knowledge to PH members [and I guess non-members who, I think, can also view the poems but not comment].
Some of the poems may not be on the authors’ PH sites. But if you are enthused about a poem, I hope you will visit the poet’s site and read more and leave comments.

Did I forget anything? ?

And here we go! [[some ages of poets' may be age+1.
AND i use PH for the names and countries and gender as well.]]

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1. JOHN WESTLAKE (United Kingdom; Male,31)

170. Today Is Very Boring

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2. BRI EDWARDS (United States, Male,67)

Hard..... [Girlhood to old age; Life; Family; Racial discord; Marriage; Very LONG]

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3. RUTH WALTERS (United Kingdom; Female; 63)

If I were a flower

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4. BRI EDWARDS (United States; Male; 67) (2nd poem)

Salamander...... [Nature; A Salamander (Of Course!) : Confronting Nature; Almost Short]

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5. RUTH WALTERS (United Kingdom; Female; 57) (2nd poem)

An unworthy soul....

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6. JOHN WESTLAKE (United Kingdom; Male; 31) (2nd poem)

196..

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7. BRIAN JOHNSTON (United States; Male: 72)

PH: Mentors: Fishing With Older Men

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8. BUDDY BEE ANTHONY (singer-songwriter) (1st poem)

Crackhead Hooker

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9. BUDDY BEE ANTHONY (singer-songwriter) (2nd poem)

The Face Behind The Bar

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10.?

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1. by John Westlake:



170. Today Is Very Boring

Today seems to very boring
nothing much is going on
despite the fact that my sea urchin shells
have adopted a shark for their son

My fridge has become pregnant with the washing machine
while picking poppies with its ears
it wants to give birth to an egg cup
despite my suitcase's jeers

The doctor came round this morning
to check on the eyes of my shelf
the chiller jumped up and ate him too
and sneezed out a bank for wealth

My socks have spent all the money
on jellyfish and rainbow wine
the police were called to arrest it
and charged a micro penny fine

The wine had been drunks by my t shirts
battling my shoes for a laugh
my trousers asked my hair for a loan
as they want to beat up a giraffe

My towels have formed an alliance
with my hoodies and my boxes
together they killed my mirror
who were hunting banister foxes

My pillows have run off to join the library
and the Austrian navy
they stole three stairs of whiskey
and left my toe nails the gravy

Yes today is very boring
the butter has just killed my bread
my vodka bottle has refilled itself
and I'm going back to bed


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2. by Bri Edwards:


Hard..... [Girlhood to old age; Life; Family; Racial discord; Marriage; Very LONG]

Hard were the calluses on my Daddy's hands the first time he held me,
and hard it was on Christmas morn' to find only one small gift beneath our tiny tree.
Hard was my Mom's life, raising seven kids and washing other people's clothes.
Without our family's belief in God, life could have been harder. Who knows?

Hard it was for me, in several ways, when a little blonde boy threw a rock which broke my arm.
That was the one time I believe Mom lied to me; she said 'He meant no harm.'
Hard it was when my Mom tried to explain why 'our' seats were at the rear of Selma buses,
and hard it was, my first day at Jefferson Davis Elementary; so MANY made so much FUSS!

Hard were the long nights I stayed up studying after I did the dishes,
and hard it was for me and my parents to make come true my college wishes.

It was hard for all when off to Cornell on the Greyhound I ventured forth,
and it was strange at first, coming from the Deep South, to now be living up North.
It was hard to only afford one phone call home a month, but a lot of mail from home I got.
Life became less hard as I adjusted to college and life living with my aunt. I blossomed quite a lot.

It was hard breaking up with my first boyfriend, a Big Red football player,
but as hard as it was, it added a useful experience, another growing-up-layer.
It was hard, it hurt, when I never received an invitation, to a sorority, to join,
but it perhaps concentrated me more on my studies, and saved me some 'coin'.

It was hard sometimes when I had to work at my part time dining room job,
but it was easier than imagining myself being a wealthy coed snob.
It was hard financially on my parents when for my graduation they came North.
But they were thrilled to hear that my undergraduate record caused a grad school scholarship to come forth.

That fall I began attending Cornell's School of Architecture; quite a challenge.
My fellow architecture students, from around the world, were quite a mélange.
School was hard but I loved it and, with a loan helping, I no longer waited on tables.
My life now revolved around learning about poured concrete, angles, space, and gables.

It was hard not to love all, that for two years, I was taught,
even though the long days and nights working on projects, with stress, often was fraught.
Hard was the work, but sometimes harder was having almost no social life …..
except what we had as fellow students, and competition was always rife.

Hard it was after grad school to leave Cornell's beautiful quad,
and hard, at first it was, being a junior associate on an architectural firm's squad.
I learned the ropes from some pros, and my reputation spread by word-of-mouth.
It was nice in some ways to be at least half way back in the South.

Now I could afford a car and I got back home at least once or twice a year.
It was difficult to get my conversation with Mom and Dad to, away from me, steer.
Chief among Mom's questions for me was 'Have you met any nice men yet, my dear? '
She was sure I'd be a business success but, that I'd end up an Old Maid, she did fear.

In a few years I became the lead 'man' on some small jobs for one key client.
In a few more years, for larger jobs, the partners became, on me, more reliant.
I did take some time to socialize more, and I joined an 'exclusive' St. Louis health club.
I no longer felt it likely that, due to being black, I'd receive a snub.

Ten years into my career I met a tennis-playing accountant named Phil.
After we started dating, with dreams of having my own family, my head began to fill.
Six months into our romance, I took Phil to visit Mom and Dad, arriving in town on a rainy night.
Though I'd 'warned' them both ahead of time ……., I could tell they BOTH had reservations about Phil being white.

But we pulled off the visit with the help of my younger sister and brother,
and, when it was time for us to depart, with hugs my parents both me and Phil did smother.
More frequent visits Phil and I made to see my folks, often flying on down,
and when I visited Phil's parents in Pittsburgh there was nary a frown.

It was hard to not rush into a premature engagement,
but to help quiet us down we started a cohabitation arrangement.
Finally it happened and in another year we were happily married.
It was hard to be told we could not have our own children, but the disappointment we both buried.

But we both wanted children and we adopted two, one white and one black.
It was hard to keep from piling things on them so NOTHING they'd lack.
The best schools, the best clothes, the best educational toys.
And we did our best to see them socialize rapidly with other girls and boys.

It was hard when both our son and daughter off to college went.
Our girl off to Boston for liberal arts, and our son off to L.A. for engineering we sent.
My parents retired, thank goodness, and we had them come visit us often.
Now my Mom could rest her back more, and Dad's hands could soften.

It was hard for all when Phil had his first heart attack.
But he got better each week until finally he was totally again on track.
But I'll have to admit (don't tell Phil) it was nice to beat him at tennis now once in a while.
He would, as always, advance to meet me at the net at game's end with a big smile.

Our children were adopted at ages 7 and nine. They were our pride and joy.
There was always a regret they were not biologically ours, but they were always OUR girl and boy.
Phil and I and Mom and Dad attended their college graduation days.
And our children continued to make us proud and thankful in many ways.

It was hard when Phil had his third heart attack. He almost died.
It was so hard waiting, Phil having to retire, until a donor heart was supplied.
But the surgery went like clockwork. Before long he started to work at home part time.
It was sometimes hard to leave him at home when I went to my office at Ryan, Beckett, and Grime (I'm Grime) .

The hardest thing in my life up to age 55 was the day my mother died.
As Phil and I and Dad sat at her bedside with my siblings, we all cried.
Dad came home to St. Louis to live with us and became a fixture in our house.
We both cherished the years we had left with him. He was quiet as a mouse.

Dad lived another fifteen years, for the last of which we had a live-in nurse.
It was another extremely sad and hard day for me the day he was carried to the cemetery in a hearse.

Our children had their own weddings and our grandchildren started to arrive.
By the time I was 75, Phil and I had added up our grandchildren to a grand sum of five.

Then came the HARDEST day of my life, the day I found Phil lying in our bed.
I knew before I even touched him, that the best part of me was dead.

I moved to be near my daughter, to 'assisted living' by the Pacific Ocean.
I've led a full and mostly happy life, but at times I'm still choked by emotion.
It helps to have friends in my building and to have my daughter and some of her children near......, but
every night at bedtime...., for Mom and Dad and Phil, .... I still shed ONE tear.

(Dec.2012)
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3. by Ruth Walters


If I were a flower


If I were a flower my petals would be fading now,
drooping and withering in the early summer
but if by chance you glanced my way to warm me through,
watered my weakened frame to give me strength,
then I know I would survive to see the Autumn.

Strange that it should be this way for summer
lends itself to life and love and laughter.
Here in this hole where all is dark and pained
all laughter is stifled by the dank air.
No sunlight filters through, no light at all.

I am cut off from friends and faces I once knew.
Hemmed in by physical inabilities,
dim eyes and ears that hear the nothingness.
The song of silence fills me so persistently,
I hum its tune, remembering life’s symphony.

If I were a flower my petals would be fading now,
drooping and withering in the early summer
but if by chance you glanced my way to warm me once again,
watered my weakened frame to give me strength,
then I believe your love would see me through.


Submitted: Thursday, May 12,2011
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4. by Bri Edwards (2nd poem)


Salamander...... [Nature; A Salamander (Of Course!) : Confronting Nature; Almost Short]

Among damp leaves, in our front yard,
a spotted salamander lies.
A nest of eggs it does guard....
from bugs and other eyes.
Its solitude I just have jarred.
I think for both it was a surprise.

With my finger I feel its skin;
it is cool, and still as a smooth stone.
To harm its nest would be a sin,
but I take a photo with my phone.
Then over my face there comes a grin.
I step back, leaving it alone.

What other wonders are there hid
from unseeing eyes of Man?
Though I've seen a lot since I was a kid,
if I try harder I know I can....
see much more by lifting the lid....
which covers Mother Nature's span.


Submitted: Monday, May 27,2013
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5. by Ruth Walters (2nd poem)

An unworthy soul....


My inner self, my soul was misbehaving,
not being body friendly, wanting to escape and go.
It didn't like the daily grind, the commute to work,
felt rebellious and used, was discontent and bored.

It was, in fact, a very disobedient, unworthy soul,
a fractious, most ungrateful, mutinous soul,
a nasty, moody, inconsiderate monster of a soul
that wasn't worth cajoling, or placating,
that wasn't worth humoring or coaxing
or buttering up or sweet talking, to.

No, I didn't want to save my soul
so I stopped a passing devil
and craftily, most cannily sold it to him,
not wishing to save the little bastard at all.

Submitted: Tuesday, March 13,2012
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6. by John Westlake (2nd poem, with bri's permission)

196..


Most of the people I know
have seen at least one superhero movie
many are jealous of the powers
wielded by each of the characters
and dearly wish for such abilities themselves

Some want x ray vision to spy on their enemies
a few wanted super strength to beat up bullies
others want invisibility so they can spy on their friends
more than half wanted the power of flight to save themselves from long walks
but when they came to ask me
I had a different response

I want the power of healing
the ability to cure others and myself
of any and all possible aliments
from broken bones to the worst of diseases

I have a bud suffering from cancer
she'd be the first on my list
not just because she is my friend
but because I want her wish to come true

Other people would soon follow
I would rid the world of all health problems
my personal feelings would not come into it
if they needed healing I'd help

To me healing is important
not just physically
but mentally and spiritually also
right now there is much healing to do
but one of the best medicines we have is love


Poets note: The person mentioned in the forth stanza is a dear friend of mine who has been denied the treatments she needs. All she wants is to have the decision about her life lengthening drugs overturned so she can see her kids grow up. Please visit http: //www.jemmapeacock.org and sign the petition. If you are ever in her position you'd understand.

Submitted: Wednesday, March 11,2015
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7. by Brian Johnston

PH: Mentors: Fishing With Older Men

The silence, the almost endless joyful silence,
That's what I remember most looking back,
Silence and belonging, companionship,
Not in Nature so much as part of it,
Absolutely indispensible we were,
As if God Himself, the great ‘I AM, '
Would not exist, if we were not here,
Lines, hanging organic from pole ends,
Like branches of a weeping willow
Disappearing into the glassy water,
A living lollipop for nascent fish to gum,
Hoping to evolve into birds perhaps,
Wondering what it would be like
To swim in air and sleep on tree limbs.
All this in the forever present, stretching to infinity,
Here, now, fishing with older men!
 
Their faces blend together, rustic, tan,
Until God Himself is indistinguishable from
Cliff, Johnny, CH, or Uncle Jimmy
But Granddad Neighbors is the twinkle in God's eyes,
Clarence and his boys, bringing God down to earth
Ardean too, though I never fished with him,
Mother's five brothers, she was the one…
Ardean hooked me with his music,
I swallowed that bait whole, so deep,
It have would killed me to retrieve the hook.
Every ripple on the lake, every wave,
Whole notes in an endless adagio,
The movement Mahler longed to write,
Welcoming us back to home fires, fish to fry,
Breathing the smoky air of countless stars,
All of us fishermen forever!


Submitted: Sunday, August 03,2014
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8. by Buddy Bee Anthony


Crackhead Hooker

I don't know why she makes me feel so good
She hurt me real fine
with her sheep dipped cigarettes
Boone's Farm bottles of wine
I try to quit her
yes I do.
But all I get is a junkie's flu
Done me dirty in the hood
like I knew she would
I look up in the sky

All I can do is cry, cry, cry.
How she's one fine
looky looky hook up
She got me all shooky shooky shook up
She one hot cookie cookie cook up
She my l'l crackhead hook up
Crackhead hooker


She'll take you for a short ride
Burn up all your money
run off with your pride
Rip all reason from your mind
She's a wizard,
at robbin bad boys blind
The best in the business tried turning her tide
Downtown Dope-man pulls all her strings
Holds the skeleton key to pluck her wings
Base ain't free
but it makes her sing
ripe and tight
low ridin the pipe
Paradise lost
lust for sale
at half the cost
Crackhead hooker.


Submitted: Sunday, October 07,2012
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9. by Buddy Bee Anthony


The Face Behind The Bar

It's me the face behind the bar
you've dropped coins and bills into my jar.
The friendly stranger you spill your guts to
Step up to my finishing line.
I'll make your stalest story seem brand new.
Whether you sip or gulp
the pleasure's mine
to pour for one or maybe two
a frothy cold brew.
Maybe it's whiskey that you crave
When life's blade gives too close a shave
Giddy up out here and lay it all down
Whether you're from out yonder or the middle of town
I'm here to fill your cup with liquid good cheer.
You're in luck
You're next in line
Didn't that first belt go down fine?
Might I pour you yet another
I won't tell your boss, your spouse
or your mother.
Because I'm your new best friend
at this porta drinking stand
When that cruel world outside
won't lend a hand
Step over to my wet bar
You see, your loose change gasses up my car
All good reasons why we're both regulars here
is your love of the taste
and my love of the sound
Of 'another round' of ice cold beer.

Submitted: Thursday, February 19,2015
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10. ?