I am held in the arms of Vishnu,
my plastic red sunglasses and white
American teeth no longer bring
good luck . . .
Bernie Henry, The Waters Poetry Forum - Post 2287
I take a bite from my pasty. A yogi stands almost
naked nearby, oddly with an umbrella - people bow
to the divine in him, and he as brown as betel juice.
A bell tings from within the Temple, a tinge
of regret, I have no faith, not in a pantheon
cast in the images of elephant and monkey . . .
A child plays in the mud of the street, vapour
rises from a heap of dung, a girl lays in a lemon
dress. I could wish for a child such as this.
There is a queue for the kerbside barber,
he wags his head at me as Hindu's do,
I caress my two day growth.
My expresso in a cardboard cup, the bus
stop coffee shop, a broken down van, sans
wheels, sans engine, a surfeit of rust.
Sahrinda comes to me like a floating white shawl,
wraps me in her tender arms, her camisole shakes
with promise, I melt with more than the heat of the day.
My bus looms out of the city smog, battered, worn,
a double decker left behind by the British,
the conductress in a half sari sings a welcome.
*****
Waiting for a Bus Outside Armarnath Temple-V3
-
FranktheFrank
- Posts: 1987
- Joined: 02 Mar 2016, 18:07
- Location: Between the mountains and the sea
-
BobBradshaw
- Posts: 2688
- Joined: 03 Jun 2016, 21:03
Re: Waiting for the Bus Outside Armarnath Temple
I like this.
Cut these lines since you tell us enough already in the 2 previous lines:
an import - Peter's Pies, dead to his plight
as he to mine.
This is a lovely line, and my favorite:
Sahrinda comes to me like a floating
white shawl,
Cut these lines since you tell us enough already in the 2 previous lines:
an import - Peter's Pies, dead to his plight
as he to mine.
This is a lovely line, and my favorite:
Sahrinda comes to me like a floating
white shawl,
Re: Waiting for the Bus Outside Armarnath Temple
Frank---
five stars. Red Carpet. Palm d'Or.
Tone, detail, narrative flow.
I step over a yoki lying in the gutter, smooth, clear declarative opening. location, is also suggested. very economical sentence.
I continue to eat my corned meat pasty,
an import - Peter's Pies, dead to his plight
as he to mine.
agree with Bob, here. didn't recognize Peter's Pies. i understand it, but it did nothing for me---and temporarily distracted from the poem...why not a quick cut to weather, the street, traffic...etc...you pick one, but an image.
I throw myself in to the rickety street,
shops and loud radio shops crazy in the heat.
I continue to eat my corned meat pasty,
an import - Peter's Pies, dead to his plight
as he to mine.
A bell peals from Armarnath Temple might cut peals---conventional.
a tinge of regret I have no faith,[/b ] a nervous flash of regret, I'm godless.
other than love of self. conventional pop psychology...
i wonder, the bell .....
a bell for the long yatra pilgrimage
to the holy shrine of Amarnath.
India is still dressed in mystery for me.
A pretty girl plays on a dungheap, dungheap---sounds too familiar to my ear---where else could she play?
vapour rises from the pile,
spotless in her lemon cotton dress. good narrative movement, but do we slip from place with a European fabric?
There is a queue for the kerbside I like this cut from the girl to the shop...
barber, he smiles and wags his head This verse is original and visual, maintains tone and has me involved.
as Hindu's do, I touch my two day growth.
I grab a coffee at the Best Bombay Coffee Already had food in first verse, yes? What else can you grab?
Shop. It is good, a strong toasted brew,
from a broken down van sans wheels. I like the ---van sans wheels---can the van be exhausted? even..wrecked, or piled high with film ads.
Sahrinda comes to me like a floating
white shawl, she greets me with more
than a kiss, passerby's smile indulgently.
i like the close, unexpected, a punch as Bob has said elsewhere....
and this is worth the ticket price:
than a kiss, passerby's smile indulgently
i like this poem a great deal---my many comments reflect the mental process i go through with my own poms, and why i sometime plug in new modifiers, to see if they improve the impact.
great job.
bernie henrie
five stars. Red Carpet. Palm d'Or.
Tone, detail, narrative flow.
I step over a yoki lying in the gutter, smooth, clear declarative opening. location, is also suggested. very economical sentence.
I continue to eat my corned meat pasty,
an import - Peter's Pies, dead to his plight
as he to mine.
agree with Bob, here. didn't recognize Peter's Pies. i understand it, but it did nothing for me---and temporarily distracted from the poem...why not a quick cut to weather, the street, traffic...etc...you pick one, but an image.
I throw myself in to the rickety street,
shops and loud radio shops crazy in the heat.
I continue to eat my corned meat pasty,
an import - Peter's Pies, dead to his plight
as he to mine.
A bell peals from Armarnath Temple might cut peals---conventional.
a tinge of regret I have no faith,[/b ] a nervous flash of regret, I'm godless.
other than love of self. conventional pop psychology...
i wonder, the bell .....
a bell for the long yatra pilgrimage
to the holy shrine of Amarnath.
India is still dressed in mystery for me.
A pretty girl plays on a dungheap, dungheap---sounds too familiar to my ear---where else could she play?
vapour rises from the pile,
spotless in her lemon cotton dress. good narrative movement, but do we slip from place with a European fabric?
There is a queue for the kerbside I like this cut from the girl to the shop...
barber, he smiles and wags his head This verse is original and visual, maintains tone and has me involved.
as Hindu's do, I touch my two day growth.
I grab a coffee at the Best Bombay Coffee Already had food in first verse, yes? What else can you grab?
Shop. It is good, a strong toasted brew,
from a broken down van sans wheels. I like the ---van sans wheels---can the van be exhausted? even..wrecked, or piled high with film ads.
Sahrinda comes to me like a floating
white shawl, she greets me with more
than a kiss, passerby's smile indulgently.
i like the close, unexpected, a punch as Bob has said elsewhere....
and this is worth the ticket price:
than a kiss, passerby's smile indulgently
i like this poem a great deal---my many comments reflect the mental process i go through with my own poms, and why i sometime plug in new modifiers, to see if they improve the impact.
great job.
bernie henrie
-
FranktheFrank
- Posts: 1987
- Joined: 02 Mar 2016, 18:07
- Location: Between the mountains and the sea
Re: Waiting for the Bus Outside Armarnath Temple
Thanks BB and BH,
I will attend to what you say.
I am surprised at cotton, the advent of the cotton industry in India
finished of the spinners in Britain.
I rarely invent you see, I use what I know or have experienced
or have been told or have read of.
I will examine those modifiers.
Don't forget to post your poem Bernie in the Palaver end of month
thread with the requisite information that Michael likes.
I will attend to what you say.
I am surprised at cotton, the advent of the cotton industry in India
finished of the spinners in Britain.
I have seen whole streets devoted to the spinning of cotton in India.Cotton is mostly grown in the states of Maharashtra
and Karnataka as this region has the Black soil which is most
suitable for the growth of cotton.
www.answers.com/Q/Where_is_cotton_grown_in_India
I rarely invent you see, I use what I know or have experienced
or have been told or have read of.
I will examine those modifiers.
Don't forget to post your poem Bernie in the Palaver end of month
thread with the requisite information that Michael likes.
-
BobBradshaw
- Posts: 2688
- Joined: 03 Jun 2016, 21:03
Re: Waiting for a Bus Outside Armarnath Temple
This is lovely, one of your best, if not the best, However, the first stanza should be tossed out. Stepping over the homeless, poor, wretched is too common a theme in literature, news, etc... a cliche of our times. Everything else works beautifully. Kudos, my friend. You have arrived with this poem as a fine, fine poet.
-
FranktheFrank
- Posts: 1987
- Joined: 02 Mar 2016, 18:07
- Location: Between the mountains and the sea
Re: Waiting for a Bus Outside Armarnath Temple
Thank you Bob, mucho gratias
best wishes for 'Ode to Dogs'
in March 2018.
best wishes for 'Ode to Dogs'
in March 2018.
Re: Waiting for a Bus Outside Armarnath Temple
Frank---
i think the revision improves on an already excellent poem.
the stepping over phrase did not alarm me, but pasty does. beaudcoup.
we ain't got that here...in the US. is it a sandwich...a meat sandwich....? then i prefer to say...meat sandwich.
our new IBPC judge (and many current poets) prefer a talking rhythm (very clear) against my style---for example---metaphoric/image driven.
sooo, one think about talking...keep it smooth.
pasty...indeed. a small detail.
I stand at the stop, take a bite from my pasty.
A yogi watches me opposite, brown as betel juice.
the word opposite seems unneeded, to me....
people Namaste...?
is what he eats important enough to specify?
A bell tings from within the Temple, a tinge
of regret, I have no faith, not in a pantheon
of animal images: Elephant, monkey and frog.
risky, but i dig the pantheon of animal images: elephant, monkey and frog...:
still, that pesky bell----a bell for Adano...reminds me...silver bells, etc...
what can the bell do?
the bell puzzles through heavy air,
metallic in High C above C.
A Bell for Adano (novel) - Wikipedia
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Bell_for_Adano_(novel)
A Bell for Adano is a 1944 novel by John Hersey, the winner of the 1945 Pulitzer Prize for the Novel. It tells the story of an Italian-American officer in Sicily during World War II who wins the respect and admiration of the people of the town of Adano by helping them find a replacement for the town bell that the Fascists had ..
A pretty child plays in the filthy street,
vapour rises from a heap of dung,
spotless in her lemon cotton dress.
no pretty child...show, don' tell...and is filthy street vital to the poem?
at the corner, a boy sells cigarettes.
he makes change
without counting on his fingers.
There is a queue for the kerbside
barber, he wags his head as Hindu's do
at my look, I touch my two day's growth.
I hold an expresso from the bus stop
still eating....alas...can he do something else---?
search a bus shcedule,
or mentally count his cash...
or check a lottery ticket...
avoid a unicycle delivery
speeding in the lake of walkers.
luv these lines about the van...
coffee shop, a broken down van, sans wheels,
sans engine, such cheerful a service.
Sahrinda comes like a floating white shawl, wraps
me in feminine tenderness, we are in love.
Our bus looms out of the New Delhi fog.
your great close, but pleassssse....no value judgment...feminine tenderness....remember your poetry pal bernie---the one in the red sunglssses---show, don't tell.
and that we are in love crack...why? your adult reader needs no prompting.
trust me, i believe this floating shawl woman is both feminine and tender.
Our bus looms out of the New Delhi fog.
Our bus looms....
no mention of cloudy or foggy wether elsewhere in the pom.
but i think of , A Street Car Named Desire-----an actual stop on the streetcar route. (purely personal, bernie association.
Our bus....what? rethink for punch....surprise...color, poetry
a i said earlier, this is a wonderful poem...don't let my musing here confuse or clutter...
just the process i use for most of my poems....
bernie
i think the revision improves on an already excellent poem.
the stepping over phrase did not alarm me, but pasty does. beaudcoup.
we ain't got that here...in the US. is it a sandwich...a meat sandwich....? then i prefer to say...meat sandwich.
our new IBPC judge (and many current poets) prefer a talking rhythm (very clear) against my style---for example---metaphoric/image driven.
sooo, one think about talking...keep it smooth.
pasty...indeed. a small detail.
I stand at the stop, take a bite from my pasty.
A yogi watches me opposite, brown as betel juice.
the word opposite seems unneeded, to me....
people Namaste...?
is what he eats important enough to specify?
A bell tings from within the Temple, a tinge
of regret, I have no faith, not in a pantheon
of animal images: Elephant, monkey and frog.
risky, but i dig the pantheon of animal images: elephant, monkey and frog...:
still, that pesky bell----a bell for Adano...reminds me...silver bells, etc...
what can the bell do?
the bell puzzles through heavy air,
metallic in High C above C.
A Bell for Adano (novel) - Wikipedia
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Bell_for_Adano_(novel)
A Bell for Adano is a 1944 novel by John Hersey, the winner of the 1945 Pulitzer Prize for the Novel. It tells the story of an Italian-American officer in Sicily during World War II who wins the respect and admiration of the people of the town of Adano by helping them find a replacement for the town bell that the Fascists had ..
A pretty child plays in the filthy street,
vapour rises from a heap of dung,
spotless in her lemon cotton dress.
no pretty child...show, don' tell...and is filthy street vital to the poem?
at the corner, a boy sells cigarettes.
he makes change
without counting on his fingers.
There is a queue for the kerbside
barber, he wags his head as Hindu's do
at my look, I touch my two day's growth.
I hold an expresso from the bus stop
still eating....alas...can he do something else---?
search a bus shcedule,
or mentally count his cash...
or check a lottery ticket...
avoid a unicycle delivery
speeding in the lake of walkers.
luv these lines about the van...
coffee shop, a broken down van, sans wheels,
sans engine, such cheerful a service.
Sahrinda comes like a floating white shawl, wraps
me in feminine tenderness, we are in love.
Our bus looms out of the New Delhi fog.
your great close, but pleassssse....no value judgment...feminine tenderness....remember your poetry pal bernie---the one in the red sunglssses---show, don't tell.
and that we are in love crack...why? your adult reader needs no prompting.
trust me, i believe this floating shawl woman is both feminine and tender.
Our bus looms out of the New Delhi fog.
Our bus looms....
no mention of cloudy or foggy wether elsewhere in the pom.
but i think of , A Street Car Named Desire-----an actual stop on the streetcar route. (purely personal, bernie association.
Our bus....what? rethink for punch....surprise...color, poetry
a i said earlier, this is a wonderful poem...don't let my musing here confuse or clutter...
just the process i use for most of my poems....
bernie
-
FranktheFrank
- Posts: 1987
- Joined: 02 Mar 2016, 18:07
- Location: Between the mountains and the sea
Re: Waiting for a Bus Outside Armarnath Temple
Bernie, you old goat! 
Good, good, good!
I will examine that speaking clarity advice.
Something that's been at the back of my mind for a long time.
Yes. I get it, I don't need feminine. Right.
Opposite can go, maybe I'll reintroduce a stepped over yogi,
but Bob says it's hackneyed and maybe it is.
Am excited abpout rhythem now, I will read aloud.
I am really pleased how this poem has grown.
Some guy named Henrie wrote a poem some time
ago that set my off.
Good, good, good!
I will examine that speaking clarity advice.
Something that's been at the back of my mind for a long time.
Yes. I get it, I don't need feminine. Right.
Opposite can go, maybe I'll reintroduce a stepped over yogi,
but Bob says it's hackneyed and maybe it is.
Am excited abpout rhythem now, I will read aloud.
I am really pleased how this poem has grown.
Some guy named Henrie wrote a poem some time
ago that set my off.
Re: Waiting for a Bus Outside Armarnath Temple-V3
Frank---
want to make another pass?
an eye for the weak, the static visual, the jump in narrative.
no.
fine.
yes, swell.
I take a bite from my pasty. A yogi stands
naked nearby, oddly with an umbrella - people bow
to the divine in him, and he as brown as betel juice.
why not speak affirmatively? as though you agree.
naked under his own umbrella,
people bow as they pass
as Christians crossing themselves
at a religious shrine, to be safe
i raise my palms in salute.
His one remaining tooth, smiles.
I've been here long enough
to not be shocked.
He is tinted a deep brown,
copper maybe.
I smile back with my almost
perfect English teeth.
Wikipedia
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beetlejuice
Beetlejuice is a 1988 American comedy-fantasy film directed by Tim Burton, produced by The Geffen Film Company and distributed by Warner Bros. The plot revolves around a recently deceased young couple who become ghosts haunting their former home, and an obnoxious, devious ghost named Betelgeuse ..
betel juice---makes me think of the movie title....
A bell tings from within the Temple, a tinge
of regret, I have no faith, certainly not
in a pantheon of gods: Elephant, monkey . . .
A child plays in the mud,
vapour rises from decaying dung,
-
spotless in her lemon dress.........????? narrative flow.
There is a queue for the kerbside barber,
he wags his head at me as Hindu's do,
I caress my two day growth.
My expresso in a cardboard cup, the bus
stop coffee shop, a broken down van, sans
wheels, sans engine, a surfeit of rust.
static description...misses an opportunity to interject heat and sell---
My steaming espresso waits patiently,
both hot and pungent. Like the city itself.
The barber has the hands of surgeon,
his shave is quick and expert.
I refuse the lilac scent he offers.
Time passes in this timeless city.
Sahrinda arrives, a floating white shawl,
her camisole accentuates her form
like a swimmer from a pool..
Our bus looms out of the city smog.
Finally, my reward.
Sahrinda comes like a floating white shawl,
a camisole pressed along her legs,
hair swept back and glistening,
she is fresh as morning sky.
our badly dented bus looms
from the hazy orange smog
that makes me think i need glasses.
well, you asked for it.....
bernie
want to make another pass?
an eye for the weak, the static visual, the jump in narrative.
no.
fine.
yes, swell.
I take a bite from my pasty. A yogi stands
naked nearby, oddly with an umbrella - people bow
to the divine in him, and he as brown as betel juice.
why not speak affirmatively? as though you agree.
naked under his own umbrella,
people bow as they pass
as Christians crossing themselves
at a religious shrine, to be safe
i raise my palms in salute.
His one remaining tooth, smiles.
I've been here long enough
to not be shocked.
He is tinted a deep brown,
copper maybe.
I smile back with my almost
perfect English teeth.
Wikipedia
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beetlejuice
Beetlejuice is a 1988 American comedy-fantasy film directed by Tim Burton, produced by The Geffen Film Company and distributed by Warner Bros. The plot revolves around a recently deceased young couple who become ghosts haunting their former home, and an obnoxious, devious ghost named Betelgeuse ..
betel juice---makes me think of the movie title....
A bell tings from within the Temple, a tinge
of regret, I have no faith, certainly not
in a pantheon of gods: Elephant, monkey . . .
A child plays in the mud,
vapour rises from decaying dung,
-
spotless in her lemon dress.........????? narrative flow.
There is a queue for the kerbside barber,
he wags his head at me as Hindu's do,
I caress my two day growth.
My expresso in a cardboard cup, the bus
stop coffee shop, a broken down van, sans
wheels, sans engine, a surfeit of rust.
static description...misses an opportunity to interject heat and sell---
My steaming espresso waits patiently,
both hot and pungent. Like the city itself.
The barber has the hands of surgeon,
his shave is quick and expert.
I refuse the lilac scent he offers.
Time passes in this timeless city.
Sahrinda arrives, a floating white shawl,
her camisole accentuates her form
like a swimmer from a pool..
Our bus looms out of the city smog.
Finally, my reward.
Sahrinda comes like a floating white shawl,
a camisole pressed along her legs,
hair swept back and glistening,
she is fresh as morning sky.
our badly dented bus looms
from the hazy orange smog
that makes me think i need glasses.
well, you asked for it.....
bernie
-
FranktheFrank
- Posts: 1987
- Joined: 02 Mar 2016, 18:07
- Location: Between the mountains and the sea
Re: Waiting for a Bus Outside Armarnath Temple-V3
Yes, all good
problem is when and where to stop.
I guess I am stuck in plain mode.
A pasty, a meat filling encased in pastry
eaten cold or hot, origin Cornwall
made by miner's wives for their husbands.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pasty
Do you check your messages, don't forget
to accept nominations and data.
Thanks Bernie for the effort you put
into these marvellous, helpful and informative critiques.
problem is when and where to stop.
I guess I am stuck in plain mode.
A pasty, a meat filling encased in pastry
eaten cold or hot, origin Cornwall
made by miner's wives for their husbands.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pasty
Do you check your messages, don't forget
to accept nominations and data.
Thanks Bernie for the effort you put
into these marvellous, helpful and informative critiques.
Re: Waiting for a Bus Outside Armarnath Temple-V3
Frank----
thought i accepted mucho days ago,,,,,
bernie
thought i accepted mucho days ago,,,,,
bernie