Thursday, October 13, 2016

poets, their poems: George Held, David Sermersheim, Christina Sng, Mary Jo Balistreri, Joanna Weston, Karen O'Leary, Robert O'Rourke, Judith Partin-Nielsen, and! Bijoy Kumer Dubey!

Frosty and Tama, choosing favorite poems from the depths 
of bear creek haiku's in-between issues home (a size eleven shoebox) "someone's feet seem to be growing" states Frosty 
"and it isn't Judith's" says Tama. . . 
   



enough, already, 
assistant editors-
to the poetry!                                                                     
  

    Name Calling

    Folks who say Trump is like “Hitler”                                                    
    Think he’s a rabblerousing belittler;
    The Big Lie he’s mastered,
    Like Goebbels, that bastard,
    To make our Brown Shirts feel bitterer.

            George Held        New York   New York


"wow, good friend George 
doesn't mince words" says Frosty
"well, I don't know a single kitty-
cat who's going to vote for Chump,
and, Frosty, how come you didn't
run for president this year?"
"as you well know, Tama, the
editor of bear creek haiku
needs all the help he can get"
"too true, Frosty, too true. . ."




                       Miniatures

                       I
                       me
                       my

                       limited
                       compass
                       of
                       the pretentious

David Sermersheim    Westbrook   Connecticut


"David's poem works well with George's"
"true, Tama, true. . ."

"now, poetry from Christina Sing!",
insists Tama
Tama, her last name is Sng, even if it is pronounced 'sing' -
"but she makes my heart sing!"  


curled up with books
endless winter nights               first day of summer
spent in other worlds               a raven feather
                                        at the door

                   Christina Sng   Singapore





"We need a Jo poem!"  insists Frosty
  a Jo poem?
 "Mary Jo Balistreri poem!"
     
                    Witness

                    As the storm comes 
                    closer
                    the bent-limbed oaks
                    offer shelter
                    to fluttering finches,
                    yellow-slick feathers
                    curled into
                    golden balls
                    ornaments
                    of hope
                    in a deep rumble sky

                    Mary Jo Balistreri  Genesee Park  Wisconsin



assistant editor Frosty: 
"I'd like a poem written beside Shawnigan Lake!"
noble assistant, we have two



   a bench 
   on the cliff-edge
   soaring eagles



                           a bluebird
                           on the fencepost -
                           sunrise aria


  Joanna Weston  Shawnigan Lake  British Columbia



Tama:  "let's publish poems by Karen O'Leary"
(editor of Whispers in the Wind)
"and she'll feel better!"


sepia pages
peace settles 
between the wrinkles

                                gravesite
                                my tears drip
                                into a poem


      central farm time
      milking the cows before
      the cock crows

      
      Karen O'Leary  West Fargo   North Dakota





and Robert O'Rourke, mr. lone crow, loved dearly by so many, 
now knocking on heaven's door

"doesn't have to knock", states Tama, "the door is wide open"


above created by our Robert O'Rourke   Fort Collins  Colorado


                         sails furled now
                         his small boat
                         moving ever
                         so slowly toward
                         the horizon, each
                         out breath bringing
                         the face of his
                         Beloved Jesus
                         ever closer

      for Bob, from Judith Partin-Nielsen    Longmont  Colorado

 "now we're crying," from Tama and Frosty
  noble assistants, we all are

 we have one more poem, from  
 Bijoy Kumar Dubey  West Bengal   India



Om,                                                  

Om,
Hari Om,
The break of sound
And it splitting,
Om,
A U M,
A U M,
Hari Om,
Om, Om,
Hari, Hari.

The creation,
The flashing sun for the first time
And the things bathed in sunshine
And the break of sound
Doing the rounds
With the twitter and bird notes
Resounding and vibrating,
Vedic seers and hermits
Taking a bath into the river
In the morning
And chanting,
Om,
Om, Om,

Hari Om.


Tama: "we're all seers and
hermits in this river of life"
Frosty: "lovely, Tama"





Tama, Frosty, Judith, let's have our treats 
and hold Bob in our hearts
even as he enters the 
greatest embrace of all



see you in a moment


ayaz daryl nielsen

                          
        darylayaz@gmail.com (and/or) darylayaz@me.com

  
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