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Poems From the Porch 32

Updated on May 27, 2020
Jodah profile image

John has many years of writing experience in poetry, short fiction and text for children's books. Basically, he just loves to write.

A lovely hill walk somewhere in Ireland
A lovely hill walk somewhere in Ireland | Source


Welcome to the Porch. There are only three poems this week and so I would just like to open this anthology with this definition of poetry and poets as published in the very first edition of The Encyclopaedia Britannica (1768-71.)

"Poetry is an art where everything should please. It is not enough to exhibit nature, which in certain places and circumstances is rude and unpleasant; but the poet must chuse (sic) in her what is beautiful from what is not: whence a poet ought to chuse (sic), for the subject of his imitation, something naturally affecting....

In fine, to accomplish a poet, is required a temperature of wit and fancy, of strength and sweetness, of penetration and delicacy; but above all, he must have a sovereign eloquence, and a profound capacity. These are the qualities that must concur together to form the genius of a poet, and sustain his character."

The Tramp Poet: Image by Schnipidy from Pixabay
The Tramp Poet: Image by Schnipidy from Pixabay | Source

Li-Jen Hew

“Hi Jodah, you’re good at making poems about food. Thinking of writing a new one?
...anything you fancy or what is universally loved like ‘bread’.”

Li-Jen, I love bread and probably eat more than most people, but writing a poem about it was not that easy. Anyway, I did my best.

The smell of good bread baking,

like the sound of lightly flowing water,

is indescribable in its evocation of innocence and delight

— M.F.K. Fisher

Give Us This Day Our Daily Bread

“Give us this day our daily bread”

So it says upon the Lord’s Prayer.

Bread‘s one of the oldest man-made foods

That many cultures share.

Bread‘s considered a necessity,

And also slang for money,

The bread-winner in the family

Buys food to fill your tummy.

The types of bread are endless,

There’s white, mixed grain, and rye,

Wholegrain, sourdough, Turkish bread,

Whatever people buy.

Bread’s a powerful symbol

For provision of our needs,

So let’s break bread together

And be generous in our deeds.

Bread: Image by marco aurelio from Pixabay
Bread: Image by marco aurelio from Pixabay | Source

Rosina S Khan

"Hi John,

I would like relationships with the people I interact with every day to improve so that we can be mutually happy. Therefore, I would request a poem, 'Improving Relationships with the Surrounding People'.'

I did my best with this poem, Rosina. I hope it offers some guidance.

The most important thing in communication is hearing what isn’t said.

— Peter Drucker

Improving Relationships With Surrounding People

Of eight billion people on this Earth

how many you’ll encounter

depends how much you socialise

and how extensively you travel.

We’re all unique, have different views

often shaped by race and culture,

but most people are kind and good
and have the same basic requirements.

So, smile at everyone you meet,

don’t judge them at first sight,

for appearances often deceive

and first impressions seldom right.

Be positive and don’t complain,

listen more than speak.

Try to understand their views,

and don’t try to compete.

Give your opinion if you’re asked,

promote what you believe,

but don’t engage in hot debate

if it will cause you grief.

Be generous and show you care,

and quick to offer help.

Don’t expect things in return,

prove your concern’s heartfelt.

Then people will embrace you,

your company be sought.

They’ll spread the word to others

and say your heart is good.

People enjoying a picnic together: Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay
People enjoying a picnic together: Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay | Source

Kyler J Falk

"There isn't enough rabid, burning passion in this world. The type of passion that breeds fair and impartial love, and roaring acceptance. You encapsulate the spirit of this passion for me, John, but I want a poem that really hammers the point home. I want it bittersweet, I want my heart to hurt but also to feel your hands around it, nursing it back to health.

Give me a poem titled, 'Extinguish Sadness With Flames of Passion!'"

I want to see a constructive example of fighting fire with fire! Let's set the world alight!

Kyler, I used that as the theme for this poem but I gave it a different title. I hope you like "One Night in Lust."

Each of us is born with a box of matches inside us but we can't strike them all by ourselves

— Laura Esquivel, Like Water for Chocolate

One Night In Lust

I sat alone, hugging the bar,

Feeling sorry for myself.

The barman knew my poison,

So he pulled it off the shelf.

My head hung in morose recline,

Feeling deserted by my God.

“Just add that to my growing tab,”

I acknowledged with a nod.

I’d lost my job, I’d lost my wife,

But they say that life goes on.

An easy thing for “them” to say,

How often “they” are wrong.

I downed the glass and stared at it,

The bourbon burnt my throat,

But it also helped to drown the pain.

I’d fallen from Jim’s boat.

Jim Beam Bourbon: Image by Martin Lazarov from Pixabay
Jim Beam Bourbon: Image by Martin Lazarov from Pixabay | Source

A finger raised, “Hit me again!”

A sign the barman knew,

Then I felt a hand press on my back,

”Would you mind if I join you?”

I raised my head and turned around,

Which was easier said than done.

Her smiling eyes and ruby lips

Combined to strike me dumb.

She ordered a margarita

And I put it on my bill.

My head was spinning wildly,

But, I remember that night still.

We stumbled to a cheap motel

Whose neon sign was bust.

It meant to read “LUCKY STAR MOTEL,”

But the lights spelled only “ LU . . .ST . .“

If words were said, I can’t recall

But the passion was intense.

Clothes were strewn around the floor -

To resist would make no sense.

I made love like a man possessed,

She burned me with her touch.

With rabid thirst to be desired,
I just couldn’t get enough.

It was five years ago in “LUST

When my passion was returned.

The night my good wife won me back.

That reignited fire still burns.

Image by marco aurelio from Pixabay
Image by marco aurelio from Pixabay | Source

Love is a fire. But whether it is going to warm your hearth or burn down your house, you can never tell.

— Joan Crawford

More Poems Await

Well, that's it for this week but I hope you come back to the porch again for the next anthology. I am looking forward to it myself as I will be writing poems for: Mel Carrier, Lawrence Hebb and Ann Carr, and maybe more.

Oh, and don't forget, if you have any requests for poems yourself, just ask. The more the merrier.

This content is accurate and true to the best of the author’s knowledge and is not meant to substitute for formal and individualized advice from a qualified professional.

© 2020 John Hansen


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