Monday, February 8, 2016

George Held, miriamswell.wordpress.com, Bijay Kant Dubey, and Kelley Jean White - (all their worthiness, and, correcting my mistakes)

      Bleak Splendor
          Poems
Originally reviewed here as Black Splendor Poems,
again, here is
Night Falls on Dog Hill Road
(followed by an update on this poem) 

larry’s flags - American and POW/MIA -
Fly straight out as the wind shifts.
From SSE to WNW
And September heat-wave
Yields to promise of fall. . .

At the end of the Little Dipper
We want to feel content,
But that black banner with white
“POW/MIA” reminds us that Nam
Still roils the countryside,

And Iraq, where it’s early 
Morning now, stretches
Before us like the lowering
Sky, while the rope bangs the pole,
And clouds cover the Pole Star.

George states, 'I'm particularly glad you chose to cite "Night Falls on Dog Hill Road," as I believe you are a Vet. Larry, the Vet in the poem, has since died of exposure to Agent Orange in Nam. I bought him that POW flag after the first one had been ripped to shreds by the wind. He was a native of the rural area where the poem is set, and he'd been laid off by a young woman executive new to his firm who couldn't tolerate his farmer's attire and view of the world. Because he was in his 50s and sick, living in a depressed economy upstate, he never had another job. I'm sure his story is not unique among Vets, nor is his being a damned good guy. R.I.P."

Yes, please rest in peace, my fellow vet. . .


next, miriamswell.wordpress.com                              

Misspelled Miriam Sagan's
name in earlier post,
and will feel better if
it's (again) corrected here-
also, an opportunity
to reiterate the readability and
unique quality of these
two poetry ensembles. . .

         dream that
       is not a dream

   a conversation on poetry

     Elizabeth Serle Lamb
        Miriam Sagan


The Dippers Do Their Part                                
     Michael G. Smith
       Laura Young

(created with the inspiration/
prayers/salah of Franz Dolp)

       Something lies in the earth
       by the river
       in cold rock, the fallen leaves
       here where the river was,
       something in the dark depression
       of this earth

       waiting to be filled.

                               Franz Dolp   



wow, I had misspelled
Mr Dolp's name, also. . .                            

from ass't. ed.s
Tama and Frosty -
'onward, mr ayaz daryl!
we love ya and got
your back!'

(belly rubs and
extra treats tonight)

Yes!, onward. . .

Bijay Kant Dubey - gosh, hope I've finally spelled this name right - of West Bengal, India, with spur-of-the-moment poetry in 'comments' of each post - I read them with expected great interest . . .
and, here's one. . .


                                                              

Where the vagabond gipsy scholar
Visionary and gliding,
Where that shabby Whitman
Clumsy and uncouth,
But raw in thought and idea,
The mind dwelling apart,

The visions shifting?                      
              Bijay Kant Dubey




                                                                                                     

     
Kelley Jean White!   bear creek haiku, when idle, lives in a size 11 shoebox.  Peeking in another nearby shoebox containing several small plastic figures and a cowbell my grandfather gave me, I find - poetry written by Kelley (no idea how long they've been there, I rarely use a cowbell anymore) - Kelley has been a friend/poet I've admired for 20+ years. . .
and, here are the poems. . .

kelley jean white
laconia  new hampshire

                          April 30th —
                          I photograph 
                          the last bit of snow.

Autumn again -
the old dog leads the way
down a path I don’t know.

                             empty playground
                             shadows swinging on brick walls
                             schoolyard at dusk.

               flying kites
               at the yard sale
               children trample 
               the crocus

                                          Hardly a breeze -
                                          as close to silence
                                          as I’ll ever be.

nose raised, stumbling
the old dog bows
for a piece of meat


Sweet.
  

see you in a moment

ayaz daryl nielsen
                                        daylayaz@me.com
                                        (and/or)
                                        darylayaz@gmail.com



                





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