Responsive Poetry: Grits!?! Del Cano and Moi!

Love My Grits


Grits, they say with a start
as if they are a foreign treat
I love to have them with other food
in deeming them very good to eat.

Could care less when they react
like when they turn up their nose
Seems they never gave them a chance
but I can only guess or suppose.

I like grits as a side dish
often add a few chunks of cheese
and no matter what they have to say
they go down slow and with such ease.

You go a head and laugh
I'll enjoy my grits to a tee
whenever you refuse to a new taste
imagine grits are a pleasure to me.

Del Cano April 20, 2009


Grits and Bear 'em!

I well remember that first time
Grits were placed there in my face
It was eggs over easy I liked fine
But these eggs set in my place?!

Eggs over easy to my way of thinkin'
Was eggs turned over keeping the yellow soft
But these eggs were sliming and slinkin'
O'er half my plate, running buff!

Movin' toward what looked to me
Thrown up milk from one of my kitties
It merged with the slimy runny eggs
Whole plate was white, was this just a tease?

Taking a chance I peeked at my sis
But she was talking and eating fine
Scrambled eggs and toast, heavenly bliss
All I could wish, that plate was mine!

Looked across the table, friend noticed me
Do you know what that is, I was asked.
Shaking my "no" begging her "please?"
"Why that there's grits, dear, corn that's smashed!"

In a public restaurant, my Mom would' ve said "eat"
But with those runny eggs and rambling corn
Not getting sick would be my great feat!
I sat back on my chair, hungry, forlorn...

Just then our waitress must have saw my face
"Not done 'nuf, honey? No grits for you today?"
Almost in tears, I nodded with grace
"Scramble them please, and grits? No Way!"

G. A. Bixler, April 30, 2009

~~~

Thanks so much for all who shared their poetry. When Spencer sent me this one, I just knew I had my own story on grits to tell! I was my sister's "model" when she took her test for beauty school. We were having breakfast on the first day...all her friends who were going to be tested and their models. There were about ten sitting around a big table and I was the youngest. I can still remember my feelings when I had that plate set in front of me. I knew I shouldn't make a fuss, and the school was paying for our meal so I felt I should eat it...

Well, Spencer, seeing those running grits invading those slimy runny eggs...put me off grits...for life! And I think of that time every time my sister, Dee, and I go out to eat breakfast and she orders...grits... Not for me, Please!

***

Poets, I welcome poetry throughout the year...so please feel free to share with me any time!

Hamid...and Irving...Share More of Their Words!

Haiku

(1)

basanti shawls
yellow paper kites
in mustard fields

(2)

Every time
I doze -
Buddha opens his eyes

(3)

Sky weeps
Colours -
Autumn leaves

(4)

a shrine
chanting smoke
under Peepal

(5)

a pale sun
green grape vines
a soggy wall


Hamid Yazdani

~~~

REFLECTION IN A WINDOW


Something disturbs the night’s darkness,
the winking lights,
the sidewalk’s shine from an earlier rain.
A window’s reflection,
the haunting other self brings an inner darkness,
weightless, yet weighty with disquietude,
a brush against a black cat,
the doleful call from an unknown quarter,
The dark voice of my other self morphs into sadness without music,
the heaviness of living.

--Irving A. Greenfield

SOULFUL SHEE M. G. In Purple Passion Highlighted Today as Guest Poet

A beginning introduction is needed for today's poet...anybody who meets her at Authors Den will immediately gravitate to her words, her feelings, her love...I share two of her deeper poems with you here and note that she continues in narrative as well...but go reread at A/D if these touch you, by clicking on the title, as she has music selected to go with each poem... Beautiful!!! Feel the Passion!



* Strong meaning meant here for those whose spirits feel worn down, and not understood, you are heard and loved...

Depression Lurks in My Soul
WITHOUT It Creations Would NOT be Found

Within me
depression lurks
oh you don't believe me
well chocolate is my antidote

too much and it can hurt

Depression use to be strong
years ago
till I let that weight of a fellow go
where he wanted, who knows

Depression made me sleep a lot
made me feel fatigued and sap
all the energy I was wrought
so don't tell me depression was not my down-slot

It took me in the drainage of hell
I climbed back up from all the swill
fresh air revived me right quick
the Lord did his best with me,
as I would assist

Depression is a bummer
pulls you down like a strong plunger
quenching your mighty endeavors
it's like a sword to your chest,
not giving you any rest

Depression can zap you of life
if you let it pull you down into more strife
do what you can to rescue YOU
your spirit is waiting for you too.

Copyright ♥ © S. M. G.
Apr. 23, 09

~~~

Ideas that may help, before/with medication
and a Dr.'s assistance, before it's too late!

Daily spiritual talks with the Lord!
God Bless YOU as you do!

A fresh walk in sunshine and even rain
the cleansing will wash away your inner pains.

Fresh water daily is a sure cure
as much as your body can endure.

Talk and writing, painting, gardening,
cooking, bike riding, any movement
will make your spirit proud.

I wish you the best in all you do
to bring a lasting happiness to you.
And, Those patient around you too!
AMEN!



* This is to "THOSE" feeling this!
Your heart will know and want to express...


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Death

This is the BEST Poem I've Ever Written!
(Brought me to tears, He sure has His ways to get across an important meaning, Jesus sure does)!



A final closing of the dark curtain
befalls on those of once certain of knowing
strong energy spirit still seeking
while caring people continue crying

The end all to what was
a soul laying there just because
feelings in one's mind run amok
wanting this lovely presence to wake up

As their spirit will now rest
their face in frame you hold close
to your breast
reading the eulogy to all guests

Your own strength you invest
causing you weakness you begin to express
everyone's eyes you try to process
loneliness is all you caress

An empty longing is met
you begin to look forward to the bright sunsets
your life is now your only asset
when you awake to push away lasting regrets

Your memories all cast into a vast net
to society you feel a weighed-down debt
I am here to say
don't fret

The more you begin to connect
the transferred sadness you will soon forget
to share with others will feel like kismet
as much needed love you will get.


Copyright ♥ © S. M. G.
20-Apr-09

Can I just say: IF you are close to someone and you inside LOVE THEM ( but have a hard time showing or telling them) PLEASE go and visit and give a hug, the rest will follow! Grab a bus or ride a bike... but SHOW THEM! When they pass on, there is NO 2nd chances!!! And... YOU find yourself thinking of them and your own chances and it's too damn LATE! * I wish I saw my mom and took her out MORE than only 1 time a month. She only lived 20 minutes. from me, and I let MY DAD stop me, because of his STUPID demands on HER time! I SHOULD HAVE USED MY DETERMINATION and NOT LET HIS WORDS GET TO ME OR HER! I LOVE YOU MOM! and Grandma too, and I MISS YOU Both! and PAPA! MOM, if "YOU" were here, I would cook a meal for you and we would be smiling, YOU too, Mae Mae, I would still be digging and replanting your garden - New owners now, Or I still would! GO SEE THE ONE YOU LOVE! OR CALL! OR EVEN WRITE! a memory that will last "THEM" and YOU, but a HUG is the BEST of all!

Love...and Hate... Consider the Powerful Words of Peter J. Oszmann

A Jew nailed to the cross.

“If you don't find God in the next person you meet, it is a waste of time looking for him further.” -Mahatma Gandhi (1869-1948)


He was not born to be king, not born to be God,
Not born to be a saint and not born to be “odd,”
He was just a humble Man, a Jew.
He was mild and meek mannered, gentle as a dove,
He wanted to teach mankind the meaning of love,
For the meaning of love He knew.

What’s the price of love? Thirty pieces of silver,
Greasing the palms of a close, well beloved traitor?
Love seems just like an albatross
Tied around the neck, ready to choke you, to kill.
When you love, you love. Be ready to pay the bill.
He died. A Jew nailed to the cross.

Did He go up to heaven? Sit by the side of God?
Sceptre in the one hand and in the other the Rod?
Fact? Or a legend with a gloss?
Blood covered the cross, through palms and feet went the nail,
That’s what the world was told, what’s described in the tale;
He died. A Jew nailed to the cross.

Whom do we cry for in His fate? The Jew? The Man?
Was there a Divine will? Was there a Divine plan?
Did He save mankind on the cross?
Is the world cleansed of sin? Are we better today?
Do we know what is right? Do we follow His way?
Is religion a double-cross?

Two thousand years had passed; the world’s no better place,
All the ugliness Jewish blood could not erase.
Did He die in vain on the cross?
Spilled blood soils the Earth; God’s face must be turned away.
Curse sits on Man’s soul; we stumbled and lost our way,
Lost in a deep slumber, in doss.

Two thousand years on He is on trial once more,
In camps like Auschwitz was He victim or saviour?
Mass graves are now covered with moss…
Lest we forget, let us now uncover the graves,
Let us look again at the shaven-headed slaves,
All “filthy” Jews… nailed to the cross…

All the cruel deeds of the past cannot be undone,
Only love can save our souls, not the blazing gun.
Carnage God would never applaud.
Maybe I am stupid, I cannot understand
Why “holy” men fight “holy” wars in “holy” land,
In the most holy name of God.

Remove the nails from His flesh, set the cross on fire,
Forget the crescent moon, the stars; bring out the lyre.
Sing ‘bout love we all understand.
Dispel ignorance; bring God from heaven to Earth,
Let Him walk amongst us, show the way to rebirth,
To bring us peace in all the land.

© P. J. Oszmann (2003)

http://www.jewbeornotjewbe.com/

~~~

Alluring Illusion…

(Sonnet)

Wrapped in a knitted blue shawl, looking cold,
Forlorn, towards me silently she comes;
Her wind-blown hair has a shine like wheat-gold
And with tearful eyes a sad song she hums.

Like a tired old woman she moves slowly,
Like a sinner seeking sacred pardons,
On her shoulders, shawl and hair breezily
Carries the scents of exotic gardens.
She stops in front of me, falls in my arms,

Hugs me, greets me with a passionate kiss;
Her body is warm and vibrant with charms,
Holding, kissing her is ultimate bliss…
This is a dream-come-true I would not miss…
And I have no idea who she is…


© P. J. Oszmann (2006 Translated and reworked from one of my unfinished Hungarian poems of c. 1951)

~~~

I met Peter on Authors Den, I think the first time was to present a differing opinion for a poem such as the one I selected to post above. As I have found online through meeting so many different people, discrimination still exists here in America--and yet, we can come together to read and discuss our different beliefs... I may not totally agree with Peter's first poem above, but I know that God's love is with us both!

Please reread Peter's quote above by Mahatma Gandhi

Review: Was Jones An Angel?

The Noticer
By Andy Andrews
Thomas Nelson
ISBN: 978159555218I
167 Pages


Andy Andrews has told us part of his own story in The Noticer which is available today, April 27 and I, along with other Thomas Nelson Book Review Bloggers are sharing our reviews simultaneously! Cool, right?!!

Before I went back to reread the email regarding the book, I was going to say that the main character, Jones, was an angel. Perhaps he was, for he certainly spoke as if he were an angel. He seemed to appear and disappear, exactly when people needed him. And then there was the fact that different people called him by different names, including Garcia by Hispanic people and Chen by the Chinese. Others weren’t sure whether he was black or white—but it really didn’t seem to matter. So, was the old man who came to see Andy Andrews, when he was homeless, living under a pier, an angel? I like to think so, but it really isn’t important. What we do know was that he was sent by, and used by, God, to make a difference in many lives.

Jones watched people, and came to know them, know their names, their needs. He said, “I am a noticer...I notice things that other people overlook. And you know, most of them are in plain sight.” (p. 6) So when he found the young man, crying, he extended his hand and invited him out, “into the light.”

After they had shared and become more acquainted, Jones opened an old tattered suitcase and he produced three books, about great people. And then, soon, he came back with three more books. This was repeated again and again, while the young man read of the lives and sometimes despair of others, and began to look at his own life...from a different perspective.

At the same time, Jones visited other people there in the small town: the one who was considering suicide or the old lady in her 70’s who felt her life was over and she was just waiting to die. And then there was the man who ran his business with no concern for quality, ethics, his customers or even his employees. One after the other, Jones was there to talk about what he noticed about their lives and help them see them from a different perspective.

And, then, many years later, Jones was gone! All they found was the old suitcase that he had carried continuously, sitting in the road . . .

Many are saying this is the best book they have read in their lives. The Noticer can be picked up by anyone and, more than likely, will find that one or more of the life stories will speak to them in a personal way. I know I did. In many ways, the now-common question, “What Would Jesus Do?” is answered when Jones arrives, although The Noticer itself is not really written as a Christian self-help book; it will speak to anybody that just needs a “little perspective” to look closely in the mirror without guilt, regret or judgment.

Only you, having read my review, will know...is The Noticer by Andy Andrews a must-read for YOU?

G. A. Bixler

Highlighting a Poem By Jeffrey Petit-Bois

my name is Jeffrey Petit-Bois and i too want to be a poet so i support you a 110 percent, lol, a little something from my works .....


The heart of man can be considered

divine but an unfinished monument

pushing his master to scandalize

the laws of life for personal desires.

the heart of man is a temple filled

of gypsies and bare bohemians

Near across a large bed of sins

but tell me who would believe of this ?

The heart of man is a sacred object

that of good wills possessed none

it is a steel blade

which never stops hurting others.

April 1, 2009

~~~

On the very first day of the month Jeffrey submitted this poem as a comment. I placed a return comment, hoping that he would come back and share another...Sooooo, out there, somewhere, Jeffrey, thank you so much for allowing me to share this! I think you have a future with your poetry! Come share more if you wish!