For presenting invited guest poet's poems..

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Poems written by invited guests, some which are from my poetry forum.
Permission to post their work here is always requested and given , else the poem is not ever presented . I am a firm believer in the ownership rights of a poets work by the poet.
So far no poet asked has refused and thats a high mark to their integrity , talent and trust..
Presented today as the first poem in this thread a magnificent contest winning write by a poet I found there only just this fine morn.
This one is indeed a gem...
Hope you may enjoy this great poem as much as I did!
I have notified the author of this and given link to our forum. He may honor us here with a comment.



The Aurum River

A burning golden river.
A thousand ember dots.
Whose endless waking slivers,
Hide liquid molten knots

A contented purring timbre
Of viscous weary rock,
Caught in eyes of amber
And weeping molten locks

Its ingot rivlet ripples
Wafting whispers in the air.
Its quaking thunder trickles,
Build shaking sunder mares

Brushing one another,
Aurus tears they bleed
Darkened flesh they smother,
In dripping gilded creed

Burning golden river,
A weaving flame no more
Dusty charred banks quiver
Slaked in starlit gore.

Author- Avery Swarthout

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Fall's Bounty

To the apple and pear on the tree
and the pumpkin so far in the field
I will raise a tall mug of ale sweet
to the hungry folk; they give yield.

For the fruit of the vine the peach peeled
when the pie and the cake is all made
to Creator we kneel and appeal
with a smile for the gifts which he gave.

Now in unison hearts do rejoice
for each hour, for each day; He's a shield:
for the sun, and the stars, and the wind
in the wood, for all life so revealed.

As the birds in the sky wave fall bye;
we will dream of what winter conceals.

By Debbie Guzzi.

Note: Debbie is a published poet at my poetry site.
Her talent is startling obvious in this great piece..-Tyr

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

“The Rank Stench Of Those Bodies Haunts Me Still”
- Poem by Siegfried Sassoon


The rank stench of those bodies haunts me still
And I remember things I'd best forget.
For now we've marched to a green, trenchless land
Twelve miles from battering guns: along the grass
Brown lines of tents are hives for snoring men;
Wide, radiant water sways the floating sky
Below dark, shivering trees. And living-clean
Comes back with thoughts of home and hours of sleep.
To-night I smell the battle; miles away
Gun-thunder leaps and thuds along the ridge;
The spouting shells dig pits in fields of death,
And wounded men, are moaning in the woods.
If any friend be there whom I have loved,
God speed him safe to England with a gash.
It's sundown in the camp; some youngster laughs,
Lifting his mug and drinking health to all
Who come unscathed from that unpitying waste:
(Terror and ruin lurk behind his gaze.)
Another sits with tranquil, musing face,
Puffing bis pipe and dreaming of the girl
Whose last scrawled letter lies upon his knee.
The sunlight falls, low-ruddy from the west,
Upon their heads. Last week they might have died
And now they stretch their limbs in tired content.
One says 'The bloody Bosche has got the knock;
'And soon they'll crumple up and chuck their games.
'We've got the beggars on the run at last!'
Then I remembered someone that I'd seen
Dead in a squalid, miserable ditch,
Heedless of toiling feet that trod him down.
He was a Prussian with a decent face,
Young, fresh, and pleasant, so 1 dare to say.
No doubt he loathed the war and longed for peace,
And cursed our souls because we'd killed bis friends.
One night he yawned along a half-dug trench
Midnight; and then the British guns began
With heavy shrapnel bursting low, and 'hows'
Whistling to cut the wire with blinding din.
He didn't move; the digging still went on;
Men stooped and shoveled; someone gave a grunt,
And moaned and died with agony in the sludge.
Then the long hiss of shells lifted and stopped.
He stared into the gloom; a rocket curved,
And rifles rattled angrily on the left
Down by the wood, and there was noise of bombs.
Then the damned English loomed in scrambling haste
Out of the dark and struggled through the wire,
And there were shouts and curses; someone screamed
And men began to blunder down the trench
Without their rifles. It was time to go:
He grabbed his coat; stood up, gulping some bread;
Then clutched his head and fell.
I found him there
In the gray morning when the place was held.
His face was in the mud; one arm flung out
As when he crumpled up; his sturdy legs
Were bent beneath his trunk; heels to the skye.
Siegfried Sassoon
---------------------------------------------------------------

He was there, this is what he saw. --Tyr

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

I Remember When

I suppose I'm revealin' my age as I compose this little ditty,
But as I compare costs today with yesteryear I exclaim, "What a pity!"
Gas cost 30 cents per gallon and hamburger was 19 cents a pound,
And a buck would atone my sins when collection plates were passed around!

I remember when a haircut cost two-bits at Harry's Barbershop,
And a hotdog cost 15 cents and ya paid a nickel fer a Nehi pop.
A dollar twenty-five bought a lunch of meatloaf and mashed pertaters,
That included a slab of cherry pie and a side of salad with termaters!

It cost a quarter to see 'Gone With The Wind' at the movin' pitcher show,
And fer a tub of popcorn and a coke ya needn't spend a ton of dough!
Double scoop ice cream cones cost a dime and a nickel fer a candy bar.
I remember that a loaf of bread cost 12 cents and a nickel bought a fine cigar!

Ya could buy a suit of clothes and a pair of shoes fer twenty bucks er so,
And a dime would buy ya a couple of donuts to dunk in yer cuppa joe.
A postage stamp cost 3 cents and fer a nickel ya could guzzle a glass of beer,
And a college education cost about 300 smackaroos per academic year!

Fer about 4 bucks ya could treat yer date to a show and banana split,
And later steal a smooch which would cost ya not one whit!
Nowadays fer such necessaries ya must work yer fingers to the bone,
And to keep apace with inflation, find a friendly banker to seek a loan!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
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Poet friend from my poetry site gave permission to present his poem here.
He nails it and I am almost old enough to remember most of that. -------Tyr

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

by Viv Wigley And then I opened that door- for comp

(For Competition 'And then I opened THAT door', sponsor- John Lawless)

And then I opened that door


My relationship had broken down, when love ran out of gas
so down life's dark and lonely road I dragged my sorry ass.
Could have done with company on such a painful walk
my passenger I'd left behind, no-one to hear me talk
a light (could it be hope?) I'm sure I saw not far ahead
so I took the avenue called naive to see just where it led.
The house of Her, it's elegant facade, I really was impressed
not sure if I should ring the bell, being not ideally dressed
my cares were worn and dreams were torn, not sure if all that matters
holes right through my optimism and happiness in tatters
no harm in stopping by, I thought, so hey-ho, what the hell
just take the bullshit by the horns, go up and ring the bell.
No answer, but a sudden gust of wind opened the door
and I stepped in, whilst wondering had I been here before.
The corridor stretched out before me, doors to left and right
Not sure how many, since I was too young to see the light.
The first door was denied to me, and so were all it's kin
but since I was alone, I thought I'll just go kick it in.
The first room just enticed me with it's beauty, grace and form,
a fire of passion crackled in the grate that made me warm.
The next room was a cellar, Magnums full of ruby wine
full bodied and intoxicating, all this could be mine.
The third room swathed in velvet, silk and lace, so smooth and cool,
to not lie in such luxury would make a man a fool
excited and emboldened now from all I'd seen before
spoiled child rampaged from place to place
and then opened THAT door.
The blast took me right off my feet, I crashed into the ground
the house of Her shook violently upon the Banshee sound
full force, indignant anger, outright rage, fury unleashed
as only then I understood the nature of the beast.
My welcome suddenly outstayed, my fault, for had I known it
though I had been invited in, walked round as if I owned it
The room hissed in an icy tone as she laid bare my crime
that I would have been more welcome taking one room at a time
but men will open every door to fulfil all their needs
the key to each door is respect, no barrier to greed.
Tornado fire, the Vixen's ire ripped me into the yard
winded, no breath left in me, my ego landed hard.
Got up slowly, brushed myself down and rubbed my aching head
eagerness had bled right out and brashness torn to shreds.
Staggered back out through the gate and turned along the lane
raised my collar round my neck and headed home again.
You see, my relationship had broken down, when love ran out of gas
so down life's dark and lonely road I dragged my sorry ass.
A light......................

By Viv Wigley

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

Friend and fellow poet , Viv Wigley , from my poetry site kindly granted my request to post this poem he recently entered in a contest there.
I found this gem this morn and added it to my favorite poem list there, next made the request to be allowed to present it here. He generously agreed.
A poet with a lot of talent...--Tyr

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Below is the poem entitled The Billabong which was written
by poet Lindsay Laurie. Lindsay , my good friend has kindly given me permission to post here, ANY of his poems I may want to choose! And he has so very many that are exceptionally good. --Tyr


The Billabong

There’s an old river course with beginning and end,
now the river runs straight without this river bend,
where the water is still and the reeds do grow strong.
New life has taken over in a billabong.

The mat rush is spreading replacing the sedge,
and old fallen gum trees lean in from the edge
creating a haven in the shelter below
for smelt or gudgeon, and the common minnow.

There’s a ring on the water, so danger is nigh,
and life is now over for one caddis fly.
Dragonflies hover on their predator flight,
so mosquito and midges best keep out of sight.

There is many a song around a billabong
to break up the still with an assembly throng
from birds of the forest, and wading birds too,
so the billabong offer is there to pursue...

... for blue heron and egret, coot and the teal,
and for the banded rail that the bulrush conceal.
In the billabong shadowed by gum and ti-tree,
bellbirds are tinkling; wattlebirds disagree.

An oft-diving grebe keeps on searching for food
for the striped downy chicks of its latest brood,
and a hunting kingfisher waits keen for its prey
from a twig of a gum tree it frequents all day.

There is many a scent around a billabong,
filling the air with the perfume quite strong,
from black wattle and mint bush, or mistletoe
cascading from gum trees where only they grow.


Painted lady butterfly flit upon flowers,
and blue banded bees keep on working for hours
on lilies and orchids, heath, sweet appleberry
and clusters of flowers on a native cherry.

Ribbon weed, nardoo spread out in the shallow,
with buttercup, duckweed; an introduced mallow,
struggling for survival near the water line,
aiding coral pea that does lightly entwine.

The banks of a billabong are dangerous too
with predator snakes not so often in view,
but they are aware, that the growling grass frog
will climb from the water onto an old log.

But tigers and copperhead, red-bellied black
often lay in the sun on an overgrown track,
where the wombat or wallaby travel along
to graze on native grasses near the billabong.

So life still carries on around the billabong
where water looks stagnant, a bond is still strong
with a river now rushing it’s way to the sea,
past the billabong living, where the course used to be.

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Form: Quatrain

Below is the poem entitled Jeeeeez which was written by poet Andrea Dietrich.
Please feel free to comment on this poem.

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Jeeeeez
----- by Andrea Dietrich

In years gone by, folks didn’t like to say
God’s name to show surprise or great dismay,
and so you would hear “Goodness,“ “Gol” and “Gee,“
and also euphemisms for J.C.

Jiminy Cricket! Doesn’t that sound nice?
Jeepers Creepers, Jason Crisp or Cheese and Rice?
Godfrey Daniel! Surely you know that
is slang for God and “God rot it” is “Drat!”

“Oh my gosh,” “My goodness,” or simply “Lord”
replaced expletives that today come poured
from mouths of kids who can’t be mannerly
to just say “Leapin‘ Lizards“ or “Golly Gee!”.

You’ll hear (for damning something with God’s name),
“Dag nabbit” and “Dad gum.” They might seem tame
but fit the bill and give us a small thrill!
But dang it, why would someone say “Sam Hill?”

Words from the Holy Bible we enjoy
employing when we say Holy Moley,
Holy cow, Judas Priest (but WAIT!)
For Pete’s Sake! How did Judas ever rate?

Great Scott, there’s even Jumpin’ Jehosophat!
How the HECK did they ever come up with that?
By Jove, I’m nearly finished. Now pretty please. . . .
Instead of using Christ’s name, just say Jeeeeez!

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

I Know Without A Doubt



I know, I know, without a doubt
That God’s alive and well
You might ask me how I know
Then you, I’d have to tell
He’s in the breeze; he’s in the trees
He’s there. He’s everywhere
He’s in those rabbits on green lawn
My God, is always there

He made me, Me, the way I am
He gave to me, my senses
He makes me laugh; he makes me cry
And as new morn commences
He gives me need to pray to him
Yet not with words real shallow
He sees the joy within my heart
He feels the way I glow

He gives me faith in each new day
He makes me know, I’m one
With every single thing there is
He knows I am the sum
Of all there is, and ever was
He let’s me know “I’m life”
Because I know just who I am
He shelters me from strife

21 July 2015
------------- by Peter Duggan
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Another poet friend's poem the second one presented today, whose talent is great as is my great friend Peter Duggan's recent poem.-Tyr

The Twilight Moor

Gazing out upon dusky barren moor,
Where gray grass grasps the air
Finding no purchase but sad allure
Straight stalks elapse their endless despair.

Teased by tales of golden reach
Tricked by gales, whose song they preach.

Redtail’s velvet wings breach the sky,
Maroon lips who kiss the grass
Stirring the song, its desperate sigh
Catching the words, her beak of crystal glass

Behind her, midnight shadow draws
Fells her beauty with unseen charcoal paws

Scarlet tears dampen the earth below
Nurture the roots held by dusty truth
Finally, the wind, gray grass’ will bestow
The hawk once, now the fountain of youth.

Litany of silence reigns in dusky glare,
Each blade bowed in mournful prayer.

BY Avery Swarthout, 5-27-2015

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

The Poet Who Never Was

I thought I was a poet who had a pen of gold
With clear access to writing that was mature and bold.
I thought I could go roaming beside the foaming sea
And watch the seagulls gliding to give a show for free.

I thought I was a poet who walked along the beach
In awe I stood and wondered, my hand stretched out to reach
The silver thread dividing the water from the sky
And traced Selena’s features as slowly she went by.

I thought I was a poet who knew what joy could be
On hearing water roaring cascading down with glee.
I looked for inspiration, experienced utmost thrill
When climbing down the valley or up the verdant hill.

I thought I was a poet in charge of heat and cold
But lost my true emotions when I was duped and told
I had to reach perfection to please my heart and mind
By means of imitation. My soul I left behind.

I thought I was a poet who had a pen of gold
But now all of a sudden I’m weary, frail and old.
I thought I was a poet. My pen is of no use.
With teary eyes I whisper to my dejected muse.


-------------------------------------------------------------
Author: Paul Callus
Contest: Million Dollar Poem
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
Placed 1st ~ 13th June 2015
Chosen Poem of the day ~ 8th May 2015

[Balu]

Robert!
Thank you for your being.
For ME you are like a key water source in a desert of our life!
I am NOT flattering. DO believe!

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Robert!
Thank you for your being.
For ME you are like a key water source in a desert of our life!
I am NOT flattering. DO believe!

Always nice to have somebody that reads and appreciates poetry my friend.
Poetry without any doubt is an art form. It can be as simple or as complex is is our existence.
It can climbs the heights of imagination, console the soul and gift in numerous ways to others..--Tyr

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

From A Cafe Table

In this hour
they called it the French lace minutes
the sound of autumn leaves falling
unbearable to the ear
I slip out in the
echoing space
between now
and then
it's an insect like feeling
that buzzes around
too fast
to be recognized

then a coat slides to the ground
heels are clapping hands with wooden floor
ashtrays are laid to rest

and on a bus ticket my pen is scribbling
you are here
you are here
you are here


© Gry W Christensen

----------------------------------
Brewing Sunsets In Teapots

I brew sunsets in teapots
I drink the dawn from a mug
and in my bicycle basket I have seduction in a jug
so now and then I take someone clean shaven home to my obliging bed
when I guess I should sit quietly pristine,
with my legs crossed instead
but each day is so fragile
they black out every evening in the west
and all I got is these frail minutes
and I only want to live them, as if they were a fest.


© Gry W Christensen
--------------------------------
The Anchor

I once loved
an anchor
one of those
that sails
on skin
one of those
that has
a rowing heart
and pelting blood
within


One of those
who blows
mussel covered
kisses
one of those
that tells
mermaids salty lies
one of those
who'll
go down with
rum and shackles
the day he finally
dies.


© Gry W Christensen
-------------------------------------------
My friend, the German poet that
has vanished from my poetry site...--TYR

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

I look around me and I see
--------------------------------------- BY Peter Duggan , Australia


I look around me and I see
So much lovely mystery
It fills my heart it fills my soul
I feel the power, and I feel whole
The birds, the trees, the lovely flowers
The sun that opens dawn’s sweet hour
I love it all, I always will
No one could ever know the way I feel

I walk in peace those wetland trails
I feel the wind, sometimes it howls
I hear those birds in yonder trees
I see those leaves dance on the breeze
I hear the ravens lonely call
I feel the rain as it gently falls
I see the lake shine with delight
I see the stars that fill the sky each night

I love this life, it’s beautiful
I love each day, I love it all
I feel such joy touching my soul
This loveliness, makes me feel whole
The power of life is strong in me
I’m part of all this mystery
I feel gods power everywhere
No matter where I look she’s always there

15 April 2013

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Written by my very good friend Peter Duggan from Perth , Australia . Who has also very kindly sent me two signed copies of his poetry books. -Tyr

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

The Poet's Invitation

Oh, visit me, though I've not looked for you
Show me you care; come share a word or two
Look for my name, in all the names you see
Come spend some time, be ray of sun to me
Visit Me

How will I know if you like what you read
I long to know that I fulfill a need
That what I write is solace for your soul
My little rhymes, a balm that makes you whole
Visit me

Come let communion wash away your fear
Let words of comfort dry away that tear
In blessed little rhymes, is sweet reprieve
and warmth and comfort in the lines I weave
Visit Me

Come visit me when others tear you down
Come visit me when in despair you drown
Come visit me when hope from heart has flown
Come visit me when pain is all you've know
Visit me

My words will be the kiss upon your cheek
The elixir of youth, when you are weak
My lines will be the bandage that will bind
I hope that what you seek, in me you'll find
Visit Me

Come and visit....ME....

Eileen Manassian

-------------------------------------------
A new poem by my good friend Eileen................

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

In Gory Red Haze, Brave Men Weep And Moan

Blast your trumpets, on blood soaked ground!
In that red haze, brave men weep and moan,
Yet, brutal war echoes pain in every sound.
Down lay spirits of mortal men forever gone
Days of youthful hopes turned to patches of dust,
dirt covered , forever residing all alone
fool's gold now turned to blackened rust.

Look ye, for a reason for fools to fight and die
sing out to duty , duty of warriors bold
remain aloft, blind to widows left to cry.
Price matters not, heroes destined to never grow old
War, testament to courage and man's great folly
sacrifice, death feeding tales retold
life goes on, this world is quite jolly

War, the engine driving men straight into hell
For breakfast and eggs, must first break the shell!

Robert J. Lindley, 05-07-2015
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Getting Lost In War

When a man has lost himself
In a great big ugly war
He’s bound to ask himself the question
What is all this for?
People dying all the time
For some crazy Ideal
He’ll know the craziness of man
And ask ‘Is this world real’?

Politicians tell him that
The enemy is evil
The other side they tell their guys
That they must also kill
Though all the soldiers want to do
Is to be home with their folk
Deep inside there hearts they know
Their leaders are a joke.

Their mighty leaders suffer none
They just call all the shot’s
While soldiers just get on with it
They know this is their lot
And so they die in misery
So their leaders might have power
Yet if those leader had to fight
Most surely they would cower

22 August 2015--Peter Duggan