Bri's P H December 2017 Showcase? ? ? ? ..[ To Have Or Not To Have? ? ? ] Poem by Bri Edwards

Do I have Showcase-Readers who care if there IS one? So, what is YOUR answer?
Santa has deer: Dasher, Blixem, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Dunder, Prancer and Dancer …..
to pull his sleigh full of gifts for girls and boys of the world! [[only those Christian? ? ]].
I'm no Santa, but I'll deliver my ‘gift' of a showcase IF I get six "Haves" to question! !

[YOU need not be Christian to read a Showcase! ]

I won't start one, beyond this ‘intro', till I've received at least six "Have" replies, AND ….
I want you to be HONEST.For goodness sake, please don't send me bunches of lies!
I'll be quite content to just do my ‘other things', and enjoy my December ‘vacation';
there are plenty of poems on PH for YOU to choose on your own, for YOUR recreation! ! !

(November …..18 ……2017)

Bri Edwards (on PoemHunter)aka (in the REAL world)Brian E. Whitaker

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[[ Ok! I got six or more "Haves". ]]

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POETS AND (partial)POEM PAGE LINKS: (I'll try to remember to explain use of Partial Links in my Showcase Poet's Notes)


James McLain

/poem/the-last-kiss-before-midnight/
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Douglas Scotney

/poem/i-too-saw-a-dragonfly/
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Sarah Mkhonza

/sit-pretty-baby-here-i-come/
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Bharati Nayak…..

/poem/devi-goddess-a-poem-in-odia-language/

And a translation to English:

/poem/devi-goddess/
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Vera Sidhwa

/poem/the-truck-driver-2/
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John A'Hern

/poem/sitting-on-a-park-bench/
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Andy Brookes

/poem/it-s-curtains/
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Toshi Washizu [an acquaintance of Bri Edwards]

[ Toshi has no poem pages on PH ]
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Clive Culverhouse

/poem/my-walls-4/
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Diane Hine

/poem/lucretius-and-the-anteater/
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Valsa George

/poem/sonnet-1-my-guitar/
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Sarah Teasdale [1884-1933]

/poem/christmas-carol/
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THE LIVING END!

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POEMS:

The Last Kiss Before Midnight

/poem/the-last-kiss-before-midnight/


The Last Kiss Before Midnight - Poem by James McLain

I cannot hide from your gaze, I see through your eyes
And a kiss from you is a cloud that moves so slow across the sky.
Nights, nights wrapped in warmth but cool enough to warm
Your lips, lips that when kissed are lips I've not kissed, each kiss
Is a new surprise.

Every midnight is a shadow straight up one shadow in time on
Two legs,
Watching an army of arms the second time, time is a kiss that
Stands still.

I did not know what you knew though I waited to see, I waited to taste
Your sweet breath,
Breathing it in through my lovers lips, lips with a kiss and your smile.
I think now beneath the cool sheets legs tangled together you show
Me your face even in sleep and at midnight you give me a kiss.


Copyright © James McLain | Year Posted 2017

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Bri's Notes:
I've removed some extra apostrophes from James' poem; he won't mind!

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I Too Saw A Dragonfly

/poem/i-too-saw-a-dragonfly/


I Too Saw A Dragonfly - Poem by Douglas Scotney

and thought,
'dinosaurian needs
must have stretched
a fly's body and wings.

'As of those lizards
there are no longer many,
of dragonflies
we're lucky to have any.'

I wondered why
it was fearlessly standing
on the short spines
of my cereus cactus.

I took a pic.
Is it picking its teeth
on a spine? That's toll!
That's sick!

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Bri's Notes:

Douglas wrote these, one to me and one in his Poet's Notes, on the poem's page:

1-(toll by the way is German for 'sick' which is newspeak for 'wow! ' 'great! ')
2-after Robert Murray Smith's I Saw A Dragonfly Today

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Sit Pretty Baby Here I Come

/poem/sit-pretty-baby-here-i-come/


Sit Pretty Baby Here I Come - Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

I once thought I was so beautiful
I would marry a man who would say
Sit pretty baby here I come and loads
Of love and money would sit on my lap.

I woke up and found that all men had
Neither jobs nor the ability to get
One at the snap of a finger while
I sat on a couch waiting with hands
Outstretched.

I learned that my brother was laughed
At for he was told he had married a
Consumer for his wife did not work.
I fought for the mother I was and
Cried out on behalf of the working
Woman for there was no fun in leaving
My kids so I could chase money.

I worked myself sick with milk
dripping onto my clothes for there
Were no breast pumps in my country.
The love poured out of my chest
Causing me to feel embarrassed for
The leaking married woman I was
Who had taken to work as if I had
Taken to the streets running away
From my infants.

I stand assured that when the milk
Stirs in us we want to go back to
The days when men could say sit
Pretty baby here I come, but we have
Seen that going to the place of work
Creates a new you that makes the old
You call on you and say, we have taken
A step further in being baby. The two
Of you start to doubt if you really
Liked the first you for the ignorance
Of the past always haunts the knowledgeable
You the world has made.

Resting on our laurels was never our
Idea, but leaving our children was also
Never a good idea. Somewhere in the midst
Between the second where midnight
Turns into day lies the answer for
We live assured that the reward will
Never come from others but from those
Whose hands were outstretched for their
Mouths needed the sip from the nipple
Just as we once did for we are the
Babies that have become mothers. It is
Not the love of coins in the purse but
The push of the midnight hour breaking
into two that pulls the string and
Closes the little duffle bag like purse.
That is why sit pretty baby has decided
It is time to go hitch hiking, lest the
Man finds her scrubbing the floor. She
Has faked illness and seen that the best
Way out is to go out with the girls.

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Devi(Goddess)-A Poem In Odia Language

/poem/devi-goddess-a-poem-in-odia-language/


Devi(Goddess)-A Poem In Odia Language - Poem by Bharati Nayak

ଦେବୀ
ବୋଉ ତୋର ସିନ୍ଦୁର ଵଲ ଵଲ
ମୁହଁଟି ସତେ କେତେ ସୁନ୍ଦର!
ମୁହଁ ଅନ୍ଧାରରୁ ବାସୀପାଇଟି ସାରିବାରେ
ନଳଫୁଙ୍କା କାଠଚୁଲି ଧୂଆଁରେ
ପାଣି ନିଗିଡି ଆସୁଥାଏ
ତୋ ଆଖିରୁ ନାକରୁ,
ତୋର ନିଘା ନଥାଏ
ତୋ ଚୁଟି ଅଲରା ହୋଇଛି, ନା
ମଥାଟି ସିନ୍ଦୁରନେସା,
ତୁ ଖାଲି ଦେଖୁ ଥାଉ
ପିଲାଙ୍କ ପେଟ ପୁରିଲା ନା ନାହିଁ
କାହା ପାଇଁ କ୍ଷୀର କାହା ପାଇଁ ରୁଟି
କାହା ପାଇଁ ଭାତ କାହାର ପାଉଁରୁଟି
କିଏ ଭଲପାଏ ଚୁନା ମାଛ
କାହାର ଲେଉଟିଆ ଶାଗ
ତୋ ହାତରନ୍ଧା ପ୍ରତିଟି ତିଅଣ
ସତ କି ଅମୃତ!
ଏଇ ଦଶହରା ପାର୍ବଣରେ
ଦେବୀ ମା ର ଦର୍ଶନ କରୁ କରୁ
ତୋର ସିନ୍ଦୁର ନେସା ମୁହଁ ଟି ଝଳି ଉଠେ I
ନାଶି ଦୁଃଖ, କ୍ଳେଶ
ସନ୍ତାନକୁ ବଞ୍ଚାଇ ରଖିବାର
ପ୍ରତିଜ୍ଞାର ଖଡ୍ଗ
ତୋ ହାତରେ ଦିଶୁଥାଏ ଚକ ଚକ

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Bri's Notes:

And a few months later Bharati submitted her English translation of her Odia language poem
==============================================================
Devi (Goddess)

/poem/devi-goddess/


Devi (Goddess)- Poem by Bharati Nayak

Bou
(Oh Mother}
What a beauty there
In your vermillion smeared face
When your nose and eyes
Were watering
From the smoke of firewood
Billowing from Katha Chullah(Hearth)
You were busy
In tidying the house
From early dawn
When there was still darkness
Without caring even
How messy your looks gone
Whether the vermillion
Was in its place or smudged
Or your hair became
Knotty and rough!

You only cared
Whether your children
Ate properly or not
You loved to bake for us
Chapatis or bread
Cook rice and fry small fishes
To our tastes
Preparing curry of greens
Dishes after dishes
Oh what a taste in them
As if there was
A nectar's touch.

Today as I
Make a darshan(reverential visit}
Of Goddess Durga
In this Dusshera festival
Your vermillion smeared face
Splashes before my eyes.

I see the weapons
Sharpened with your determination
To cut down the sufferings and pains
Of your children
Glittering
In the grips of your raised hands.

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The Truck Driver

/poem/the-truck-driver-2/


The Truck Driver - Poem by Vera Sidhwa

That truck carried oranges, bananas and mangoes.
I drove my car on the side of it.
I smelled the beauty of the fruit.
I could almost eat it.

The truck driver saw me looking at his truck.
He threw me the mangoes that I could suck.
He slid down bananas I quickly ate.
His conscience I would a hundred percent rate.

This truck rattled past me.
The driver was in a good mood.
But I never understood
Why he was so good.

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Sitting On A Park Bench

/poem/sitting-on-a-park-bench/


Sitting On A Park Bench - Poem by John A'Hern

Sitting on a park bench contemplating life
good and bad and sometimes in strife,
sometimes a smile, followed by a frown
on it goes hour after hour.
Look at sandwiches interest ebbs
feed the pigeons, a voice suggests,
become aware of company sitting
turn to look a smile beckons,
ask a name eyes so piercing
hand touches shoulder
coldness flows right through.
Try to speak, voice has deserted,
company waves their hands
scenes appear, I am there
childhood, parents, friends appear.
Gone in a flash a slideshow of life
tears and happiness now engulf,
holding hands, then company disappears
Imagination running riot.
hands reaching out where others held them
quickly place hands by side
afraid that others will see a crazy
however, it is not me.
Enough of this entire dream sequence
I stand to leave this park bench of memories,
hand once again touches on the shoulder
I shudder and turn to see the intruder
stranger stands with hand held out
reach to shake without any doubt.
Gone, GONE, no one there
come back, COME BACK, and tell me your name.
I hang my head but not in shame
echo drifts across the breeze
on with life, smile and frown
all accepted without question.
Walk away spring in step
start again, tomorrow beckons.

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Andy Brookes

/poem/it-s-curtains/


It's Curtains. - Poem by Andy Brookes

Its Sunday I'm bored being and at a loose end,
must do something or I'll go round the bend.
seeing there's an antique fair at the Reebok,
thinking I'll go and have quick look.

So into the car and on my merry way
take a wrong turning, how? Who can say?
But I'll get there by jingo by hook or by crook
On the understanding, I'll just take a quick look.

Keep me hand in me pocket and not go astray
Not be lured by the silver, cast temptation away.
But me resolve is soon broken you understand
As to me pocket, for me wallet, wanders me hand.

And before you know it, I've bought this and that,
All good stuff as I don't ever buy tat.
So now into the fray, I really got started
Buying antiques it's not for the faint hearted.

I wish I'd not bought them I think with gloom
I've no place to put them as I haven't the room.
I'm on my way home of that I am certain,
When on a stall, I spot, a red velvet curtain.

There are in fact two to be precise
Lush in their beauty at a knockdown price.
Crushed velvet silk I hear the lady say,
And fifty quids a bargain it's nothing to pay.

struggling with temptation, their going for a song,
Only worry is, are they too short or too long.
Oh to hell with it thinking I'll just take the risk
As into my black bag, them quickly whisk.

Knowing I don't need them thinking in despair,
But I've got to the point where I don't really care.
Hoping there six inches longer than six inches short
For those six inches will be most important I thought.

Looking in me wallet, oh dear all is spent,
I don't think there's enough for me to cover the rent.
So be warned by example and don't you go mad,
Keep you hands in your pocket of that you'll be glad,

Don't be lured like flies to that sweet pot of honey,
Keep hold of your wallet and don't waste your money.
The end of this tale is sad to tell, and I lesson taught,
I found to my horror they were six inches too short.

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Toshi Washizu

[no poem page; see above]

A Dream

5000 miles across the Pacific
Tsunami from Japan
reached the West Coast of America―
Joeseph Lopresti died of a heart attack
at 12: 21 p.m., October 22, Tokyo time.
I had known this day was coming.
Swelling waves of grief washing over me
sank me to the bottom of sea.

That night I had a dream:

Joe was marooned on a desert island
in the midst of the ocean.
On the white sandy beach
under a cherry tree
he sat meditating like Buddha
gentle waves lapping against the shore.

"How did you get there? " I cried out from this shore
standing alone, thousands of miles apart from him.

"Tsunami carried me here, " he called back.

"Are you coming back? " I cried out again.

"Don't know.I let myself go
wherever the current takes me, " he said.

"Everybody is leaving―
Mama, Jim, Junko, Ted, Masumi, Toto, Arch,
and now you, " I said.

Pale pink petals scattering in the breeze
fell on his shoulders.
"Look at the blossoms.
We only have a brief moment, " he said.

"Everybody gone forever? " I cried.

"Close your eyes.
Don't you see our faces?
We live in your mind.
We are with you, always."

―in Memory of Joseph Lopresti

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Clive Culverhouse

/poem/my-walls-4/


My Walls - Poem by Clive Culverhouse

These walls are my sanctuary
guarding me, looking after me
stopping me, restraining me
my prison but my safety
where I hide
where I rule
a brick cloak of invisibility
You can't come in unless I let you in
I'm the master here
the prisoner here
the one who is suffering here
the one who is surviving here
A barrier, a security
my light house, my castle keep
an obstacle, a safety net
These are my walls
where I live
where I stay


Within these walls I'm stopping here

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Diane Hine

/poem/lucretius-and-the-anteater/


Lucretius And The Anteater* - Poem by Diane Hine

A pleasant spot for lunch; pequi fruit
under a yellow flowered trumpet tree.
Who's that I hear scrabbling in the undergrowth?
Ah ha! Welcome to my picnic Anteater.
No? You prefer to cater for yourself?
I agree, that ant nest does look appetizing.
It's a pleasure to watch an expert at work.
A vigorous assault and rapid gorging
before their bites become too excruciating.
It's always lunch on the run for you!

Did you know that we're much alike, you and I?
No, not just the long Roman nose.
The ants often take exception to my work too,
(digging for ancient broken pottery) .
Yes, it does seem a strange way to spend a life.
Not for everyone - not for Edelweiss for instance.
I wonder how long she'll stay? She's right -
the message in the bottle -
just an idle moment several years ago.
I'd completely forgotten of course.

I don't know if the Captain will live. He's lucky
a friendly tribe found him and brought him to us.
I suspect he was deliberately misled;
pointed in the direction of almost certain death
by the same devious tribe I think have Hope.

I see you flinching now Anteater; those bites
are getting through your thick coat at last.
I've lived here twenty-six years with the ants
and the parasites;

Tissue dissolving bacteria,
Eye-lickers, maggots, malaria,
I'm the bugs' best cafeteria!

Ha! See, I'm capable of poetry too;
‘Boy stood on the burning deck' sort of thing.
Here's one you'll appreciate my friend!

The boy stood on the burning deck
The crew all laughed in mockery
Fire ants swarmed around his neck
He'd stayed to save the crockery!

Ha ha ha!
Ha ha ha ha!
No....wait....don't go.

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Diane's Notes:

Poems in this series are marked with an *
Edelweiss Petty and Hope make a Seaside Discovery
Captain Bryce in Tasmania
A Letter to England
Edelweiss finds L. In the Amazon
Hope (a rondeau)
Sestina: Captain Bryce in the Amazon
Lucretius and the Anteater
Hope and Edelweiss

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Valsa George

/poem/sonnet-1-my-guitar/


Sonnet.1.My Guitar - Poem by Valsa George

Oh! Guitar, what music hides in thy heart
That awaits the touch of my soft fingers
As my digit ends move over you in quiet
What melody flows, how it my spirit triggers
Every chord in thee is fastened so tight
If one is loose, the notes run dissonant
With thy melody, thou sustain my heart light
Wonder what sprite hides in this instrument
As I listen to thy finely tuned sounds
How I am kept long suspended in time
To what heights then my wearied soul rebounds
Making my spirit afloat in celestial rhyme

Oh music, flood in me to drown my pain
Can any on Earth your healing power disdain

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Sarah Teasdale[a departed poet]

/poem/christmas-carol/


Christmas Carol - Poem by Sara Teasdale

The kings they came from out the south,
All dressed in ermine fine;
They bore Him gold and chrysoprase,
And gifts of precious wine.

The shepherds came from out the north,
Their coats were brown and old;
They brought Him little new-born lambs-
They had not any gold.

The wise men came from out the east,
And they were wrapped in white;
The star that led them all the way
Did glorify the night.

The angels came from heaven high,
And they were clad with wings;
And lo, they brought a joyful song
The host of heaven sings.

The kings they knocked upon the door,
The wise men entered in,
The shepherds followed after them
To hear the song begin.

The angels sang through all the night
Until the rising sun,
But little Jesus fell asleep
Before the song was done.

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Bri's Note:

Sometimes I find a ‘good' poem in PH's lists of "topic-poems".This is
one I enjoyed and I laughed at the ending.I throw it in to show that
a non-believer can still appreciate a poem with Jesus in it!

Did anyone come from the west? ?Or from "below"? ?

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[The End]

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Thanks for partaking of My Gift To You (and me) .

See some of you in January?I can always consider
poems offered to me for future showcases.

I'll be 'away' for the next couple of weeks.
Don't cry!11/24/17

BRI EDWARDS :) {aka Brian E. Whitaker …….in the ‘real world'}