Wednesday, May 10, 2017

bear creek haiku #139 is: Patricia Carragon, Cathy Porter, P. L. Wick, Dean Wiseman Golden, Stella Leonardos, and, normal!

an excited assistant editor Tama: "Print bear creek haiku is saturated with most favorite poets!"
assistant editor Frosty: "Let's show our blog readers- all three of them- at least a few of these fine poets!"
great idea, assistant editors (and, Frosty, we have a few more than three blog visitors)...
"Hmm," says Frosty, "obviously, not enough treats..."

like tombstones
the rocks remember
each flower that died


sunlight hides sadness
the flowers and herbs
seek comfort from rocks


                       songs of birds
                                  songs of trains
                                           roots of trees sing-along

               poet Patricia Carragon  Brooklyn, New York

Tama: "You just gotta love Brooklyn..."

 BY THE TIME I GET TO ST. JOE                

                        The sun should be rising
                        I'll pull into Denny's
                        Have a few cups
                        Head out on I-29 south
                        As far as this old Mustang
                        Can go
                        Leaking three quarts a week
                        Find your old address
                        Pull into the drive
                        Leave some spots
                        To remember me by

                  poet Cathy Porter  Omaha, Nebraska

    if the damper is open

    the wood-stove
    will let us know
                                     too eager
                                     opening the wood stove door
                                     blast of pine smoke

                        poet P. L. Wick  Empire, Colorado


Spring in full swing--
birds of many persuasions
singing for their rent

                                                  Evening eastern sky

                      If it's really good
                      I mean really good-- 
                      there's an echo

              poet Dean Wiseman Golden  Auburn, Alabama

               WOMEN AT THE RIVERBANK                               

               (Das Mulheres Beira Rio)

               In humble poverty
               In modesty that hides them
               Where these women come from?

               They are so skinny, with dry eyes
               so tired of tears...

               The woman at the riverside
               praying at the barren river edge
               like burned dirt
               color of deforested earth.

               Saint Francis, the river's brother:
               our river is dying, it is drying,
               its fishes are dying without water!
               Country side women
               on the river banks
               even lack tears to cry.

         poet  Stella Leonardos  Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
                   (translator Teresinka Pereira)

                       for the children of aleppo

             do not come any closer
             for i am the forgotten child
             mine is the look which goes un-remembered
             such as just another wave of the sea
             which returns to its mother
             leaving the sand a barren face
             with eyes the size of hollow shells

                                 poet  normal  Saugerties, New York

Tama: "Mister Editor, our last two poems... now I'm crying..."
Frosty:  "Could we send our treats to the women on the riverbank and to the children of Aleppo?"

come, noble assistants, and let's find out what we can do...

see you in a moment

ayaz daryl nielsen


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