John & Me: Profanisaurus And Bri …. ………….[an Echo Poem Composed Of John’s Poem “137. How Would I Describe Me” And Bri’s Poem “all About Me! ”, Combined & Interlocked As ”(See The T Poem by Bri Edwards

[[My Friend “P”, aka John Westlake,
has set the bar for me, for goodness sake!
I’ve got poems ‘bout me, Bri, on this site,
but, for an “echo” to John, more I’ll write.]]



J: People often say to me
“What can you tell me about yourself”
guess it’s my duty to explain to them
and so I look them in the face and reply

B: People RARELY say to me
“What can you tell me about yourself”,
but look me in the eye (not for real)
and I’ll now give YOU my reply.
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J: My eyes are deep like two tiny oceans
just be careful you don’t drown in them
you’ll never reach the bottom
and there’s not a beach in sight

B: My eyes are hazel? and, in number,2;
yes, I’ve got two eyes, like most of YOU.
Not much is behind them, so the doctor said;
with NO brain, she thought I should be dead.
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J. My arms and legs are a library
ruined by several scars
each one tells its own story
of how it came to be
but none can be bothered to read it

B: My arms and legs are big and hairy.
When women see them, they think they’re scary.
One leg used to have giant varicose veins;
they’re gone now, though they caused no pains.
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J: My mind is a battle field
full of the tangled wreckage of ancient conflicts
parts of it are like covered with mines
each one a painful memory
every now and then a fresh war will start
bringing new carnage and suffering
the remains they leave are left to rot in the sun
only to be consigned to the past

B: Unlike the Englishman, Profanisaurus,
(J’s alias) , in life I guess I’ve been victorious.
Sure I’ve had my share of wars in my life;
most all have been with my poor wife.
“Wives” I should say, as from 3 I’ve resigned;
Those 3, to my past, I’ve now consigned.
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J: My personality is a broadsword
razor sharp and straight to the point
it only can be wielded by me
the blade is often glowing
letting you know how genuine I am

B: My personality, if I may call it mine,
is a bit rusty, and sometimes bitter like too-old wine.
NO! I’m kidding now. I’ll match John tit for tat.
Tell me, Readers, what do you think of that? !
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J: My honesty is a radiant beacon
shining like a miniature sun
it helps my truth stay pure through this life
never dimming or even going out

B: I too am honest, though at times I tell a fib;
if I didn’t, my wife would poke me (MORE) in my rib.
There have been a few times, though very few,
when a fib or omission helps to see one through….
the day!
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J: My truth is a shotgun
let me give you both barrels
a useful weapon in this life of deception
because I have no space for lies or cheating
no bull trash will ever stand in for it

B: Truth be told, some of my poem is a lie.
I tell the truth usually, but I’m a weak guy.
It is sometimes hard to be funny with the truth,
so I might twist Truth, like a dentist twists a Tooth.
[I hope YOU don’t think “less of me”]
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J: My patience is a tranquil lake
surrounded by many beautiful trees
every tree is in full bloom in a variety of colours
yet when the leaves and petals fall
they make not even a ripple on the water
there's always time in this peaceful place
and none of it can be wasted by those who deserve it

B: John’s first line, like his name, ends with “lake”;
with his poems he sometimes “great pains” does take!
I’ve got patience galore; my wife doesn’t agree.
But patience is stout like a great big oak tree! ,
[surrounded by water, which soaks my poor roots,
and causes poor growth for my leaves and shoots.]
Away from home, my patience is much, much better!
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J: Yet my temper is a volcano
often smoking as a warning to others
sometimes it will blow its top for a while
but its often short lived unless the lava runs
in which case be somewhere else

B: My temper also can sometimes erupt,
but, with lava, our home, I rarely disrupt.
Ok! Don’t ask my “home boss”. Don’t you dare!
Or after you DO, she’ll pull my hair! OR worse! !
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J: My happiness is a meadow on a summer’s day
full of millions of flowers
each one living in harmony
the stems bowing slightly in the gentle breeze

B: I never use “happiness” to refer to me,
but I’m pretty darn “content”; can’t YOU see?
Flowers are pretty and smell so yummy, but
from them come bees which sting my tummy.
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J: My love is like a huge blanket
soft and comforting to those who feel it
let me wrap it round your shoulders
and it will keep you safe and warm

B: I’ve given love to many a gal, but
to be “returned in kind” does sometimes fail.
My love comes in four distinct varieties:
“wives”, “mom”, “daughter”, and “pizza with cheese”.
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J: My loyalty is a lovable dog
always faithful always there
as long as you stay true it'll love you
but it will turn on you if you abuse it

B: John’s got the right idea of loyalty,
whether it be to a pet or to royalty.
I’ll gladly continue to be a good friend,
until YOU ignore me! Then my loyalty must end.
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J: I have described myself as best I can
now you know a little about me
it’s time for the favour to be returned
what will you tell me about you

B: Well, John’s poem was nice; they usually are.
High, for MY poem, was where HE “set the bar”.
I hope you’ve enjoyed this little Bri-fun romp;
please don’t (on my “echo”) too harshly stomp.

John Westlake & Bri Edwards …March 2015
(few rights reserved!)