POEMS OF THE WEEK: BY BUDDAH, HANK AND LEE SAN

Today we have three wonderful, heartwarming (and heart-pinging) poems of marriage, brought to us by three fine gentlemen: Hank, also known as Kaykuala, who blogs at Rainbow, Buddah Moskowitz, of I Hate Poetry, and Lee San, also known as dsnake, of Urban Poems. These three poems send songs of love out into the world, and straight into our hearts. Enjoy.

TWO HEARTS LOCKED IN PLACE

What of it?
Reflecting on good fortune snug on a pedestal
When life was of prophetic indications pulsating
Looking to the sky clouds bidding as palatable
A tussle to recollect images of a pretty plaything

What of sweet recollections?
Gracious imaginations with mutual feelings of awe
Boy and girl whispering sweet nothings manifold
Insisting on a sacrifice towards a future together
Warm memories nostalgic in part but put on hold

What of uncanny acquiesce?
The winter of their life together devoid of fears
Meant for each other a relationship so blissful
What kept alive little anecdotes of yesteryears
Two hearts locked in place exquisitely beautiful

Sherry: I always admire marriages that have stood the test of time. I love this poem, Hank, and the loving story it tells.

Hank:  There comes a time in a man's heart, the recollections of those moments in time. It has been said. one remembers only too well an odd moment of grazing one's knee in a fall, more so the sweet moments of being together. 

Reflecting on such nostalgic moments together of times long ago can be therapeutic to the lonely heart. It culminates in this poem!

Sherry: And does it so well! Thank you, Hank. Buddah wrote a poem recently which also speaks to marriage, and the wonder of seeing the beauty of one's mate, growing richer with the passing of the years. Let's read.

(Frasier, Phillipe and Mosk)

THE WOMAN I MARRIED

I spied them
from the kitchen:

she was with him,
my beloved grandson,
and she was
so respectful,
and warm
and fun.

She was always
the woman I married,
but somehow,
I’d never seen
this woman before:

someone who consented
to share my life
and my fortunes,

a woman with a bounty
of lustrous eyelashes,
inviting curvature,
and an oasis smile.

She gives him
her truest,
most unguarded
laughter and joy,
and he is forever changed
one lesson at a time.

I see her expressing
the purest version of love
I’ve ever witnessed,

and the thought comes,
unbidden:

“That’s the woman
I want to make love to.”

Sherry: I love just knowing that marriages like this exist, Buddah! This is so heartwarming.

Buddah: The poem is about my wife playing with our grandson, and it brought out such love and desire, well, it's hopefully self-explanatory.

Sherry: I love it! Lee San's poem is addressed to his wife, also, in a much sadder situation. 

YOUR EYES

the eyes
are the open windows
to the soul
and in the moments that i look
deep into them
though they are clouded
because of the pain
they still burn with a flame
of fight

your eyes
smile like the first day
i met you
though there is a flicker
of regret
knowing that our days
together
will be like sand out of
our fingers

my eyes
are the dikes breaking
please don't
let her see my weakness
my fears
but a single tear
warm and salty rolls down
my cheeks

and then a frail hand touches my face.

Sherry: This is so moving, Lee San, the tears, and her frail hand reaching out to comfort you.

Lee San: I wrote this poem more than ten years ago, when on an idle day, I was thinking about my late wife. She had radiotherapy treatment for cancer, and the side effects were awful. I was thinking, she had put up a good fight, but why was she still taken away? These flashbacks  happen, I guess, even though I thought one had gotten over it. Anyway, the poem was sitting in my PC for some time. I thought it might be too personal to publish, but recently, I took it out, edited it majorly, and, yes, to push the publish button.

I think our memories and experiences, heartaches included, are deep wells from which we can dredge materials for our poetry.

Sherry: Thank you for sharing this, Lee San. I am so sorry that happened to you and your wife. I don’t think we ever get over such a loss; it just comes to live inside us. 

Sigh. These poems move me. Thank you, gentlemen, for writing and sharing them. Do come back, friends, to see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you!

POEMS OF THE WEEK: MEN'S VOICES: HANK, FRANK AND LEE SAN

It's time to listen to the voices of some of the men in our community, fellow poets, so today we have poems by Hank Kaykuala, who writes at Rainbow, Frank J. Tassone, who blogs at American Haijin, and Cheong Lee San, more familiarly known to us online as dsnake, who writes at Urban  Poems. You're going to love them. Let's dive right in.

EMPTINESS IN THE SKY

Evening lull but an
emptiness in the sky to
bring throes of longings

where you were but now
shadows of apparitions
dancing in the void

unsatiated
sudden and mysterious
you left unannounced

Sherry: I can feel that emptiness, when someone has departed unexpectedly.

Hank: When Chev at Carpe Diem presented a prompt, yuuuagi (an evening lull),  a summer kigo, Hank's thoughts went back to some past events. Hank was leafing through an old tattered photo album some years back and discovered a picture of an old flame. It was just as tattered and long forgotten. It was a brief encounter Hank remembered. It could have developed further, as she was such an adorable little lass. It was stifled when she left without a word. 

The above was the background musing in Hank's head when thinking what to write then. 

Sherry: Old photos are certainly full of nostalgia. Sigh. Thank you for sharing, Hank.

Frank recently wrote about a departure in a poem that truly touched my heart. Let's take a look.

GOING SOMEWHERE?

The woosh of passing wind as I move on,

the bam!bam!bam! of hammers fall away.

These wheels that crunch on gravel just beyond,

a highway exit ramp to the blue way,

where life slows down with every town I pass;

and burdens born from crow-caws to day’s rind

yeild to a precious peace I know won’t last,

but let the growls of grief slip from my mind.

Where, then, can I lay my head for the night,

remembering her ever-waking snores,

until the clock’s cukoo at dawn’s first light,

sets me once more on my own tour-du-force?

But where else can my happiness endure

than in your arms like all our days before?

cricket songs

silence from your side

of our bed

  

Sherry: That silence from the other side of the bed speaks loudly, Frank. Thank you for sharing this very moving poem. I admire the way you introduced so many sounds. 

Frank: This sonnet-haibun demonstrates how the writer and reader construct meaning together. I had intended a humorous jaunt, inspired by Shakespeare's "Sonnet 130", in which the narrator undertakes a journey to escape his wife's snoring. A few understood it as such, and Bjorn actually discerned the inspiring sonnet. Many other readers, however, perceived a heartwrenching story of grief.

Looking back on the poem, I can see their point. I was struck by how sorrowful the tone was, and the stark imagery in the haiku clearly did not portray the light-hearted humor I intended! It's as though the poem took on a life of its own and presented the mournful journey of a widower seeking-in-vain to escape his sorrow over his lost love.

From a craft standpoint, I find sonnets a challenge, so I'm delighted that it worked well in conjunction with the haiku. I enjoyed writing it, and I'm happy it was so well received.

Sherry: Wow, Frank, thanks for this explanation. I totally read it as a poem of loss and grief and am smiling to think how we bring our own interpretations to other peoples' poems. I am relieved this is a poem of humour and not heartbreak. Yay! And you executed the sonnet very ably!

The following poem by Lee San will close this feature with a note of hope for the times we live in, when it seems values we believed were steadfast are shaking in  unfriendly winds.

THE FOUR SISTERS

"Can we not raise our hands in anger?
beat our swords into ploughshares instead?"

and Peace 
raises her hands and releases the white petrel
where it circles the storm clouds

says Hope
and the golden flame in her hand
flickers but still burns strongly in the wind

says Love
and the stalk of red rose
bends with the wind but does not break

says Faith
and her hands cup the the sunrise
weighing the golden orb of the growing sun

and they look at the grey skies turning black
the sea sneering and scattering the dunes

and they are not afraid.


Sherry: The imagery in this poem is so beautiful, Lee San. I especially agree that these virtues may bend, but do not break.

Lee San: This poem is the response to a picture prompt by Rick Mobbs, a talented painter from New Mexico. Weekly, he would place one of his paintings on his blog for us writers to ponder over it. That was somewhere in 2008.

So around two years later I came around to writing a poem over the painting (you know how tardy I can be). The names Peace, Love, Hope and Faith came to me quite easily and I wrote the poem and promptly forgot about it. At that time I thought it was not that 'complete'.

Recently, I came across it on one of my thumb drives (that's my tardiness at work again). I did some minor edits and decided that it would be a very good and appropriate time to post it. You know, the crazy times we are living in now? So I added in a link to a Pink Floyd song and that's it.  And hope that with these four sisters, the dark tides will turn. :)

Sherry: We need to cling to these values more than ever before.  How we long for the dark tide to turn. Thank you for this note of hope, Lee San. 

We hope you enjoyed these poetic offerings, my friends. Do come back and see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you!

Poems of the Week: Men's Voices

It is time to hear from the men in our community, my friends. Today, we are pleased to showcase wonderful poems by Martin Kloess of Poetry and Viral Videos, Marcoantonio of Life Whispers,  Matthew Henningsen, of Matthew Henningsen's The Literary Doc, and Hank, (Kayakuala),  who writes at Rainbow. Each one speaking with heart to the human condition. Enjoy!

Sherry: Martin, I always enjoy your posts, the poems you write, as well as the commentary that follows. Thank you for agreeing to share a poem with us this week.

Tale Of Lovers True 

How did it start he didn’t know

But what this was won’t let him go

He prays for death so this will end

What was the wound which he must sew

He just had coffee with a friend

A quaint old shop just down the bend

They shared a cup of troubled brew

So troubled heart could freely rend

He heard a tale of lovers true

A tale which sadly now is through

Friend’s wife was having an affair

A fact that he already knew

What his poor friend was unaware

Was he who held her favored stare

Seeing friend’s pain brought thoughts profound

And as friend left he just sat there

Then from outside came awful sound

A screeching car had target found

He dropped regrets to rush outside

And found his friend there on the ground

And there amid the blood’s red tide

He fell to deed with anguish cried

And there began the endless flow

As one man lived another died


Sherry: Oh, my goodness, that ending! The man's guilt would be even worse from then on. You tell a powerful story here, Martin.

Martin: Here is sample of a round, a poem with no beginning or end. Each third line is the lead in for the following stanza. The last third line leads back to the first stanza. The poem is about a person who is listening to his “friend” telling about his wife seeing another man. The person is the one the wife is seeing. Distraught, the friend goes out into the street, where he is hit by a car. As the poem comes to a head, we have the person holding the blood-soaked body of his “friend”. On the line “As one man lived another died”, we realize that this poem is a round. The whole nightmare begins again and again and… Who lived and who died?

Sherry: The round and the open ending  give one much food for thought. Thank you, Martin, for sharing this round with us. It is an intriguing form, which I haven't tried yet.

Marco recently penned a poem that really pinged my heart, especially in its beautiful closing lines. Let's read:

SUN SHADOW

in a cavern of my mind where roots of wisdom are born
gathers a surfeit of memories of when youth held
my hand tightly and my glass of juice was immortality
every moment was deplete of life’s trepidations
and there was joy in the freedom of the wind that
filled my lungs as i would run like a deer in its meadow
and the angst of life had not yet laid its heavy arm upon
my shoulders

in this journey walking a step in step with me, t’was
a void in absence of a father's love, an anguishing was
awaiting to touch my soul as my life was assembling
and that emptiness of unrequited love lay dormant
in a chamber of my heart, later to evince like a shadow
cast by the lonely pearl of night but, for now, little was
known of this, for it was never known

the most i ask and least of life, 
as Diogenes asked of Alexander:
not to stand in the way of the sun


Sherry: I feel the emotion in those closing lines. They went straight to my heart, Marco. What were your thoughts while writing this poem?

Marco: i was observing a young father playing with his young toddler and was wondering how or who i might have become if i would have had a father figure in my life: the male love, the physical play and presence, the mentorship and inspiration. then in reflection i realized that i'm who i am because 'mi mamasita' took on both role models. and so, not having is not knowing, thus, my reference to Diogenes asking of Alexander: ... not to stand in the way of the Sun ... for if my heart and soul never witnessed or knew then don't let my heart or soul anguish about its absence.

Sherry: I so admire your Mamasita. Her story has always touched my heart. Thank you for sharing this poem with us, Marco.

Matthew's poem is about poetry itself, always a topic we enjoy! Let's dive in!

Matthew in the Blue Mountains National Park

in Australia

IN PRAISE OF THE POEM

Written at the Start of a New Year

It refreshes me this odd
Art of putting words-to-
Words. It is a

Sense of peace in places
That seem all
Wrong. It is

Soft sound I think in
A cruel well that swallows up
Most things you throw
Down. But, this

Small sweetness remains and
Sustains if,
Only for a little while. It

Refreshes me this odd
Art of putting
Words-to-words.

Sherry: "This odd art of putting words-to-words" seems to have us all in its grasp. Smiles. 

Matthew: This poem was written at the beginning of this year, as the title says. I was first inspired by the hope of something new, and how this hope, for me at least, seems to take the form of a poem. That there is a peace to poetry somehow, and that there is an order to it, the piecing together of lines-with-lines.

But I also try to reveal, in the structure of the poem, how fragile all of this is. A poem can hold, but it can so easily collapse and tumble down, much like our life and reality. It is all a poem somehow, all of it.......and the best we can do is hold it together for as long as we can.

Sherry: I love these thoughts of yours about poetry just as much as the poem, Matthew. Thank you for sharing your work and thoughts with us.

Hank wrote a beautiful poem recently about refugees, who are much on our minds in these troubled times. Let's take a look.

Blessed Were the Angels

The kindness of strangers

Never to underestimate the

hallmark of human goodness

where one least expected it

Blessed were the angels that

recognized such distressed souls

to direct help to the displaced

caught in taut situations

Volunteers, strangers to the scene

were the first to be led by Providence

to areas of conflicts to extend those

caught in a harrowing cross-fire

with some semblance of hope

It was expected that their vigorous

experiences were made more bearable

Sherry: This poem speaks to my heart, Hank, in these times where so many millions are suffering and displaced. What inspired it your poem?

Hank: It is more than just an inspiration. It is a cry-out, a feeling of despair upon seeing so much deprivation and suffering, and anger at oneself for being so helpless. We are so exposed to the stark consequence of human failing, not as a result of a natural disaster, but rather from the planned and devious actions of the commercially strong against the weak consumers.

This is akin to the sharing of a big piece of cake among the people, each having a slice, but all have a taste of its goodness. Instead, it was wrested away by a big fella blessed with economic strength, but in the process part of it was destroyed. The big fella enjoyed a large portion, while only a small portion was left to be shared by the remaining many. Obviously the relatively stronger among the remaining many would still be fed, but the weakest of the weak were left hungry.

We have seen this enacted throughout history, where the imperfection was the same but the players were different. Or, at the local front, at school where the rich kid gets the privilege of flaunting his daddy's wealth, while the kids of ordinary folks can just look but saying nothing.

We are the grown kids of ordinary folks, still able to see through the majestic communication channels afforded us at real time of sad events around the globe, (gritting our teeth at not being able to do much about it). But fortunately there is a small number, a band of concerned individuals, who take it upon themselves to be the Angels who extend their love and affection as strangers of kindness, unsung in their brilliance.

Sherry: Thank you, Hank. This is so well said, and heartfelt. Bless those human angels who go into the hard places and try to help.

Thank you, fine gentlemen, for sharing your voices with us today. And for being faithful participants at Poets United. We enjoy your work so much, and are appreciative of your presence.

Wasn't this fine, my friends? Do come back and see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you!

Blog of the Week - An Update with Kaykuala

We have a special treat for you this week, my friends. We are visiting with  Hank Pilus, who writes at Rainbow. Hank lives in the beautiful country of Malaysia. We last interviewed Hank in 2012. We decided to stop by and see what he has been up to since then.  Hank has been a loyal member of Poets United since its very beginning, and we appreciate him so much.

Sherry: Hank, it is so lovely to be talking with you again. Please give us an update on your growing family. In our interview with you in 2012, you had five grandchildren. How is everyone?

Norman and Kimie

Hank: There are no additions still 5 grandees! All are in high spirits. They have been travelling. Not very far but just. The elder two, Norman and Kimie, had among others been to the Legoland in Johore, a stone's throw from Singapore.

From left Nabil, Gramps Mohd Said, Sara Ayesha, 

Naqip and mummy Qaty

Our 3 younger ones Nabil, Sara Ayesha and Little Naqip are emulating their Gramps and parents. They are now into cycling. The last we heard the family was in a road race of sorts in Ipoh about 200km north of Kuala Lumpur. Week-ends have been cycling days lately for their parents. The kids are caught in the  fad and have their own 'races' among the other kids as well.


Sherry: It sounds like a happy, busy life, my friend. Tell us a bit about living in Malaysia. The physical beauty of the place is stunning.

Hank (second from the right) at our Royal Military College 

alumni Annual Gathering in June 2015

Hank: This reminds me when Hank was in Kashmir years ago. Even going along any of the country roads one was presented with the natural beauty of the Kashmiri landscape. Sparkling streams of rivulets upon reaching the end of molds of rocky hillocks would tumble down in gushing sprays that glittered in the morning sun. We stopped the taxi and just stood by the roadside to marvel at the exquisite panorama that unfolded in front of our eyes. Time stood still among the greenery and snow-capped mountains in the distance. When we remarked to the driver how fantastic the beauty of nature that was, he retorted back to say he had seen 'all these all his life' Nothing to excite him anymore.

It all goes to show, Sherry, Ma'am, you would have to make a bee-line to Malaysia to savor nature's offerings here. Hank can only echo the Kashmiri driver who was not overly excited of what beauty really was in his homeland! Not so when one is in another country. Hank was stunned years ago to stand on the Rainbow Bridge, to marvel at the Niagara Falls in the distance and later to sneak behind the Falls below ground. Something not seen before would always astound  oneself. It was just exhilarating, but perhaps not to the folks there. Hank can double as a tourist guide whenever you are here, a promise!

Sherry: I would come in a heartbeat, my friend, if wishes were airline tickets, LOL. During our last interview you explained how writing came to you later in life, when you began blogging. You told us you began blogging narratives, as a means of record-keeping. I believe our friend Ninotaziz had a hand in encouraging your foray into writing poetry.  How has blogging impacted your work?

Hank: Ninot is such a wonderful lady. We were introduced by a common friend, Pak Cik, and she led the way for Hank to venture into poetry. Ninot gave all the support.

Hank's first book can be reached here

In fact, Ninot did Hank the honor of poetry-reading during the launching of Hank's first book Rainbow Poetry and Prose in Nov 2013' Rainbow' comprised a collection of poetry and prose of 400 pages written from 2010 up to 2012.

Sherry: Ninot is  wonderfully encouraging. It was she who showed me how relatively easy it is to put a book together. I now have several on my shelf, thanks to our wonderful friend! 

Hank's second book can be reached here

Hank: Hank's second book 'Pearls That Shine,' of 300 pages, followed last year. It comprised blog postings of 2013. Both are available as a Kindle version on the 'Net. Hank will embark on a third book of postings written in 2014 shortly.

Sherry: Congratulations on your two books, Hank. They both look absolutely beautiful! We look forward to the third. You are working hard! You must be very happy with the way your work is evolving.

Hank: Happy with my writing? Oh yes, a discovery rather late in the day. There is so much to know and to write about.The two books are structured into Free Verse, Haiku, Limericks, Micro Fictions, other forms and Prose. Variety it is thought should invoke a certain amount of interest in its reading. Variety should attract the desire to read. Otherwise it will be boring..

In recent times Hank takes a fancy to creating free verse from Wordles. One can write Wordles practically 5 times in a week through Sunday's Whirligig, MLMM's, APED, Real Toads and even CARPE DIEM. Wordles can go any direction, writing metaphorically, once the theme is selected. It is fun! Blogging certainly is a fulfillment!

Sherry: It is indeed, Hank. You have a second blog for narrative writing, birdhouse. While I was looking around your blogs,  I discovered you now have a third blog, Easels and Colours, where I was excited to discover you have branched out into painting with acrylics. People talented in one genre so often explore other creative pursuits. Tell us about your painting.

One of Hank's painting hung up as part of the exhibition 

during the book launching

(Hank was a one-time golfer now retired)

Hank: Yes, Hank started with 'birdhouse' before 'Rainbow'. Sadly, though, 'birdhouse' had been neglected for so long. One dries up on ideas when writing prose, especially narrating events. There is still a way to salvage it by writing Fictions perhaps Short Stories and novella. Short Stories should be a better option at around 1500 words or so. Hank might just do that to get 'birdhouse' moving.

Sherry: That sounds intriguing, Hank. 

An acrylic painting entitled 'The Beak'

A pastel painting of a Green Pepper

Sherry: Your paintings are wonderful, Hank. That pepper looks good enough to eat.

Hank:  Hank's drawing blog Easels and Colours also needs to be rekindled into activity. Hank went into a frenzy of acrylic paintings and held an exhibition during the book launch. Hank could produce about 12 paintings in a space of 14 days days prior to the launching then. Hank slept 4 hours on certain days just to complete them. But sadly the passion and motivation are not sustained. Something drastic ought to be done perhaps.

Sherry: More paintings are laying in wait, I am sure. Tell us what you love about writing poetry? How does it differ, the way you feel on completion of a poem, or a painting?

Hank: Writing poetry in reality is writing about oneself or of one's experiences. The advantage of experiences cannot be measured by the number of years but the variety of activities covered. More activities would mean more information to draw from even in shorter number of years. Hank is handicapped here as Hank was not active in writing poetry before. The poetic language of bloggers who did heavy poetry when young could be seen and felt immediately. There are a number of our current bloggers who are in that category and who write brilliant poems

The feeling is the same on completion of a poetry or painting. The feeling is one of exhilaration, satisfaction and wonder. One wonders how they could be completed. One also wonders if the next one can come easy to match those earlier ones. One plays catch-up on one's conscious efforts. 'What if the poem or painting currently on the plate turn out to be a flop?' There is always that frightful feeling! The feeling is the same for both. 

Sherry: That is interesting to contemplate.  Hank, would you like to select three poems we can include in this feature? And tell us a bit about each?

Hank: Let me start with one that I used to like before, but unashamedly neglected in the recent past. It is a form, in fact, not a poem as such. It is Limericks! I like Limericks, not just for the short poem that it is, but more for the humor. One must really be inspired to trap the humor, the underlying attraction of a Limerick. These are some of my old ones The first line in all instances was given by Madeleine Kane. We had to complete the rest.

The Limericks

A fellow was planning to wed
A lass who was playing hard to get
Tried as he might
With all that he had
Excepting him the rest she grabbed

A woman who always seemed game
Had a fearful reputation to her name
A guy tried to get fresh
Was on the behind thrashed
She was of a black-belt Tae-Kwon-do fame

A fellow who telecommunicated
Was doubly fast when he tweeted
Thumb worked on the HP
Crossed the road in a jiffy
Pall bearers later had him hoisted

A woman who felt she had been had
Getting even not an option she thought right
They had a pow-wow
Exchanged know-how
Never to regret it since - blissful heavenly nights

Limericks have that uncanny affinity for soft sensuous humor It can even get away with hard obscene ones but better to avoid such. Humor is base if obscene but witty if spiced with good-natured and acceptable soft sexual encounters.

I have not done Limericks these days except for playful ones at Pat Hatt's. Nice to go for revisits at Mad Kane's, as they provide real Limericks challenge.

Sherry: I enjoy the humor of them, Hank.

Hank: More of a challenge, too, is the form pantoum, which is derived from the Malay pantuns. We used to see them feverishly thrown back and forth during weddings before. The first participant would pose a question as a riddle in pantun form. The opponent would have to respond likewise with a witty answer immediately, and it would go back and forth.It was done in quatrains and this would go on through the night. There were lots of laughter, as they were spiced with humor and rhyming that one wondered how the participants could respond fast on their feet. It was amazing. But it is not frequently seen these days, as weddings take new forms now. To know more about the pantun it is most opportune as Ninot had only in the weeks before  presented a 2-part series at d'Verse: Classic Pantun part 1 and Classic Pantun part 2.

Hank's pantoum below is actually taking a jab at the get-rich-quick schemes that used to make the rounds before. It is presented in that lighter mood just so to show our disdain at such Ponzi efforts to hoodwink nice folks.

A Scheme

He came with a little smile, a toothy little smile
Broader it became as he got a little closer
Broke into a small laughter and all the while
A quizzical stance hidden behind the laughter

Broader it became as he got a little closer
Seen this act a few times had seen it before
A quizzical stance hidden behind the laughter
Scheming intention, a suspicious one I gather

Seen this act a few times had seen it before
Upon reaching an extended hand in friendly gesture
Scheming intention, a suspicious one I gather
Responded likewise not wanting to create a furor

A quizzical stance hidden behind the laughter
Began with a few good words without a falter
Scheming intention , a suspicious one I gather
The sling bag  is opened its contents spilled over

Began with a few good words without a falter
All the charts, the legs, the returns, too familiar
The sling bag  is opened its contents spilled over
I knew it, a ‘get-rich-quick’ a Ponzi as it were

All the charts, the legs, the returns, too familiar
Broke into a small laughter and all the while
I knew it, a ‘get-rich-quick’ a Ponzi as it were
He came with a little smile, a toothy little smile

Sherry: Oh, I can see that toothy little smile. I can't imagine how quick-witted one would have to be to expound in pantun on the spot. That is impressive!

Hank: A Kyrielle is a poetry form of rhymed quatrains, maintaining 8 syllables in each line  and with a repetition of the last line. This Kyrielle was written to record one episode of Hank's grandchildren when growing-up. In this case it was when one of their regular friends had to go back to the US. It would remind them later in life of what had been and what they had been up to years before.

The neighborhood kids would very much miss young Daniel whose family moved out to L.A. They had been friends for some years, playing together at the nearby field, cycling around, or were just a noisy lot during their PS3 playing sessions ( PS3 sessions were precious as these were only allowed during the school holidays) Norman and Kimie are now more determined to go to the Anaheim Disney. The boys made a pact to meet there perhaps sometime next year. There are more reasons to go, now!

Parting

Been in the offing quite some bit
None would want to think about it
Young minds might not realize the pain
They knew good friends would meet again!

They knew young Daniel would move out
To L.A. it had been touted
The neighborhood kids took it plain
They knew good friends would meet again

They cycled with all shrieks and squeals
Or kicking football on the field
They were around with all the din
They knew good friends would meet again

The day came sadly last Tuesday
The day young Daniel went away
PS3 now played with restrain
They knew good friends would meet again

Norman and Kimie set their minds
Next stop would now be Anaheim
Parting was temporary pain
They knew good friends would meet again

Sherry: I love "they knew good friends would meet again!" Wonderfully hopeful. Your grandkids will read this years from now, and remember. Hank, is there anything else you’d like to share with us? Thoughts on life and love? Wisdom gained from the journey? What would you tell a young fellow starting out?

Hank: Yes, Hank wants to share the anxiety he went through before deciding on compiling the books. Everyone should have the intention of compiling their poems into a book. Otherwise one writes for the love of it. The poems remain in blogosphere till kingdom come and eventually get obliterated in time.There is something tangible that can be held in the hand if the poems are all in a book. Nothing spectacular, really.To self-publish a book is simple, but many are put off by uncertainties. Hank had a fair share of the same feeling for quite some time. The questions initially faced are, 'is it the thing to do' and 'how to go about it'.

For a young fellow starting out, there are things to remember. First thing is never to have to rewrite whatever was posted. There should not be double work. This can be taken care of by posting one's poem as it would appear in the book. For a Free Verse it should not be too long. Just enough for a one page of reading duration. Enough to maintain interest. In the case of a haiku or tanka not to just have one stanza. It is too short for a page! Write at least 3 stanzas. Regarding images, Hank feels safer not to use any from the internet even if the copyright restriction is waived. Use your own pictures or sketches perhaps 20 images in total. One is not expected to make money and be a millionaire but a book can be peddled on the internet just the same. The idea is to have one's book available for posterity even after the author's demise. It can be attracting royalties for our loved ones. A Kindle version of 300 pages can go for USD2.99

The second phase is the publishing part. There are many publishers available who can do both the publishing and the marketing aspects. Pick a publisher, pay a one-off payment of about USD1200 or so and you are on (the fee varies).

To maintain discipline with less headache, decide on the structure say Free Verse followed by haiku and so on. Then start to email to the publisher say 25 poems of Free Verse every 2 days followed by the rest. Make sure to erase all references to other specific blogs in the postings before sending. Make sure to make corrections on grammar and spelling before sending. It will cost time and money to make corrections from the draft they sent back to you. Unlike other Fiction writings, poetry writing needs only self-editing.

In the meantime the publisher will work on the Front and Back Cover images,which will be sent over to you later for approval. In between emailing the poems one also sends over the Dedication, Acknowledgement, and Back Cover narration.

That's it! Within a few weeks the publisher will email a draft copy of the insides in PDF format for corrections. It will have the Contents page and will follow one's structure all done nicely. Following corrections after about 2 weeks a brand new book with one's name as the author will be posted to the home address. All told it will take about 8 weeks from the day payment was made.

One may not have to follow the above. If confident enough, one can do all of the above oneself through certain publishers like Lulu, Smashwords, among others. They charge less but it will be tedious.

The beauty of self-publishing is that one can have reprints of one copy, 10 copies or even 1000 copies within 10 to 15 days. No necessity of an initial 2000 copies mandatory for economies of scale, as was the case with traditional publishers before.

Sherry: I highly recommend using one of the self-publishing online companies. They are easy to use and, as you say, you can order one book, or any  number, as needed. The cost is extremely reasonable. I use lulu.com, and am very satisfied with it. I remember when one used to be able to "self-publish" only through publishers. The cost was prohibitive to many. This is an interesting tangent, Hank. Maybe it will encourage some of our readers to try it.

In closing, my friend, is there anything you’d like to say to Poets United?

Hank: Yes, thanks so much to everyone in PU who have been most supportive, and Sherry, Ma'am, for extending this invitation to Hank for this interview. It is most refreshing!

Sherry: You are most welcome, Hank. It is my pleasure. Thank you, for being such a loyal long-time member of Poets United. Your presence - and reciprocity - are very much appreciated.

Well, my friends? Wasn't this an interesting update? We will have all of you feverishly churning out books, LOL. (I am such a slave-driver!) Do come back and see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you!