A Showcase For Ph Poets: February 2015: Section ‘A’… [sharing Poems; Not A Contest; Monthly On Bri Edwards’ Ph Site]

So, now for some information about my first SHOWCASE for PH poets:

Sorry, I’ve altered some things already, like the title of my lead-in poem, above. In anticipation of a great response [I sent notices to about 50 members so far from my inbox], I have added to my lead-in poem’s title ‘February,2015: section ‘A’ ‘.

I eventually plan to submit one of my own short (12 lines or less) poems, and later this month one of my LONG ones, which may go on for a couple of pages. Therefore, and since I will allow other members to also submit two poems per month [if one is 12 lines or less], I may well add a second, third,4th, etc. ‘section’ so readers will not have to scroll up and down too much to refer to poems and the comments area below the poems. understand? i hope so. this first ‘section’ is ‘A’ and I shall follow the English alphabet: A, B, C, etc.

I also plan to have a list of the poets [whose poem(s) are included in a section] above all of the poems.

Starting off will be the first poem submitted to section ‘A’ of February’s showcase. [PLEASE READ THE POET’S NOTE ALSO FOR MY ‘A SHOWCASE FOR PH POETS’.]

And here we go!
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1. Daniel Brick (U.S., Male,68) :

Moving into the House Late Winter,1985

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
2. Bri Edwards (U.S., Male,66/67) :

Golden Eagle

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

3. Eugene Levich (U.S., Male,78) :

Souls

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

4. Elena Plotkin (U.S., Female, ageless) :

Please No More

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

5. Sally Plumb Plumb (England, Female,74?) :

Boy And A Frog (Kids Stuff)

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

6. Beach Girl (U.S., Female, about 44) :

Love and Tears

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

7. Electric Lady (U.S., Female,32) :

Beautiful Stranger

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

8. JJ Evendon (United Kingdom, Male,66) :

Sitting Quietly

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

9. JJ Evendon (United Kingdom, Male,66) [2nd poem]:

Heaven’s Delight

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10. Bri Edwards (U.S., Male,66) (2nd poem) :

[War] Boy In An Envelope….. [War (Vietnam ‘conflict’) : a parent’s loss; condolences; VERY LONG, but worth the time]

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11. Lora Colon (U.S., Female, ageless) :

Eternal Thirst

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

12. Valsa George (India, Female,61) :

In Vain

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13. Lora Colon (U.S., Female, ageless) (2nd poem) :

Feeding The Fire

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14. Elena Plotkin (U.S., Female, ageless) (2nd poem) :

Sugar Man

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

15. Darlene Walsh (U.S., Female,21)

Last Trip

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16. Savita Tyagi (U.S., Female,67)

Like a Coin

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17. Savite Tyagi (U.S., Female,67) (2nd poem)

Life Agrees To Be Your Valentine For A Period Of Time

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

18. Brian Johnston (U.S., Male,71)

PH: Farm: For Now, The Chimney Stands

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19.? no more this month. look at the March ‘showcase’ next.

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1. by DANIEL BRICK:

Moving into the House

Day heaves darkness out of sight.
The remaining trees on this ordinary
street seem scattered, haphazard.
Disease has claimed so many of them.
They are so much older than us,
truly survivors, probably much stronger.
They wait in their stolid silence.
The bloom will come later,
but this later needs no help from us:
it blossoms by itself,
in due time. And then the city
will live again in its summer glory.

Our street is quiet in the morning.
A gray cat sleeps on our front steps
until I shoo him away. Barely visible,
birds linger in the branches hanging over
our deck. Inside it is quiet as well.
The house is big, big enough
for a family, but there are only two
of us living here now. It once held a family
of five, but that is another story…
We have been busy in the way of
new homeowners everywhere. Next box

We painted the walls in every room,
carpeted the floors, put bright prints
of paintings by Monet in the living room,
furnished it with glittering things. And
everyday I remind myself I don’t believe
in ghosts. But he shadows me. Just past sixty,
he lumbered across the floors we’ve covered,
looked out the kitchen windows we’ve scrubbed
spotless, woke up to the same light streaming
into the kitchen. And I remind myself
I don’t believe… A suicide leaves no trace, he
has erased himself. And we have so much more to do.

(February 2015)
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2. by BRI EDWARDS:

Golden Eagle….[Eagles: Hunting and Caring for young]

A Golden Eagle stands tall upon its perch,
with keen eyes, for its next victim to search.
Suddenly it spreads wings, is off with a lurch,
sweeping low o’er groves of aspen and birch.

A jackrabbit stirs near a clump of brush.
Silently toward it the eagle does rush.
The rabbit’s life-ending cry breaks the hush.
Too late! The eagle, its backbones does crush.

With rabbit in tow it flies to its nest
where its chick gobbles warm handouts with zest.
With its mate the parent shares all the rest,
preparing themselves for the next hunting quest.

(Dec.2006; revised Dec.2012)
============================================

3. by EUGENE LEVICH

Souls

I wonder if monkeys have souls.
Their DNA and ours are almost identical—by 95 percent!
Some say ninety-eight!
Deoxyribonucleic acid is neither charade nor pretense
Do monkeys wonder if we have souls?

And if monkeys do have souls, what about
Ranger—my wonderful childhood canine brother?
‘Cause he seemed often more human than people
And displayed more brains than many.

Dogs enjoy a heavenly patron—Saint Roch
A Frenchman
Who died in 1327—
Wouldn’t he lead all the good dogs in?

If my soul does enter heaven-
As unlikely a premise as that might be-
If Ranger didn’t come bounding to greet me…
It wouldn’t be truly heaven, you see.

And if monkeys and dogs have souls
What about cats? —Does Ace have a soul?
I’d like to think so—but I really don’t know.
‘Cause one doesn’t know where to stop.

Cats also enjoy a patron—Saint Gertrude de Nivelle
A Belgian who died in 659—
Cats would thus seem to have a free pass in.
And that would indeed be swell.

But cats being somewhat devilish,
I wouldn’t so much expect to see
Ace’s presence there.
He was a bad boy anyway

(February 1,2015) ?
============================================= ===

4. by ELENA PLOTKIN

Please No More

And so he wrote it on the message board,
A simple message for the Almighty Lord,
‘Please God, who I worship and adore,
Please all merciful God, please no more! ‘
I saw it there upon the message board,
A simple message for the Almighty Lord,
I ventured to ask the owner of the store,
‘Who wrote this message of ‘No More? ”
‘A man came by here, a drifter, a bum
down in his luck, desperate, and glum.’
‘Why keep it there? ‘ I dare then to ask,
‘I cannot bare to do this simple task,
By all means do it yourself if you wish,
Some motions of the hand swish, swish, swish,
And the words will at last all disappear,
But first this much I feel you must hear,
Before that desperate man left my store,
I asked him what he meant by ‘No more, ‘
His reply was neither fast nor too slow,
It was forthright, sincere, and full of woe,
‘Please God no more sickness; no more death,
I ask for others not just myself.
Please no more famine; please no more drought,
It’s not just me I am thinking about.
Please no more tornadoes, quakes, and flood,
We are all just made of flesh and blood.
Please no more murder, rape, or abuse.
We all have some purpose and some use.
Please God, who I worship and adore,
Please all merciful God, please no more! ”
And after the owner said this to me,
the board’s eraser he handed to me.
Some motions of the hand swish, swish, swish
But how can I erase that man’s one wish?
So I handed the eraser back,
I thanked the owner for his great tact.
I said my goodbye and left that store,
I came home and looked at my front door,
Took a paper, a pen and wrote it down,
the very same words I read back in town,
‘Please God, who I worship and adore,
Please all merciful God, please no more! ‘
And as I took tape and stuck the paper on,
I knew that I wasn’t the only one
who took a paper and wrote it down.
It couldn’t just be me and this one town.

(C) 2013 Copyright
==================================== ===

5. by SALLY PLUMB PLUMB

Boy And A Frog (Kids Stuff)

The great, green gob
was opened wide
and a wriggling worm
was fed inside.

The boy said, ‘Mum,
the frog he comes
and sees me every day,
but a grass snake lurks
and slyly works
his slithers by the way’.

Then the snake, like lightning,
makes a strike.
The boy he quickly starts
and jaws around
the great, green gob
are gently eased apart.

Now frog and snake
their freedom take
from the boy
with a pounding heart.

Submitted: Thursday, October 23,2014
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6. by BEACH GIRL

Love and Tears

A breath of a breeze

Tousles my hair

As moss laden trees

Soften sun’s glare

Jasmine vines twined

‘Round the old wooden post

And upward they climbed

To heaven almost

Heavy with fragrance

As sweet as your heart

I stood in the garden

Till day did depart

The scent caused a sigh

And broken heart fears

The flower’s a sign

Of lost Love and Tears

Submitted: Saturday, July 12,2014
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7. by ELECTRIC LADY

Beautiful Stranger

You are no fool to me
Because everything you do is so perfect
A mirror is just an illusion
Let us break it along with the rules!
Boys like you are debonair
So raw and so real
You wear your heart on your sleeve
But at the same time
You carry the weight of the world on your shoulders
I enjoy making love to my art
I often wonder what it would be like to leave everything behind
And start a whole new life with a beautiful stranger
My emotions are divinely connected to yours
Therefore the gods shall surrender
And your tears and my tears
Shall make a flowing river.

We are both strange
Yes we are
And I do not care what the world may think!
I am beautiful
And you are beautiful
We are beautiful strangers.

Submitted: Friday, June 20,2014
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8. by JJ EVENDON

Sitting Quietly

When I feel love is no longer inside me
I walk with empty thoughts to a hill top tree.
Whilst I sit there peacefully, and wait for the breeze to whisper,
I try to write something profound on a scrap of paper.
The early morning mist that once hid the land and trees,
slowly dissipate and recedes.
With a rising sun, it’s not long before I get a clearer view.
Everything in life has a meaning, mine would always be one with you.

Submitted: Tuesday, September 09,2014
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9. by JJ EVENDON

Heaven’s Delight

Insects drawn by an outside light
I hear sounds of cicadas and animals at night.
I feel the warmth of a gentle evening breeze,
Glass of wine in hand, that is making me merry indeed
I see a myriad of stars above shining bright
with no moon, it makes for an awesome sight.
Can people honestly believe we’re alone in the universe,
when there’s an abundance of life here on earth?
With an almost infinite number of stars and galaxies,
discovering alien life elsewhere, how sensational would that be?
Such a probability may exist using a link of the mind,
so I go search the universe for our nearest alien kind.
Travelling faster than light and at the speed of thought
it’s not long before I find what I’m looking for.
From a distance, I see white clouds, land and deep blue seas
there’s even has a moon like ours – how extraordinary!
But as I descend through its atmosphere and weather,
I see myself resting on a patio – I’m glad my soul and me are together!

Submitted: Thursday, December 25,2014
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10. by BRI EDWARDS

[War] Boy In An Envelope….. [War (Vietnam ‘conflict’) : a parent’s loss; condolences; VERY LONG, but worth the time]

The long envelope was addressed to Mr. Robert K. Hess.
One corner was torn away…..and it lacked a return address.
I’d just received it that day, with a batch of others;
it was a light mail-day; some days the volume smothers.

I opened up the envelope, what was left of it, and read…..
‘Dear Mr. Hess,
Sorry this comes so late. I know your son is dead.’

I caught my breath. I’d received a similar letter years ago,
but this one contained a photo also, which caused my tears to flow.

The photo, black and white, showed a father with his son.
Each was dressed in camouflage, and each carried…..a deer gun.
On the back was a name and address, the same as envelope.
And written in pencil it said ‘Me and Dad, hunting antelope.’

There was a date also written: November 12,1963.
Memories of my son now swept rapidly over me.
There were about ten pages, handwritten, staring at me now.
I could not make myself read it yet. My head did slowly bow.

The next day I took it up again, with very mixed feelings indeed.
But my mind and soul both seemed to feel, the letter I might need.

‘My name is Hank’ the letter said. ‘I knew your son in NAM.
This photo of you and your son, for years has helped keep me calm.’

I stared at the photo for a while. Did my son look like that long ago?
I scanned the letter and found no return address. The letter, I was about to throw.
But I couldn’t do it! I had to read it someday. Again I set it aside.
Ten years I’ve been without a son, but, for him, I’m still filled with pride.

It took a week before I read some more. I had plenty more to do.
I thought reading the long letter might help, the parent-child bond, renew.

‘I’ve enclosed Tom’s dog tags. He gave them to me before he died.
I should have turned them in but I didn’t, and for two days, at night, I cried.
Tom was my buddy for six months; we shared more than you want to know.
It wasn’t ALL bad in The NAM. Once we saw a live comedy show.
He was a bit of a crazy kid, who at crazy times would sing a song.
He spoke highly of you, though he said you didn’t always get along.’

The letter went on and on. I was tempted several times to quit.
Sometimes, due to some torn off page corners, I missed a little bit.
Yes, there’d been corners torn off of pages, and of the envelope too.
Dog tags were missing; through the open envelope corner I suppose they flew.

Hank spoke of a visit to Saigon, and of the oppressive heat,
of villagers who’d had legs blown off, and meals they had to eat.
He did NOT mention drugs, nor the girls I imagine they’d sampled,
nor TOO much of fighting, nor of anything or anybody they may have trampled.

He mentioned seeing a cobra one day and he mentioned the sounds at night.
He said much of their time there was boring. Beer came by helicopter flight.
There were church services held in ‘the field’. They burned much of their shit.
The few times they had enemy contact, each soldier tried…..to not ‘get hit’.

‘Part of the year has terrible rains. They call them a ‘wet’ monsoon.
One of the few things like in the States, was the stars at night and the moon.
Some of us (just a few) wrote regularly to folks back home.
Some were concerned more with leech removal and having a good lice comb.

‘I spent a second tour in The NAM after your son died. Was I nuts?
Partly, your son’s death was why I stayed. I wanted to kick some V.C. butts.
I got my chance in my seventeenth month there. I got two gooks, but they got ME.
I lost an arm and one eye, but my medical care is free.

‘I’ve also had flashbacks of being hit, or those I killed, and of your son.
If I could rule the world now…..I’d get rid of every bomb, mortar, and gun.
One good thing, I guess, came out of that mess. I met my dear wife Susie.
She took care of me in Walter Reed. I’ve got a son, Tom; he is a doozy.

‘I’ve debated telling you how your son died. Now I guess I will.
It was not drugs or suicide…..as happened to some. It happened on a hill.
I’ve heard Tom’s listed as ‘Missing In Action’, but I tell you he did die.
But I don’t know if I can say his death was needed. No, I will not lie.

‘We were ordered to take a hill overlooking a ‘strategic valley’.
We were warned not to commit any ‘atrocities’ like was done by Lt. Calley.
Maybe we did, and maybe we didn’t. It was not clear who the enemy was.
When we were ordered to take the hill, we did as a ‘good soldier’ does.

‘We were told there were NVA and VC and maybe Chinese on the hill.
We were told to advance cautiously, but to proceed at will.
We kept in touch with the home base until our radio operator was shot.
The radio was ‘killed’ too, so we were a bit ‘in the dark’; ours was a sorry lot.

‘Our platoon started with forty men, most as young as Tom and me.
By the time we’d gotten off the hill, I think we were down to twenty-three.
Halfway up Tom got hit in the chest, I think from machine gun fire,
but he could have been hit by a sniper bullet; treetop snipers could get much higher.

‘I was ten feet away and I went and cradled his head.
He gave me his tags, which I’m sending to you, but in a few minutes he was dead.’

By now I was choking, and my tears were soaking the page; I stopped.
I wondered if my son died with a buddy, with his head up-propped.
The next day, after a sleepless night, I returned anxiously to the letter.
I thought a day’s rest would prepare me for letter’s end, but I did not do much better.

‘I know, sir, some war movies show soldiers carrying their dead away,
but, I hope you’ll believe me, on THAT hill THAT day, there was……NO damn way.
You wouldn’t have gotten your son’s body back; I’d probably have lost mine.
I hope you’ll forgive me, sir. I hope, with my decision, you’ll be fine.’

Once again I hesitated, with page in hand, but I could not stop reading now.
I grabbed more tissues and drank some water, and to the end I did plow.

‘Our forces took the hill at last…..after it was mostly destroyed.
To accomplish this, however, it was carpet bombed and napalm was employed.
I don’t really know if they looked for Tom. The hill was ‘held’……for a few months.
That’s the way things went sometimes……for us U.S. Army grunts.

‘I haven’t given you my return address; it was hard enough, as is…..
to write to you at long last, and give you what, for Tom, once were his.
I know he cherished the photo; I took it from him when he died.
The dog tags have been a comfort for me many nights when I have cried.
But I’m on a new med now, from the VA doctor, to calm my nerves at night.
They seem to be working and I thought you should have what was Tom’s. It’s right!

‘I hope this envelope reaches you safely. I hope you haven’t moved.
I hope you believe my story, and, that Tom had a NAM buddy, this proved.
With my sincere condolences on the loss of your son.
Sincerely, Hank

p.s. I’ll remember him each time my boy’s little hand, on mine, does yank.’

My eyes were red and tired by now, but all my tears had dried.
I’m sorry I failed to find a return address. My boss will know I tried.
My name is not Mr. Hess. My son’s name was Ron, not Tom.
Ron died, I’m told, in ’68, when his patrol was hit by …..an errant bomb.

I work in a Post Office Dead Letter Office where we get our share of mail.
I know many, hearing of my job, will think ‘Post Office? ‘, and then think ‘snail’.
Each day I look at mail pieces marked ‘undeliverable, return to sender’.
Hank’s envelope came here to be opened, as no return address he did tender.

Sometimes we have good luck and the mail finds its way back home.
Today we’ll send, to the waste bin, this heartbreaking, belated ‘tome’.

[My name is Rose Cranston. Ron was 19 when he died. I miss him.]

(March 31,2014)
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11. by LORA COLON

Eternal Thirst

This thirst for love is my heart’s torment,
How can I calm these raging fears
When the fire of love’s thirst burns like the sun,
And the blaze is stoked by my tears?

My eternal thirst…. will it be quenched?
My heart’s parched, lying in the dust,
It longs to leap into glistening waves,
It pleads for the tide’s rapturous thrust

Eternal thirst lurks in the darkness,
Seeking shadows in empty streets,
And finding its way to my room each night,
It softly cries on satin sheets

Eternal thirst, my heart knows you well,
You long for a kiss wet with dew,
But one warm embrace would still make you smile,
Your demands are so small and few

When will my thirst be satiated?
I choke on the dust of despair,
And a sigh of weariness leaves my lips
As I fall to my knees in prayer

Eternal thirst, the sun’s almost set,
You’re waning, like a smoldering fire,
Soon, on winter’s wind you’ll drift away,
Leaving not a trace of desire

My thirst for love….. jaded memories
That ride on the wings of despair,
A song of poets, a dream of fools,
Peace! … when longing breathes its last air

Submitted: Saturday, July 26,2014
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12. by VALSA GEORGE

In Vain

With no cover ups, let me be frank
At times my mind goes utterly blank
When I sit down to write a poem
From topic to topic, my mind does roam
But nothing comes to spark off a rhyme
Often I feel the words do not chime
Today as I sat down to write something
I ended up conjuring nothing

No thoughts came to stir up my brain
And no topic I found save my strain
But I wasn’t ready to willfully give up
And waited impatient for my mind to clear up
I thought I shall settle with ‘Compassion’
But alas, it was charged with no passion

The urge to write had grown into a fad
And I felt I was growing altogether mad
Plagued by a fiery fancy to express
And a tormenting desire unable to suppress
With a mental state somewhat fierce
I climbed up and down the stairs

I stood upside down and raked my head
So that a little poem, into it would be fed
Feeling dizzy, I stood suddenly upright
But on my head hung a heavy weight
I poured some water over my head
But knew my fever hadn’t fled
Madly pacing across the room
I tripped and fell down on a broom
Rising, I screamed with all my might
Making the household ring in fright
‘What the hell is it? ‘ I did shout
And wriggled in pain as from gout
In mad frenzy, I ran round the house
No one knew the reason for my fuss
Soon it dawned on me that I needed some rest
For I was far more than stressed
So I sat down and closed my eyes
Thinking, attempting to squeeze out a poem is unwise

I don’t know how long I sat in meditation
On waking up I got a fresh direction
From the grip of an entangling rigour
I restored my sanity and vigour

The sun had gone out of sight
And the moon was beautiful and bright
It was already growing late
And I put off my futile fight

Submitted: Sunday, March 16,2014
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13. by LORA COLON

Feeding The Fire

Why is there no one here for me,
No companion for my heart?
I’m tired of pretending, wearing this mask,
Too long have I played the part

How can a heart feel so displaced,
Not knowing where it should be;
Even a bird, lost in its flight
Finds comfort in a welcoming tree

The sun and stars have been tended to,
Their courses have all been charted;
But yet I wander, lost in a fog,
Hope for guidance long departed

The decay of happiness is choking me,
I’m drowning in my own tears;
Still, I wait for The Light to come
And guide me through happier spheres

But my pilgrimage is almost over,
For my hunger and thirst – no relief!
So I’m burning my robe and my sandals,
Feeding the fire with all my Beliefs!

Submitted: Friday, September 27,2013
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14. by ELENA PLOTKIN

Sugar Man

My teeth that used to bite have long lost the fight.
My hair that once was gray has now become white.
My eyesight is cloudy yet my liver spots shine bright.
I can barely walk two blocks before my knees give out.

The only things older than me are the bills in my pocket.
One sultry look from you baby and I’m off like a rocket.
Just please keep the machines hooked up to the socket,
And maybe I’ll teach you how to play the stock market.

I’ll treat you like the princess your father always said you were.
I’ll lavish you with expensive jewels, car, clothes, and fur.
I’ll take you to fancy dinner parties from here all the way to Japan.
You’ll never have to cook, clean, or work for this sugar man!

Submitted: Wednesday, March 05,2014
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15. by DARLENE WALSH

Last Trip

I was a full day dead and quite content
My last word and testament has been sent
I lay in my coffin as they passed me by
They walked past in silence, never asking Why?

My heart was light in my quiet repose
In the air was the fragrance of white rose
Tears glistened on cheeks in candle light
But they all knew that my rest was right

Long years were past and everything done
I’ve spent many days under the sun
I wanted to go, no reason to stay
I just needed time to find the way

Children and grand children and great ones too
Family left behind totaled quite a few
Friends from my youth have already left
Those still here are have a younger zest

My soul is at rest like a cool summer day
The last heat of life has gone away
Passion’s twilight has come to rest
Like a mountain spring washing my breast

It is time to go with no regret
I leave behind not a single debt
It’s been a full day since my last breath
Now for my last trip to the land of death

They carry my coffin to my earthly home
And sprinkle on my lid rich dark loam
No child in slumber could be more content
Quite content that my life was well spent

Submitted: Sept.9,2014
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16. by SAVITA TYAGI

Like A Coin

Like a coin I roll down the path of mortal life
Wrapped around me my eternity
A silent Witness enjoying the partnership
Yet in Its grace letting me feel like
I am the one and only one enjoying the thrill
Unaware of my head or tail
Ignorant of mysterious beginning
Final destination- a blinded corner
Still I claim the path’s ownership.

Submitted: Monday, November 05,2012
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17. by SAVITA TYAGI

Life Agrees To Be Your Valentine For A Period Of Time

There is an element of pleasure
In all the workings of life
Be it of joy or suffering to our eyes
It exists independently universally
Irrelevant to our feelings and emotions
Uninfluenced by our experiences
Jovial are the words of grief and happiness
Whose understanding comes to rest
Upon equality in dealing with duality
And believes in simple pleasure of living
Our joy and sufferings are wrappings
Marked upon life’s golden box
Sometime dazzling as dawn azure
Or dark as night sans moon and stars
Intense is the touch of these wrappings
Upon our hearts and mind hiding creation’s
Secret purpose beyond our understanding
Ambrosia of life drips in movement of time
Death rejuvenates it like hourglass
Reversing it self to start all over
Life agrees to be your valentine
For a period of short time
Enjoy her partnership in these
Moments so blessedly thine.

2.14.2015

Wish you all a happy Valentine

Submitted: Saturday, February 14,2015
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18. by BRIAN JOHNSTON

PH: Farm: For Now, The Chimney Stands

In the ashes of a home
Remains a stone fireplace
That still stands against the sky
Decaying at its own pace
Earth, water, and wind
Now its only adversaries,
Unless you add time to the mix.

It marks the place
Where once humans lived,
Like a cross without arms,
A fragment of a tombstone
Is the best it can muster,
The once cheerful warmth of its heart.
Indistinguishable from ambient air.

At one time a barn was here too!
But signaling its weariness
By leaning too hard toward the future
As if to brace itself for the final onslaught,
It won its own release,
Rough hewn planks stripped away,
Finding temporary lives elsewhere.
 
Stone walls that once
Sheltered whole towns
From marauding hordes
Have their own plans
For reincarnation,
Migrating, as it were,
To patios and garden pools.

All is change my love,
Everything we hold dear
Vanishes and then reappears,
Briefly, in other bedrooms,
Like warmth from a fireplace…
Only the stars in lover’s eyes
Remain the same, until they change.

Submitted: Wednesday, June 25,2014
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19.? SEE YOU IN MARCH?

BRI 🙂 🙂 🙂
Bri Edwards
Submitted: Monday, February 02,2015
Edited: Saturday, March 07,2015

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DEAR ME! ! ! SOMEHOW PH? HAS SCREWED UP SOME OF THIS SHOWCASE, AND I’VE SPENT A LOT OF TIME TRYING TO FIX IT (THE SHOWCASE) . IT ALSO COMPLETELY DISAPPEARED FOR A WHILE! : (( BRI