Nov. & Dec.2019: Some P H Poems To Share...[ From Mypoemlist Of P H Favorites ] Poem by Bri Edwards

1 -

A Very Bad Day - Poem by LeeAnn Azzopardi

my last of my fingernails
broke off
That was the least of my worries


2 -

Confidants And Secrets - Poem by Kingsley Egbukole

The walls have ears they say
Diligently every wall I searched
Not the smallest pair I saw
Yet every secret muttered
In the closet of walls
Get exposed eventually soon

I sat down in thought
And now I know sure
The ears of walls
Are the ears of men
You have nothing but trust
If you wish no one hears
Never at all say it.

(Thursday 14th November,2019,9.02am)


[ Poet's Notes: Those you hold in confident, get o expose you some day. Never say trust too much. ]


3 -

Talking To A Fish - Poem by Brian J. Stafford

I was walking by a river,
when fish caught my eye;
He asked me how I'm doing,
and would I like to take dip,
We could swim round in circles,
or cruise along the bank,
I said I'm doing fine,
but I don't like to make splash,
Not into making waves,
but it's you I'd like to thank.

[ Bri's Notes: I think "make a splash" and
"make waves" are idioms, with special meanings;
don't take the words literally, necessarily. ]


4 -

Awkward Guy And Ann - Poem by jim hogg

Between the work and vain ideals
there was a little envy too.
Those guys who seemed to know no fear
of girls: I envied what they knew,

and envied most their confidence.
Their snogging skills and chat up lines
were mysteries beyond my ken.
A mutual crush in sixty nine

resulted in a crushing thrill;
we must have eyed each other up
a thousand times to no avail.
I never could get close enough

to say a single loving word
because I made a run for it,
each time our longing eyes were locked
in pointless, gorgeous agony.

That storm of ecstacy and hell
blew over by the spring, and took
the pressure off for quite a spell,
and so I took up reading books

until the spring of seventy one,
when all at once a pencilled note
quite stopped me in my bookish tracks.
It seems I floated some girl's boat.

And so I did what I was told,
and met her face to face next day,
when she adroitly used a hold
that drove my lips towards her face,

and less adroitly did we kiss,
for I was inexperienced.
I might have blown it, might have missed,
but still remember where and when

my lips first kissed a young girl's lips.
Yet after merely four short weeks
it seems she thought it fit to quit,
a guy so shy he couldn't speak!

Or, not with verve enough to spark
the kind of thrill she wanted then.
But in the Kinema we danced
and many times we seemed to spend

the sweetest moments arm in arm
and underneath the late May sun
we lay stretched out on new mown grass,
although I wasn't up to snuff! .

Yes, I was disappointed, but
the offers started coming through,
and bit by bit I made the cut,
though even yet, amongst the few

I think of fondly from the past,
that certain girl who kissed me first,
and held me tight, and took my hand,
still holds a place where flames still burn.


5 -

Poppy Road - Poem by ANDREW BLAKEMORE

One hundred years lest we forget
Those souls who fought and paid the price,
Who left their homes for foreign lands
And gave their lives in sacrifice.

In tribute to those village men
Who served within that wretched war,
They dressed the street in scarlet red
And wreaths were placed on every door.

'Twas such a moving sight indeed
That people came from far and wide,
To walk the length of 'Poppy Road'
And pay respect to those who died.

One hundred years lest we forget
Those souls who faced such angst and pain,
And yet forever in our hearts
Their memories live and shall remain.

[ Poet's Notes: To commemorate the passing of 100 years since the end of the First World War, Station Road in Aldridge was briefly renamed Poppy Road and the houses were decorated in poppies in respect to those who served. ]


6 -

A Grader In The Oesophagus - Poem by Augustine Yirideme

You're eating bread,
Fried yam or something similar.
It starts to choke you.
You feel like a construction grader
Is running down your throat.
Your breath suddenly turns short.
You reach for water,
To flash the damn grader down the slope.
As you take the water,
It feels like a second grader
Just joined the race.
Now you feel your oesophagus is
Going to explode any second;
In fact you wish it would just explode,
And "what can come can come".
Oh boy! You're dying like that oo,
Slowly, painfully.
But then, suddenly,
Wur-wur-wur-wur-wur, bugom!
An accident has happened;
No, a miracle.
The second grader crashed into the first
And they both 'somertumbled' down the slope.
You made it!
Sigh!
And, ooh, that feeling that follows....
It is so an out-of-this-world feeling
King Solomon couldn't find the right words to describe it.
William Shakespeare didn't even venture
So who am I to want to?
But, thanks to the perverseness of this generation,
I dare say that that feeling is near-orgasmic.
Yes, it's like an orgasm,
Priceless.
Yet it is brought to you by two graders running down your oesophagus.
That is what this life is like.
If you know, you know.


7 -

I'm Not Messy - Poem by Ashley D. Mungroo

i'll pull down the stars if you asked me to;
open your chest and that's where i want to belong forever.

i can't stop loving you and it's not killing me;
instead i'm full of you and every piece that completes your puzzle.

you're made of everything that i adore and i want to lock you away;
if you want me to;
i'll do my best to keep you safe.
i swear i'm selfish.

you feel like the universe,
countless galaxies knitted into your bones,
and the brightest stars they glow in your eyes,
and the love you have me for feels like solar flares;
dangerous for those who try to interfere.

you know,
the way you walked into my heart,
the way you burnt down my walls,
the way you lit my soul on fire,
the way you danced in my dreams under the moonlight,
and the way you touched me softer than any napkin,
i knew.

i knew that i'll never find a heartbeat like yours.

so let's crash and burn if we must,
we're an eternal flame the rain will
never stop.

and when the time is right,
we'll wipe the rain's face with the napkins you gave to me.


8 -

Dingy Earth - Poem by ANJANDEV ROY

The young bard writes,
He soars high with the wings of poesy,
But soon the severe reality drags him in the dingy earth,
He cries and cries in deep pain and resentment.
When he becomes tired,
Someone Whispers to his ears,
"Don't cry, dear friend!
This is the tragic fate of all the poets,
But they can meditate deeply for a long time
And can successfully create a tranquil poetic realm only for themselves
From where no one can dethrone them then,
Take lesson from those eminent men and write."


9 -

A Floating Cloud - Poem by Savita Tyagi

I am like a floating cloud in this
Vast open seemingly barren sky.
Hidden in my bosom millions of tiny vapors,
Formless, colorless, faceless,
Waiting for a chance to get a face, a color, or a form.
In their expression, I find a bit of my identity,
But very often I float around
Carrying that mysterious world within.
This veiled mysterious world-
So near yet so unknown.
Every now and then a flash of light escapes from it,
Like a meteor bursting on the night sky.
It touches me, inspires me,
Illuminates my whole being for a moment-
Then everything becomes quiet again,
Like nothing has happened.
Mystics call it the world of silence-
Unfathomable.
There all is tranquil, all is calm.
This infinite space within-
The substratum of life,
It holds me, cuddles me, guides me through.
Always pulling me with some magical energy
Yet always beyond my reach.


10 -

Phantom Deer.... [Very Short; True; Vision; Personal] - Poem by Bri Edwards

When the Sun's out, deer sometimes graze in our backyard.
It's very easy to view them then; it very simply isn't 'hard'.
But 'tween dusk and 'dark', to see 'em you have to carefully peer,
and as it gets darker still, those browsers become 'phantom deer'.

(August 6,2014)

[ Poet's Notes: Here, the word "hard" is used to mean "difficult". ]


11 -

[ The following is an "oldie" from my good friend, Valsa George. ]


My New Neighbour - Poem by Valsa George

In my close vicinity has come a new neighbour
Who is seen by all as a terrible bore
No one is quite sure of his identity
And no body seems to endure his audacity

If you go to him, he will bore you with his brag
With stories, your precious time he will drag
Once you have such a chance encounter
Never will you dare to have another

When he begins his tedious yapping
The listeners start turning and yawning
Nobody, his words closely attend
And not a single soul wants to be his friend

He is equally puffed up as a pedant
About displaying knowledge he is ardent
But his learning is splashy as a bauble
If probed deep, you can see it bursting like a bubble!

Not that he lacks any sense of humour
But he has some shady deals, runs the rumour
Some say he runs an illegal distillery
His past is history and his present a mystery

Meeting him face to face is a fright
That people often flee for life from his sight
Some say, he plays many a foul trick
That he is seen as a pestering tick

By his talk he makes others feel sick
To him not even his children do stick
Strange that he could easily be pleased
If his hunger for praise could be appeased

Among locals, he is called a bore
His new entry, they sorely deplore
If you have such an uncanny neighbour
Will you bear him or totally ignore?


[ So! Now YOU all know that I live(d)in Valsa's
neighborhood, .....till she kicked me out! ! ]



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

Readers,Earlier this evening I got quite befuddled *** while trying
to decide where, in MyPoemList, I'd left off from last month's
production of a list.I think I may have put some poems in my list
.............oh, this is TOO COMPLICATED to explain.I'm still not
sure I know what went through my head this evening. Was it a "Senior
Moment"? ? ?

*** "utterly confused or puzzled: deeply perplexed"

I'd better tuck myself under my bedding and get my 10 or more hours of
nightly sleep! ! !


Thanks for visiting the "list".

bri edwards

:)

p.s. Any typos, and other grammatical irregularities, in the poems are NOT my fault! ! ! ....unless in my poem(s) .