Upcoming March IBPC 2023:

[Michael (MV)]

Voice your recommendation(s) here, and

Please let us know ASAP if you are not going to be available to represent the Writer's Block -

then we will know not to consider your poems further for this month's IBPC.

I/We will be looking for consensus - in keeping with a communal workshop dynamic

Which 1-3 would we like to see represent the Writer's Block in the finals?

After the 3 are selected, then will each author post - in this thread - the poem as the poet would like it forwarded,

and ALL the needed info/statements

Ideally, the only poems that really need to appear here are the final 3, when announced, hopefully by the 1st of the month, if not sooner

^^ the intent is organizational - if poems appear here before the selection of the final 3, then there is a congestion -

Until the final 3 are announced, please maintain poems & workshopping to the Workshop Forum. Thanks.



************

any newcomers or returnees this month, Welcome!

and here is a home link to the IBPC rules: http://ibpc.webdelsol.com/rules


In this thread, from the poems posted in the workshop forum during the course of the month, recommend/nominate by title & author.

Nominated poets, please acknowledge the nomination here in this thread.
Please reply by accepting or declining the nomination - in this thread.

Please note & observe: This is not a workshopping thread.

In this thread, poems that are ultimately selected to represent the Block are then posted here
as the author would like for the poem to be forwarded
along with all IBPC required info.

When the 1-3 poems are decided upon, and permission granted by each author of the selected poems,

along with all the info needed by each author:


1/Your name

2/e-mail address

3/statement that the poem is your original

4/and unpublished work

5/and that you don't have a poem committed to represent another board in the current IBPC. One poet one poem one board
for each monthly,

6/and the poem as you would like it forwarded to the finals.

^^ All of the above is the usual needed info as part of the process.


I will then forward the 1-3 to the IBPC finals.


Thanks

Michael (MV)

[Billy]

I nominate Ken’s In the Name of the King

And Bob’s How You Met Your Wife

[BobBradshaw]

I nom Ieuan’s The Visit and Billy’s Love In the Mountains of Wyoming

[FranktheFrank]

2nd Bob's: How You Met Your Wife

[Michael (MV)]

We must move forward to the finals --


I 3rd Bob's How You Met Your Wife -
and that will be 1 of the 3.

What about the other 2?

Your imput please

Thanks,

Michael (MV)

[BobBradshaw]

Thx, Michael.

Bob Bradshaw
bobbybradshw@yahoo.com
This poem is my original, unpublished work. I am not representing another forum.

How You Met Your Wife

You took a stool a few feet away.
She ordered a Black Russian,
a name, exotic, like her.

A beer, you mumbled. The ceiling fan spun
as she turned heads. You smelled
the hunger in your competition.

As the room quieted,
you could hear her breathing
and the ice clicking in glasses

as the room’s cowboys
sized her up.
Others approached, offering

a seat at their table,
a ride home later. She listened,
like someone eavesdropping

on a conversation. She was polite,
but distant. She waited for the others
to drift away, and stared

into the bottom of her glass
as if a secret message
was etched there.

That morning women
had been as remote to you
as corn fields in Nebraska.

That night you met your future wife
in a bar. Why did you go there?
You hadn't had a beer
in ten years.

[Michael (MV)]

Thanks, Bob, and good luck in the finals

Michael (MV)

Thx, Michael.

Bob Bradshaw
bobbybradshw@yahoo.com
This poem is my original, unpublished work. I am not representing another forum.

How You Met Your Wife

You took a stool a few feet away.
She ordered a Black Russian,
a name, exotic, like her.

A beer, you mumbled. The ceiling fan spun
as she turned heads. You smelled
the hunger in your competition.

As the room quieted,
you could hear her breathing
and the ice clicking in glasses

as the room’s cowboys
sized her up.
Others approached, offering

a seat at their table,
a ride home later. She listened,
like someone eavesdropping

on a conversation. She was polite,
but distant. She waited for the others
to drift away, and stared

into the bottom of her glass
as if a secret message
was etched there.

That morning women
had been as remote to you
as corn fields in Nebraska.

That night you met your future wife
in a bar. Why did you go there?
You hadn't had a beer
in ten years.

[Michael (MV)]

I actually would like to nominate Kenneth's
Like Oil and Vinegar,

but I'm not sure if he's participating in the IBPC these days?


Michael (MV)

[BobBradshaw]

I second Like Oil and Vinegar

[Michael (MV)]

We have 2 spaces available. And we must move forward.

Maybe this is a time to ask for volunteers from those who have been nominated.

That would be Billy and Frank; hopefully both are still available, and accepting.

Thanks.

Hopefully I can forward 3 to the finals tomorrow, March 8th,


Michael (MV)

[FranktheFrank]

I am available.
I am putting the finishing touches to my:

'Visit to Cefn Coed'

It should be ready tomorrow, if selected.

[Michael (MV)]

Thanks, Frank,

The selection of your poem is here confirmed.

Michael (MV)

I am available.
I am putting the finishing touches to my:

'Visit to Cefn Coed'

It should be ready tomorrow, if selected.

[FranktheFrank]

Visit

[FranktheFrank]

Please note added:

insidious

penultimate line: insidious seep

[Billy]

bhowellsinnard@gmail.com
I'm not representing any other board. This is my original, unpublished poem:


Love in the Mountains of Wyoming

Heat lightning like fireflies on steroids
dart in summer dark.
Mountains. Their presence felt

though unseen in the moonless sky.
Stars veiled by a swathe
of stratus clouds.

We sit on a boulder
the size of a Cadillac.
Flashes of light swirl around us.

"I've never seen this before," I say,
flashes reflected in her dark eyes.
The air is cool.

The boulder still warm.
We move closer, shoulder to shoulder,
heads resting together.

Our thoughts meet like old friends
after many years,
not having to say a word.