January 2018 Showcase For, And Often " By ", P H Members….[ Happy New Year! ; Poems Collected From Willing And (Sometimes) Un-Willing Poets; For Your Reading Enjoyment ] Poem by Bri Edwards

"Happy New Year! " to those of you who celebrate such pagan rituals.
I'll celebrate them WITH you, but only if they include yummy victuals**.
Santa Claus brought me a new set of Typing Fingers; do you believe THAT?
If you do, you may also believe that under Santa's coat is muscle, NO fat!

I'll start the new showcase with two versions of a ‘limerick' by Savita Tyagi.
I ‘complained' about her first version and she changed it; she is not a bit stodgy***!
So I'll show you her first ‘limerick' version which she says she still likes the better,
followed by her second version which I say is more structured "to the (poetic) letter"

After Savita's ‘Waterless Cake', I hope to find other poems for you for goodness sake.
Perhaps YOU have one which you will share? Offer it to me and (it) I may then take.
And this month I may even offer one myself; if not you can look up my ‘Poetic Elf, The'.
So I've now put in a plug**** for one of my favorites, BUT ‘what rhymes with "The"? 'Duh!

(December ….26 ….2017) Bri Edwards aka Brian Edward Whitaker (in the real world):):)


** vict•ual….pronounced: ˈvidl/
dated
noun
plural noun: victuals
1. 1.
food or provisions, typically as prepared for consumption.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
*** stodg•ypronounced: ˈstäjē/
adjective
adjective: stodgy1. dull and uninspired.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
**** plug
Noun …..(informal) a recommendation or other favourable mention
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

FOR INFORMATION: about submitting a poem for consideration, please send me a message.

But HERE ARE SOME GUIDELINES:

Poems which I consider rather long may not be used in their entirety, at my discretion.
I shall, when available, include the ‘partial link' to the PH page for each poem.
All poets are given credit for their poems.i.e. I shall give the name of each poet.
No topics are automatically disqualified from consideration.
Please send, if you can, a link to your poem's page on PH, BUT the poem need not be on PH already.
Poems may be new or old.In some cases I may use one you suggest which is written by another.


THE POETS AND THE TITLES: [[ @ designates the poem page's 'partial link']]


a- Savita Tyagi …..Waterless Cake...@ /poem/a-waterless-cake-limerick-no-syllable-count/

b- Shahzia Batool...If God Sends My Maa For A While! ...@ /poem/if-god-sends-my-maa-for-a-while/

c- Andy Brookes...I Have Left The Building...@ /poem/i-have-left-the-building/

d- Della Perry...Wanting More...@ /poem/wanting-more-11/

e- Rod Mendieta...Flower Girl...@ /poem/flower-girl-9/

f- Sk. Nurul Huda...Love Tree...@ /poem/love-tree-5/

g- Lamar Cole...Wheelchair...@ /poem/wheelchair-7/

h- Lodigiana Poetess...Is Evil Thy Name? ...@ /poem/is-evil-thy-name/

i- Robert William Service...My Future...@ /poem/my-future-2/

j- Darlene Walsh...Donate Today...@ /poem/donate-today/

k- Dillip K. Swain...Learning Curve...@ /poem/learning-curve-6/

l- Nika McGuin...Raining Inside; ...@ /poem/raining-inside/


(to be continued? ? ?) ...... NO; THAT'S IT FOR JANUARY 2018
========================================================

THE POEMS AND THE AUTHORS:


a- A Waterless Cake; Savita Tyagi


A Waterless Cake (Limerick-No Syllable Count)

When it comes to singing New Year
Grand celebrations on Mars appear
Scientists are holding a convention
Honoring a rare Martian invention
A waterless cake recipe- I hear!


A Waterless Cake (Limerick with syllable count)

Grand celebrations on Mars appear
Their scientists are singing New Year
And hold convention to
Honor an invention-
waterless cake recipe- I hear!


by Savita Tyagi

poem page's 'partial link': /poem/a-waterless-cake-limerick-no-syllable-count/
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Bri's note: I would take Savita's "to" from line 3 of the second version, and put it the front of line 4! ha ha.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
b- If God Sends My Maa For A While! ; Shahzia Batool


If God Sends My Maa For A While!

I shall lay my head on her knees
Believing that God must have cured her arthritic joints in heaven,
Then she will brush my hair with her fingers
And I shall tell her all my soul suffered from;

I shall complain of the bouquet of roses
That pricked my hands despite the silk-ribbon
And scotch-tape woven around it carefully;

I shall tell her the tricks of the winds
Blowing roughly on me leaving all others
And of clouds that shower benign rain
On all others leaving me,
Though I stand under them with a bowl
In my hands raised skywards
Which stays dried up;

I‘ll feel she smoothes my hair
I am relieved, and her sweetness has removed
The wrinkles of my crumpled soul successfully…
I shall feel an urge to tell her
That I miss the apple-jam she used to prepare for me
In a sauce-pan,
And that I have left eating the soaked and peeled off
Almonds and raisins with a glass of milk;

I shall clarify that I am telling her all
Because I don't tell
Such things to anyone
Not because they won't listen to this
But because I have lost my tantrums wild
Somewhere in the fields of my childhood;

I shall ask her
Does she listen to my voice while I recite prayers
On her grave?
Does she see when my brother removes the frozen candle wax?
And washes the tomb-stone?
Or showering petals on her earthly-bed?

Yes, I shall tell her
That cooking shows are no more interesting now;
That all the tragic tunes interpret my heart
And all the sad songs sing of my soul;
But, will it be wise to tell her all
That might cause pain to her?

I shall have no idea of her allowed duration with me
So, I won't tell her, or ask from her anything
But this, that we all are settled in life,
And that I am happy
And then I shall smile
as big as a smiley-sticker, ear to ear
and I won't let her know
-
-
-
that my pen bleeds still…


by Shahzia Batool

poem page's 'partial link': /poem/if-god-sends-my-maa-for-a-while/
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Bri's note: my computer underlines "smoothes" and Google shows "smooths"

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
c- I Have Left The Building; Andy Brookes


I Have Left The Building - Poem by Andy Brookes

the forced jollity
corporate greed smiles leering
the meaning is lost

put out Yuletide logs
they burn to ash uselessly
a cold Winter thought

Christmas has fizzed out
becoming an old hum bug
drown it in spirit

leaving the madness
fleeing to the solitude
under the banyan


by Andy Brookes

poem page's 'partial link': /poem/i-have-left-the-building/
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Bri's note: I suspect Andy has fled U.K. for warmer climes over the 'holiday'.I can 'see him' now sitting under a banyan tree, sipping a cool mango-ade! !
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
d- Wanting More; Della Perry


Wanting More - Poem by Della Perry

She wore him like an embellishment
His masculinity aided her femininity.
She needed all the help she could muster.
Self centered, selfish, narcissistic.
No problems leaving loved ones behind.

She wore him like a diamond necklace
Sprawled around her neck for all to see
But when she got down and dirty
She had no problem hanging him from the jewellery stand
Dangling coldly alone.
Got down on her knees for a new man.
Who reminded her of expensive golden bands
Adorning her greedy fingers
So much more she wanted, needed,
Never satisfied.
She offered her hand once more.

by Della Perry

poem page's 'partial link': /poem/wanting-more-11/
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Bri's note: I make one correction of a 'silly' typo. :)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
e- Flower Girl; Rod Mendieta


Flower Girl

Clean cold floor-slabs of cast concrete,
The garden tooling section aisles brimming
With special offers of shining spades
And watering hoses,
I marvel to see my father walking
His brisk long strides again beside me.

The flower-girl flashes her morning-lit smile
And motions a languid hand
Towards a heavy padlocked door.
We follow with hesitating deference
While she turns her bare white ankles
Carved of soft ivory
From distant equatorial coasts,
Quite sure, I imagine, of having immediately
Drawn the admiring stares of two grown men
Who didn't ask for flowers in the first place.

She fumbles with a bundle of keys
And her ankles turn crystalline
Now resembling amber coloured glass
Lovingly blown by a Murano artisan
And showing curiously mutating streaks
Of white light in the core,
Like poured milk flowing slowly
Through warm honey.

Rather than think that this surely
Is no ordinary flower-girl
I wonder instead what business has she
Drawing us to a section of the big store
Not readily open for customers.
Then a white, empty, concrete room
With tiny windows much too high towards the ceiling

And I already half expect the short shelf-life
Patience of my father being tried to the limits
Of exasperation.
Standing on my toes I manage to sneak
A furtive look into an ordinary vegetable orchard
With glistening lettuces and tomatoes.

‘Nothing that will interest us here', says father
And I dread the approach of one of his trademark
Caustic remarks he gleefully throws at
Unsuspecting interlocutors like thorns from the
Blowpipe of a peevish little kid.
‘Perhaps you had hoped to become privy
To the secrets of the dead? '

I anticipate her flustered reply,
Like many others I've heard before,
From tiny little humans being stared down
By a superior being:
‘Nothing of the sort', her face transfixed
With embarrassment, jinxed, robbed
Clean of the ability to articulate further apologies.

I turn to look but father has already walked
Out of my sunny winter morning
Through clean aisles of cold floor-slabs
Leaving my mouth pregnant with
Unspoken words and my heart
Sinking fast into quiet desperation.

Then the flower-girl appears
Quite oblivious to anything heard or said,
Flashing her morning-lit smile at me,
Once again.

by Rod Mendieta

poem page's 'partial link': /poem/flower-girl-9/
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
f- Love Tree; Sk. Nurul Huda


Love Tree

I did not write you down in poetry
Least my readers discover you badly-
Pleading my poetic weakness;
I did not paint your face on canvas
Least my viewers devalue you-
Pleading my trembling retouch of the brush.

I wanted to make a narrow castle
Like a cocoon of a moth
And then a free fly to the Heaven.


So l plant you at the deepest Earth of my heart,
Where my lungs provide air and my blood,
As a postman, carries temperature and water.
My young-ling love sprouts to a big shade- tree
Like an umbrella over my head.

Your boughs are scattered over my full body,
My heart beats shake your hanging boughs,
And your quivering quivers my calm body
As if I play a spontaneous dance.

You are my ever green love tree
That prevents the pollution
At the very start my eyes start
To get polluted on others' sights.

R~sk nurul huda @ Songs of 26.

by Sk. Nurul Huda

poem page's 'partial link': /poem/love-tree-5/
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Bri's note: Unless it is 'different' in India, "least", in stanza one, should be "lest".
I found this: "lest: conjunction formal: 1- "with the intention of preventing (something
undesirable) : to avoid the risk of.2- (after a clause indicating fear)because of the possibility
of something undesirable happening; in case.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
g- Wheelchair; Lamar Cole


Wheelchair

Even though Dean was wheelchair-bound.
He didn't let this get him down.
He loved to clown around.
And take trips downtown.
Dean stayed one horny man.
He still loved to take his wife to hump-land.

by Lamar Cole

poem page's 'partial link': /poem/wheelchair-7/
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Bri's note: I found this by Googling; of course I KNEW what Lamar meant!
I think I do/did! : hump: "Vulgar Slang The act or an instance of having
sexual intercourse." YOU can look up "horny"; it's NOT about horns!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
h- Is Evil Thy Name? ; Lodigiana Poetess


Is Evil Thy Name?

He gazes at her… transfixed by her untaintedness.
The lustrous glow from her sable eyes drawing him into the promised profoundness of her innocent spirit.
Fantasising how eventually she will subjugate to him and willingly acquiesce to his sudden overwhelming desire to possess her.
All reason reduced to manly gratification, he blindly stumbles on.
A languid introduction, palm outstretched, his sweat making contact with her gelid hand
sends an unexpected shiver reverberating through his body….
Strange..but exciting.
She smiles a radiant smile, through parted lips, showing a glimpse of even, white teeth -like jewelled nacre.
Her eyes discreetly lower, he perceives it as shy modesty which she displays so naturally.
He feels in control, vigorous and mighty.
His conscience slowly ebbing as he consigns to oblivion the wedding vows made before God.
He must have her…….
She saw him enter the room, a fatigued, spiritless soul.
A hollow Godforsaken being, looking to instill some fire into his bromidic life.
A once kindly man, but now defeated, with failure resting heavily on his dejected shoulders,
Such a willing candidate……..
Her eyes deep as pitch and fiery as brimstone, looked into his closed soul and she smiled her smile-
irascible and mocking, but to a weak subject -radiant and alluringly shy.
All too easy….. another conquest…her master will be pleased.
He holds her look and whilst caressing her cool, velvety hand -asked her name…
She feel victorious, proud, and vanquished all his qualms, as in a silken, beguiling voice
She spoke the name that would be his downfall.
‘I'm Lucy' she said ‘ LucyFerr' so pleased to meet you……

by Lodigiana Poetess

poem page's 'partial link': /poem/is-evil-thy-name/
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Bri's note: I put spaces between some words in the poem where I suspect PH removed the
spaces somehow/for-some-reason upon submission.AND: Lucifer is a name used for 'the Devil'!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
i- My Future; Robert William Service


My Future

"Let's make him a sailor, " said Father,
"And he will adventure the sea."
"A soldier, " said Mother, "is rather
What I would prefer him to be."
"A lawyer, " said Father, "would please me,
For then he could draw up my will."
"A doctor, " said Mother, "would ease me;
Maybe he could give me a pill."

Said Father: "Let's make him a curate,
A Bishop in gaiters to be."
Said Mother: "I couldn't endure it
To have Willie preaching to me."
Said Father: ""Let him be a poet;
So often he's gathering wool."
Said Mother with temper: "Oh stow it!
You know it, a poet's a fool."

Said Farther: "Your son is a duffer,
A stupid and mischievous elf."
Said Mother, who's rather a huffer:
"That's right - he takes after yourself."
Controlling parental emotion
They turned to me, seeking a cue,
And sudden conceived the bright notion
To ask what I wanted to do.

Said I: "my ambition is modest:
A clown in a circus I'd be,
And turn somersaults in the sawdust
With audience laughing at me."
... Poor parents! they're dead and decaying,
But I am a clown as you see;
And though in no circus I'm playing,
How people are laughing at me!

by Robert William Service

poem page's 'partial link': /poem/my-future-2/
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Bri's note:
One of the dead poets on PH! I corrected a typo, probably not Robert's! !

Robert William Service (16 January 1874 - 11 September 1958 / Preston)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
j- Donate Today; Darlene Walsh


Donate Today - Poem by Darlene Walsh

Crimson, crimson, flowing bright
Giving is a blessed sight
I'm here to give
So that others will live

Comfortably reclined
Peaceful mind
The least I could do
Shouldn't you too

It costs not a dime
Only a little time
Then they give you a treat
Usually something sweet

Life to give
So others live
15 minutes it takes
What a difference it makes

So give blood today
It's a wonderful way
To show you care
Be brave and share

by Darlene Walsh

poem page's 'partial link': /poem/donate-today/
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Darlene's note:
"January is National Blood Donor Month. Help us spread the word by submitting your poem."
[I assume Darlene is encouraging other poems by PH poets.]
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
k- Learning Curve; Dillip K. Swain


Learning Curve

In learning curve
I continually learn
Like an inquisitive kid
From my surroundings, nature
My parents, juniors
And voluminously from seniors

I never disobey seniors
Dominant, powerful and adamant
So smart, and cunning
Go on beating their drums
Through intellectual exploitation
For their own gratification
Glory and accolades
I fear but never adore

My tender heart
Treat them like gods
Sings with all praise
The beloved seniors
Calm, cool, pious and virtuous

I love that mentor
Who loves to inspire
Motivate and rectify error
With love and care

by Dillip K. Swain

poem page's 'partial link': /poem/learning-curve-6/
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
l- Raining Inside; Nika McGuin


Raining Inside

Is it raining outside
like it's raining in here?
do the storm clouds loom
does the thunder roll
in tune, with my conflicted
internal atmosphere

Does anybody know
that it's raining in here?
what was once a leak
and a tiny puddle
is now a house flood
that my soul sluggishly
treads through

Please tell me,
is it raining outside
like it's raining in here?
or am I alone, all alone
in my inundation

by Nika McGuin

poem page's 'partial link': /poem/raining-inside/
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

(NOT to be continued this month) ....a dozen does it! ! !



==================================================


Thanks for joining us! ! !

Thanks for the poems and thanks for the reading and ANY comments! !

Bri :)aka (in the real world)Brian Edward Whitaker