Poets Hall - Hello Poetry

Jun 2014

A Gouedard

i was walking around
in the Tate
on the Thames Embankment
London that day
it was hot hot hot
the heat haze
shimmered
above the river
like the sweat
that rose off my back
i saw you
all mixed up
with Picasso's
misplaced eyes
in Malaga blue
long necks,
curved limbs askew
morning balconies
the sculpture of a goat
made of a basket
***** ram
with a bicycle seat
we weren't allowed to ride
i kept thinking
of painted naked flesh
Velasquez, Degas, Matisse
and flying to Malaga,
Barcelona, Granada,
Paris, Venice, New York
all the cities we could **** in
over and over and over
if we ran off
together right then
any cheap hotel room
with a bed
and a shower
would do
we could give up
on looking at art
completely
screaming
meaningless
poems
words
endless
passionate
words
consumed
by life

#love #passion #lust #new #*** #york #picasso #london #tate

Jun 2014

Sonja Benskin Mesher

. light bulbs and handkerchiefs .

all things are useful, bulbs
bring light , denote ideas,
good intentions, spent,
collected.

cotton hankies, frayed hold the books,
yet those with nylon, stretch the skin
resulting in red and soreness.

shy away from dangerous commodities,
use the best, those tradtional artefacts
which are gentle on your soul, bring light.

wipe your nose clean.

sbm.

today we have added notes for your interest.

A HANDKERCHIEF (also called handkercher or hanky) is a form of a kerchief, typically a hemmed square of thin fabric that can be carried in the pocket or purse, and which is intended for personal hygiene purposes such as wiping one’s hands or face, or blowing one’s nose. A handkerchief is also sometimes used as a purely decorative accessory in a suit pocket. When used as an accessory to a suit, a handkerchief is known as a POCKET SQUARE. There are a wide variety of ways to fold a pocket square, ranging from the austere to the flamboyant.

The material of a handkerchief can be symbolic of the social-economic class of the user, not only because some materials are more expensive, but because some materials are more absorbent and practical for those who use a handkerchief for more than style. Handkerchiefs can be made of cotton, cotton-synthetic blend, synthetic fabric, silk, or linen.

Historically, white handkerchiefs have been used in place of a white flag to indicate surrender or a flag of truce; in addition to waving away sailors from port. King Richard II of England, who reigned from 1377 to 1399, is widely believed to have invented the cloth handkerchief, as surviving documents written by his courtiers describe his use of square pieces of cloth to wipe his nose.

Jun 2014

Marian

My Deepest Sympathies

I Wish That I Could Heal Your Pain
Bring You A Bouquet Of Magenta Flowers
White Pastel Jasmine Blooms
With Petals Soft And Sweet
Daffodils And Buttercups
To Try And Add Some Sunshine
To Your Little World Of Grey And Black
My Sympathies As Fresh As Dawn Sky
Wounds Now Freshly Made
A Scarred Heart And Tearful Eyes
I Want To More Than Anything
Be A Comfort To You...Your Strong
Supportive Shoulder For The Tears That
Threaten To Fall From Worried Eyes
My Dearest Mom, If Only....If Only
There Was Something I Could Say...
Something I Could Do...Just To Make You Feel
A Wee Bit Better Than You Do Now
But I Am A Helpless Creature...
And All I Can Do At The Moment
Is Send You My Deepest Sympathies

*~Marian~

:( </3
I Had A Conversation In Person With My Mom
And She Said That My Aunt Joy Doesn't Look Conscious...
She Doesn't Know Whether Joy May Pass Away Today Or Not...
I Wish There Was Something I Could Do To Make My Mom Feel Better
But I Feel So Ashamedly Helpless...And I Well, Kind Of Blame
Myself For Feeling That Way...I Am At A Loss As To Know
What To Do...
Please, Each Of You Who Read This Poem
Keep Us In Your Thoughts And Prayers!!!
And To Each Of You That Has At Least
One Time In Your Life Experienced The Loss
Of A Loved One Or Family Member
I Give You Too My Deepest Condolences!!!
Hugs To Each Of You,
Marian

Jun 2014

spysgrandson

I am haunted by waters**

fishing the river is for old men,
solitary figures who saw their original sin
and now see darkness closing in
fishing is for old men, who can stand to watch
the leaves pass them by on the soft singing waters
and not wonder where they go, for they know,
it matters not if they make it to the black sea,
tarry a while on a quiet bank, or sink into the silt
fishing is for old men, who dream while awake
whose eyes no longer flutter but squint
in the sun’s naked white journey from shore to shore
when their line becomes taut, they know
now a slow dance, a chat will ensue, not a battle
they once felt compelled to fight, part of the larger war,
raging, raging against the night, for the fish…or
the fisherman, knows when the conversation ends
his line will again be loose, drifting on the currents
bound for the certainty of uncertainty
fishing is for old men
I am haunted by waters

**"I am haunted by waters" is the closing line of Norman Maclean's short book, "A River Runs Through It". Nothing came to mind when I thought of the title of the story--the last line bore more fruit

Jun 2014

Jedd Ong

Manila

Breathes through
A broken lung,
Gray air slithering in like
A snaking, sneaking
Through the street gutters
And down into a seedy underbelly.

From above,
You can see overpasses sprawling
Like swollen organs—
Cracked pavement,
Wet cement,
Heavy traffic.

In the thick of things
Is where the real soul
Lies:

Children playing hide and seek in
Thickets of rain and mud,

Damp yellow teeth brightening
Ashen faces,

Light feet doggedly dancing.

Not my best, but it reeks of home, so...

Jun 2014

calpurnia mockingbird

A valley childhood.

We grew, wild and ragged
in leaf dappled sunbeams
our roots entwined in woodland dens
alive with whispers of secrets shared
and learners kisses.

Summer stretched cat-slow before us
as cool morning dew
lay it's bounty at shoeless feet
and bluebells bowed in reverence
to the dawning of the day.

Winding brooks sang of freedom
as all of nature harmonised
the melody lifting and lilting
to soothe the jealous moon.

How fortunate we were
to thrive at nature's breast
nestled warmly within her constant heart
wrapped safely in her many shades.

I find myself with a sense of "Hiraeth" this afternoon as I look at the city that is now my home. I am a city mouse by default but my valley will always have my heart.

Jun 2014

NuurSeraph

Spirit of Normandy

Dandelion Flights, so Dandy
He's a Swell kinda fella
If you catch him at a proper Hour
He gets the Rosy Red, ya See
Reviews Legends, some about
Storming the Beaches of Normandy
Gritting Power of this Jaws,
Leans in close for Dramatists Pause
An Aged Mouth, the Black of Life
Spits over into his World of Words
Spirits gathering, the Deadening in Delivering
The Tales of the Long Lost Listeners
I Revel in the Imagery, Mindsight Sees
Battlegrounds Soundtrack
The lapping Tide, the remote Tanks and Warplane Engines, the dusty soldiers yelling out commands,
Words too faint to Understand
but the Sound of Fear, Gutwrenching, Rage, Pits of Painstaking, Heroic Strain

I'd so easily slip back in Time
To relive his Stories of Lucid Dreams

WAKE-UP ISN'T CONTRAST

I Only Will my Eyes open
After a Silence has Befallen
My Lids Jolt Open,
As I survey the Scene, Listening, Feeling for any Sign and Everything The Moment collapsed
In to the Present Presence.

Reaching over the Table
I felt for breath and the Old Man's Essence, I sighed and shook my head Knowingly
This Man who fought all Those Battles and Lived to Tell, Would not leave in It's Retelling,
not from this World nor the Next
No way, Not this One....He was just One of the many Spirits that passed through from Time to Time, and needed
an Ear to hear His Story...
I certainly didn't Mind...
Ethereal Sport is my Truest kinda Scene.

every spirit needs an ear to hear their story this is about listening to those who's Souls Pass through from time to time with a great need to share what's left them there

Jun 2014

Joe Cole

NORMANDY. ..D Day 6th Of June

On this day 70 years ago they stormed across the sand
Boys of many nations to remove the tyrants hand
Heros all those boys so young who shed their blood for us
In that ****** fight for freedom

Across the sand they struggled neath a hail of shot and shell
Never glancing backwards as around them comrades fell
Fear was in their eyes, terror in their hearts
Many never made it and twas on foreign sand they died

Yes they died to give us the freedom that we have got this day
They died to free the world, for us they made the play
Boys from ever walk of life crossed the beaches there
Office clerks and farmers and the ones who cut our hair

Yes they were heroes all who gave their lives for us
But lets not forget the few who made it possible
The girls who made the shells, the men who built the tanks
They were the unsung heroes
They have also have earned our thanks

Without their dedication to the task they had in hand
Many more would have lost their lives on that shell torn blood stained sand
They to can hold their heads up high, they knew they did their bit
In bringing freedom to the masses when they broke the tyrants grip

Afternote... nearly all 4,400 allied soldiers died on those beaches 70 years ago today

Jun 2014

James Bradley McCallum

Miami Gardens

in a stand
your ground
open carry
libertarian
paradise

Miami Gardens,
the capitol of
stop and frisk
looms as the
shape of things
to come

it doesn't
happen
all at once

it stealthily
creeps into
once wholesome
homesteads

it arrives
emaciated
always starved
for more

stark stiletto eyes
suspiciously stare
piercing
confused
frowns
worn by
flummoxed
citizens
unable to
gaze away the
maleficent days

seemingly
beginning in
innocuous
ways

they
build walls
to keep
"the other"
out

firming
conformity
to the ways
within

deep
foundations
of rigid status
quo pillars
sacrosanct

differentiation
verboten

diversity breeds
suspicion

conversations
eavesdropped

big data ears
ever listening
to between
the lines words

small talk
meta data
indexed and
algoed

down beat
utterances
classified
state secrets

certain books
are forbidden

artists condemned
art destroyed

ideas censored
shut down by
corporate
governance
social network
posting rules
and best practice
marketing
metrics

dissent
shouted down
by xenophobic
#ammosexual
group think
yahoos

in blind allegiance
to commands
of Citizen Inc
politicians
enable
a juggernaut
to roll across
the globe
fracking
to bits
anything
obstructing
its path

science is
false

history
suspicious

revisionism erases
biographical memory
we forgot how
we arrived
at this place

The History Channel
flickers cartoons
of multicolored
allegories onto
the dark walls
of our video
addicted minds
offering sweet
relief of a new
commercial fix

pandered opinion
is trafficked
as fact

inculcating
confirmation of a
stasis affirming
echo chamber

real time news
rubber stamps
the prevailing
zeitgeist of
the daily dread
a visceral
confirmation
of the World
Series Hunger
Games

communities
compel
residents
to swear
allegiance
to tribal creeds
that debase
humanity

religious precepts
shutters spirituality
with sanctioned
indoctrination
designed to
undermine an
ability to reason

ethical discernment
is arrested by moral
bifurcation

the marginalized
are criminalized

land of
the free prisons
promoted
as growth
industries
auction off
bill of rights
on low bid
altars of
profitability

a perpetual
state of warfare
marshals frenzied
legions of fear

as casualties
mount the
march of
militarization is
the only known balm
to salve the terror
welling deep within
afflicted hearts

the sun rises
on another day
in Miami Gardens
as the next shift
of police roll
through this
kingdom
of perps

Music Selection;
Dizzy Gillespie
Things to Come

6/5/14
Oakland
jbm

Miami Gardens;
Capitol of Stop and Frisk

http://www.ebony.com/black-listed/news-views/miami-gardens-the-stop-and-frisk-capital-of-the-country-981#axzz33mbFDN6P

#nsa #miamigardens #stopandfrisk #policestate #standyourground #opencarry #billofrights

Jun 2014

Terry Collett

AS IF NOT ALONE.

That monk
in the refectory
of the abbey,

bespectacled
with dark curly hair
like a cissy girl,

gave me the stare
as if I shouldn't be there,
but maybe

he wasn't
looking at me at all,
perhaps at the opposite wall

or a monk behind me
who stared back at him
with equal stare

wishing maybe
he wasn't there.
I cleaned the bogs

on the second floor,
swept the cloister
as if some

holy street
or one of them
in Jerusalem

where He once walked
or strolled with others
before the Roman's

did Him in.
The old peasant monk
sharpened his scythe

on the narrow stone,
before continuing
to cut the tall grass,

lonesome looking,
humble, God blessed,
as if not alone.

MONKS IN AN ABBEY IN 1971.

#christ #abbey #monks #1971 #jerusalem

Jun 2014

SE Reimer

sweet goodbye

~

when your final day approached
did we know it when it came?
were we given time enough,
to trace the lines of your face,
before you faded fast as dusk?
will the final words we spoke,
the familiar sounds of your voice,
echo ever in our hearts as the
fading whispers of your sweet goodbye,
becoming etched indelibly,
in the pages of our memory?
yes...
your final day arrived,
but no...
we didn’t know it when it came
no trumpet blew, no drum was beat
no final hug, no goodbye kiss
just empty silence, only this
makes us ponder all we missed

we pray the hint of the forest,
that always lingered on your clothes,
will ever be reminders of your
yearning heart for nature’s wonder
and as we walk among the swaying pines,
beside the waters still you sought
we hope you’ll linger in the sunlight,
in lengthening shadows of the hills,
where you laid your weary head,
as we scramble to the heights you loved,
we’ll listen for your voice of bravery,
in the thunder of the waterfall.
we’ll see the outline of your footsteps,
imprinted always on the carpet,
of the room you’ve left behind,
all of these we’ll look for, reach for
in the home we’ve built for you inside.

~

*post script.

verse 1 looks back, as we must do for instruction on how best to look forward.
verse 2 takes its instruction from the pages of his life,
considers how he lived, his motto, his life creed...
“travel light, enjoy the journey!”
how we must choose to continue, chose to live.

we only wish we had understood his suffering better. the deep losses of others hammers home our own, losses from which we think we are recovering... and then this.

inspired by this note from my beautiful wife several weeks ago:
“I have this daily Bible verse app on my phone, it has not been turned on to notify me for months, but today, march 25- i woke up to this one. Last day i saw my sweet Daniel’s face. :'-( “

Isaiah 26:4 Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord God is an everlasting rock.