June 2018 Showcase…[ For, And Usually By, Poem-Hunter Members; A Display Of Some Of Bri's Favorite P H Poems; All Poets Are Dutifully-Acknowledged! ! ! ] Poem by Bri Edwards

This month [June, that is] I begin my 71st year of aggravating...
....whomever I "rub the wrong way".This, for me, is stimulating!
[My age shall be "70", and, since in this part of the world babies …
... don't ‘turn one year(s) old' till they've breathed air for a year**,
I now face my 71st year.And with PH I plan more poetic cheer!

[I've revised the first stanza after discussing it with my mate;
it didn't really make sense as I'd first composed it.'twas fate? ]

I could fill the showcase with just MY, Bri's, poems; all of mine...
...are GREAT! !
But I ‘owe' to some others, who have submitted, 'their chance' to …….
...poetically stimu-late.
So, gather ‘round, Readers, for poems ‘bout "this and that".
No topics are required, and few if any are ever forbidden.
There are many fine poems on PH, too many of which stay ‘hidden'.

AND AN ADDED STANZA:

In June I'll feature poets "low" on the Treasure Island "totem pole"**.
Perhaps having a poem in a showcase shall raise some to a poet's
goal,
...to be recognized, praised, and/or to educate or fascinate readers.
I hope no poems are plagiarized; I'd not wish to help any "cheaters"!

(May ….19th ….2018)

__
** '"low man on the totem pole." This phrase is indicative of the most common belief of ordering importance, that the higher figures on the pole are more important or prestigious.'
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POETS & POEMS TO FOLLOW ………WHEN I ‘GET AROUND TO IT'! !

Bri Edwards, aka (in the ‘real world') Brian Edward Whitaker

:):)

May,19,2018
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I have a complete list of the links to the poems' pages, but Poem-Hunter does not allow me to put them into the showcase, and it has been very awkward in past showcases for ME! to send them to readers on the showcase page.Poem Hunter seems to not even want me to use its name here... without me putting a space between Poem and Hunter! Using a hyphen apparently is OK!

If any reader wishes me to send her/him/it? the list, please ask in a separate PH message to my site here.All I ask in return is a gallon of ice cream and a Party Pizza to be delivered to my door by Valsa George and Jez Brul; spoons and napkins are optional.

bri :)

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The POETS (and their poem titles) :

All of these members were at PH's "Treasure Island" levels below "Bronze" when I 'discovered' them! This does NOT mean they are "new" to PH, but I think most are, though they may not be "new" to writing poetry.Let's welcome them.In my 'search' I also found some poets' poems which I did not like 'at all', but, 'let's face it', not all poets can be as GREAT as I, Bri, am! ! ! ! !:)


a - Dillon Cranston; title: Skipping A Stone

b - banamala sen; title: Dreamed A Dream

c - Joseph Pedulla; title: The Broken And The Bent

d - Kendell Cochrane; title: Goldie Locks

e - Aminat Opatola; title: A Bird

f - valentin savin; title: Party's Membership-Card

g - Georgiana Hilderman; title: The Fish And The Bird

h - Deep Paul; title: Memories

i - Ashley D. Mungroo; title: I Blamed Myself

j - Justin Reinalda; title: Requirements

k - hazel jackson; title: Nice Death

l - Asher Proschansky; title: On The Lighter Side

m - harrison smith; title: The Old Men Dance

n - ADEESO ADEYEMI; title: Am A Black Man

o - Matt Decker; title: The Scrambled Anna Graham


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The POEMS:

All of these poems have been read, commented on, and I've notified the poets of my intention/plan to put their poem into June 2018's showcase.I have not received any messages from them yet asking me to NOT use their poems! Of course I might use them anyway; I have GREAT lawyers! !

All the poems are ones which I (might) wish I'd written. Some may/do have what I consider 'errors' or 'deficiencies', and I probably told the poets of such matters.BUT, unlike with some poems in some earlier showcases, I have NOT changed the poems from the form they were in as of my 'borrowing' them. I may, however, tack a "Bri's note" after a poem [or a listed poet's name].I try to keep MY ERRORS in constructing showcases to a minimum, but I apologize for any I make, ... OR PH MAKES! !:)

TO GET TO ANY POEM'S PH page, I suggest doing a "Search", using the POEM TITLE plus the POET'S NAME plus POEM HUNTER. Using Google etc. may be (much) more successful than using PH's "Search" box.

Comments on the poem pages may be appreciated by the separate poets. Enjoy!

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a - Skipping A Stone - Poem by Dillon Cranston

My youth went like the flame at the tip of a match.
Snowed hills caved in, the beach sands blew away,
Leaving behind the pleasant smell of sulfur,
And the feeling that there should have been more.

It went much like the Middle Ages,
When all at once, I hung up my sword in a museum,
And closeted away the armor I once wore on crusades,
Suddenly missing the days spent in the shade of an olive tree,
And wandering between the villas, not having to turn a head
To check for oncoming cars.

My children, too, grew up
Like a stone, skipping across a pond.
Each birthday party, another tap against the water,
Until all that remained were the ripples,
Stretching out slowly,
And smoothed over by a passing breeze

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b - Dreamed A Dream - Poem by banamala sen

Yesterday night I dreamed a Dream,
I am back in that little garden,
Where I met you
Among Roses and Jasmines,
And in my mind, never left!

The dream comes back again and again,
In so many nights,
And my days become serene and sublime!
I find all my peace, all my strength
In that little dream!

How beautiful was the day!
Can I describe?
It must be a surreal moment
When two people find each other
For the rest of their lives!

I know dreams are not real,
I know dreams are dreams,
I know I am never going to go back
To that place where I found you,
And you found me,
Among Roses and Jasmines,
But nobody can take away that feeling!

Sometimes in my dream you tell me a story,
The way you really did,
Sometimes I can see you walk with me
and listen to my songs,
The way I only dream!

Dreams are not real,
Still I love to dream!

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c - The Broken And The Bent - Poem by Joseph Pedulla

I like the broken and the bent,
The careworn and the shent,
Limping or on one leg,
Who cannot choose but beg.

I love the sinner and his sin,
The despair I find him in,
The eyes that well with tears,
The hearts that shake with fears.

I love them all and they love me,
Akin in our iniquity
And most of all the sickly hope
The goodness toward which they blindly grope.

Even the best of them don't dare believe
Some higher thing will grant reprieve,
Or resurrection might yet be theirs,
These reprobates, these Adam's heirs.

And yet I know some cosmic court
Intends to save this wretched sort,
Its rationale shall lie in this:
Not one of them felt worth this bliss.

© Joseph Pedulla, Wednesday, February 22,2018

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Bri's notes:

This is one part of my comments, left on the poem's page:

"i'd never heard the word shent, but i found it listed. it's a tense
of the verb shend and apparently is used here to mean injured"

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d - Goldie Locks - Poem by Kendell Cochrane

I've made a few beds,
I've layed in them all,
Fell short with a few,
With others, too tall

I've tried growing gardens
Without a green thumb,
Self seeded some patience,
Before going numb...

Watered thoughts daily
So that they would sprout,
It took quite some time,
Now i've figured it out.

I'm not who i was,
That'll constantly change,
But with more positivity
Kept within range;
So the shadows ive let in
Dont swallow me whole,
As theyve done thrice before,
Taking tolls on my soul...

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Bri's notes:
This is a comment I left on the poem's page:

"i won't deny that your title drew ME in and it relates to the trying of beds
in the poem. but the spelling is not true to the name of a famous fairy tale,
which i'm sure you were thinking of: (thanks, Google)

From Google: "Goldilocks and the Three Bears is a 19th-century fairy tale of
which three versions exist."

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e - A Bird - Poem by Aminat Opatola

Watching her in her sweetest fettles,
flying with wings of gentle flush over the air's freshness,
Her taper feathers catching at all things
and binding her about in tiny rings,
up, up away she goes,
twisting round
heaven with little rectrices,
swooning in the sweetness of the air and
showering in the morn bud with the day's voices,
her features held up her crown of gold
and catching the day's sunshine with joysful moves.
Flying to the branches of the dull gray woods, and out from its sunned to a sheltered nooks,
flying over sea full of waves,
there in and out of clouds in slopy styles
pluming her coverts in various bustles,
and winding her wings to the amazing brightness of the skies,
flits her tiny form around a world of liberty
and spinning to the tallest tree with greatest faith,
Her pleasant shape blesses the sight of the day,
making
her creature more gorgeous in her gaiter features,
picking up muds, leaves, feathers and cellulose to build up nest and provide warmth for her chicks.
O this little bird i know,
flies and plummets below in sweetly tones
so softly on mountains,
forests and shores,
her song she sings in a
din dear,
as she fled
from earth and skies, lands and kingdoms and over to the glittering rattled ladders of shale,
sensing her wings
and
the wisp of air as she
stirred by in an in inaudible drifts,
Her view i devoured as
blessing,
a pure-eyed freedom flying freely as heaven
and earth divided be,
hovering withfeathered wings,
and flying away with the brighter rays,
Dropping down the clouds like an angel,
and
floating through wind
in a fiery pegasus.
Breaths the atmosphere, rest and
comfort with great merry.
O What little bird,
bestone with such beautiful faith,
wishing to be like a bird,
in a world full of freedom,
sailing, soaring, winging, and swooping,
round and round the skies,
round and round in a sweetest glide.

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Bri's notes:
Some of the words in the above poem show up on my computer screen underlined
in RED.This may mean the computer does not recognize them as "proper" English.
I will make no further comment....OTHER THAN to say: "we POETS have
'Poetic License'! , ....
.....AND sometimes....[in the past few months only, in my experience]....PH seems
to clump/group words and sentences together (leaving no spaces between them) , and we
poets can NOT 'correct' the results, AND......sometimes EVEN Bri makes a 'mistake'/
typo! !

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f - Party's Membership-Card - Poem by valentin savin

My grandson grows up and I'll tell him
I'd lived in the country full of dream.
It carried out the Soviet Union's name,
Ruined by renegades without a shame.

Of those times run down as such
Reminds me the Communist Party member-card,
That in my table I keep untouched -
The rudiment of the epoch left in my blood.

I'll tell him of the Communist party rule.
The one to which I'd been affiliated.
And I shall add: "I'm no longer a fool
To dress in any party's attire".
I'm sorry for Russia humiliated.
And wish all the traitors set to fire.

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Bri's note:

This poem has, at my 'suggestion', been edited by the author SINCE it
was first entered into the showcase. The new wording is his.

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g - The Fish And The Bird - Poem by Georgiana Hilderman

In a pond lived a lonely gold fish
With a dream that he often would wish
This dream was to fly
And soar through the sky
His ambitions no other could squish

There once was a discontent bird
With hopes that were truly absurd
She wished she could glide
And swim with the tide
And her mind could not be deterred

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h - Memories - Poem by Deep Paul

Sitting alone in my ill lit room
I was pondering over my crazy thoughts
Everything around felt null and void
Except the distant growling of a hungry street dog.

It made me think of something
Something, I had forgotten a long way back
Memories came flooding into my mind
Suddenly! everything around brightened up.

Memories! Oh some are sweet, some bitter
And some are of a blunt taste no man can ever define
Slowly, poking in to the dusty cellars of past
I tried to figure it out and savor its taste

I swear that I had got it right
Now, This was it! memories of my lost dear ones
There arose memories with ugly scars on their beautiful faces
That were buried somewhere in the dark pit of the past.

It seemed once they were fatal wounds that needed suture
But truly! Nothing is fatal for old memories
And they neither have death nor burial
They remain forever, etched in the bottom of the heart

Again loneliness began to conquer my thoughts
And I sat brooding over painful memories
May be the wounds of past can be healed
But what can we do to those scars that remain!

A cool breeze shattered my chain of thoughts
And I was alone, in my cold shabby room
Well, to stop my wandering thoughts, I kept on muttering myself
"Reopening old wounds are painful as well as useless! "

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i - I Blamed Myself - Poem by Ashley D. Mungroo

I blame myself for not being contented with what I possess,
I blame myself for pitying my flaws and wishing they would just go.

I blame myself for allowing my walls to crumble around me.
I blame myself for permitting others to take pieces of me just to build themselves up.

I blame myself for allowing others to control my emotions.
I blame myself for granting them the ability to constantly belittle me.

I blame myself entirely for enabling them to overpower me, to step all over me.
I blame myself.

I blamed myself every single day, countless they are.
I blamed myself.

I blamed myself so much that I lost myself in the endless maze, trying to love myself a little more.

I'm trying to stop.
I'm tired of trying but I'm glad I stopped blaming myself.

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Bri's notes:

I wish I could say: "I was clever and planned to put this poem in the list of poems as 'poem "i" ', but it is just a coincidence that I used "i" for a poem in which each line starts with "I"." :)

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j - Requirements - Poem by Justin Reinalda

You gotta miss me when I'm gone,
And do your best to right me when I'm wrong,
You have to like wearing my clothes in the morning,
And you shouldn't constantly remind me I'm boring,
Don't just laugh, actually think I'm funny,
Eat my mashed potatoes even when they're runny,
Love every moment I call you "mine",
Be prepared for a kiss at every stop sign,
You've gotta humor the dork inside me,
Be content knowing I don't know what I want to be,
You have to understand, some days my only volume is loud,
And only short periods of time should be spent in a crowd,
You gotta stick like a cooked noodle to the wall,
Help me up and dust me off every time I fall,
Trust me and know that I come through,
I always have, always will, its just what I do.

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k - Nice Death - Poem by hazel jackson

As i look at all the graves i think about sharp blades knowing i could die is like knowing i cant fly.

As i think about taking my life i begin to thimk of a lie mom, dad it was an accident i fell and im innocent.

if i cut a little deeper i'll see the graveyard keeper, the grimreaper waits for me to say hello, i see him and i just know.

hes black as night, cold as day i fall slowly and see what my life could cost, i die slowly and my blood runs like crazy, so slowly i say, lets take the pain away.


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l - On The Lighter Side - Poem by Asher Proschansky

My previously overgrown
belly
disappeared
Magically
Alas
My belly
used to cushion
my falls
And
Help me
When I bumped
Into walls
When I
would sometimes
flop
I'd spin
On my belly
Like a top
Without my belly
my singing voices
fails
I no longer
roll around
like great
big whales
Though when diving
I can with ease flip
my inners seam
nowhere as hip

My belly
enhanced
my stature
giving my opinion
weight
My belly was
a grand topic
when I was
running late
My shout now seems
to cackle
My trousers tend to
fall
I wake up in
the middle of the
night
with half
my shadow
missing from
the wall

My laugh
has lost
the timbre
of jolly jelly
No longer having
the great depths
of a world class
belly

I must now
Within you confide
there is far too
little space
between my sides
They say it's
healthy
not to be
double wide
but at least this
much I'd appreciate
if you would recognize
my great big belly
was really on my sides

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Poet's Notes about The Poem:
Funny perhaps. But in a world too dominated with appearance, we might
remember that a particular physical stature should not dismiss a person.
All physiques have their merits, and the human condition is such that
a person may indeed have several physical statures in the course of a life time.

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Bri's notes:
For "inners", I would use "innards". :)

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m - Am A Black Man - Poem by ADEESO ADEYEMI

Throw a bannana at me, i will eat.
Call me a niggas, i will answer.
Am of Negroes blood,
The blood flows in my vein.
I dont care what you call me.
Am a black man.
I am proud to be a black man.
You make a shit hole comment,
And i will tell you of your ignorance.
Did moron like you know what it mean to have the dark skin.
No other race can explain the endurance of a black man.
Call me all sorts of names,
I dont care what name you call me.
Am proud to be a black man.

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n - The Old Men Dance - Poem by harrison smith

The old men dance in the spring or would like to
And some believe it makes spring happen.
Others alas can no longer dance
And believe that spring dances around them.
Whichever is true and maybe both,
It's a serious business because
It's not easy for old men to dance
And the dance is as much a celebration of spring
As of being alive once more to see it.

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o - The Scrambled Anna Graham - Poem by Matt Decker

I am Anna Graham,
Anna Graham I am -
With letters and words
I like to play around.

From here to there,
From there to here,
Hidden words
Are everywhere.

I eat scrambled eggs,
I see scrambled jets,
But what's even better
Is to scramble letters.

I've been found
To nag a ram -
No need to frown,
To happen it's bound
When I switch around
The parts of anagram.

Am I the only one
Who lets out a "wow"
When own becomes won
And then won becomes now?

Do you understand
How a gentleman
Becomes an elegant man?
By the switcheroo ruse
Of the versatile anagram.

I love to see a butterfly
Flutter-by my eye;
This is what I get
When letters are switched
Ever so slight.

I went to the cinema
To catch a nice flick,
There I met an iceman
And he held an ice pick;
This sorta thing happens
When letters get switched.

My parents are eternal fans
Of this gyrating rocker-man
(I think my dad called him Elvis
Right before he cracked his pelvis
From doing his darndest
To cut a jig) -
I thought this "king" was history,
Then I hear a crazy conspiracy:
Something interesting is found
When his name becomes an anagram,
And that something is...
Elvis Lives!

I visited my sis at college,
On her I dropped some knowledge:
"This place is a disgrace!
It could really use a broom."
But with shock on her face,
My sissy to me did say:
"Anna Graham! Anna Graham!
Of all people around,
You should know better -
I can't help that the letters
In dormitory turn into
Dirty room...so boom! "

In Sunday School I was told
A story that's really kinda old
About a kid named David
And a giant named Goliath
Who lived in a time so long ago;
The big fella got leveled
(So the tale goes)
By this kid David
And a lone stone;
What I later found out
(It made me want to shout) :
If I rearrange the "liath"
And mess around with "Go, "
What do I get?
This lesson and this message...
HIT GOAL!
Well what do ya know?

Oh what new things can be found
When you use this thing the anagram
To scramble letters all around!

Yours truly,
Anna Graham


© Matt Decker

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Now the June 2018 showcase FINALLY comes to an end! I hope you (somebody at least) has enjoyed (at least) some of the poems.

SEE "YOU" NEXT MONTH (July) ? ? ? ?

Readers, Thanks for visiting.

And MANY THANKS TO THE POETS WHO WROTE THE POEMS I BORROWED. YOU CAN HAVE THEM BACK NOW. :)))))))))))))

bri edwards (aka Brian Edward Whitaker in "the real world")


bri :)