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HAPPY ST.GEORGE’S DAY FROM POETREECREATIONS

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HAVE YOU GOT THE RIGHT TIME?

Tick-tock the wife collects clocks

They cover the walls

There is even one in the hall,

And in the living room

Some are small and some are tall,

She even bought one off an old bloke

Who lives down the road,

But one or two of them are broke

Now she’s bought a Cuckoo clock

But that’s the only one

That does not go tick tock,

Some clocks chime like a little rhyme

But not one will tell me the right time

DID YOU FORGET TO PUT YOUR CLOCK BACK

TODAY?

By

Thomas Sims

HAPPY ST DAVID’S DAY

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What are you doing on valentine’s day?

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AND SHE SAID YES

Eight YEARS AGO TODAY

 

8 WAYS TO WRITE A LOVE POEM

POWER OF LOVE

Remember a time when you really wanted to tell someone how you felt about them, but didn’t think you could get the words to come out right? Or that time you wanted to give a certain someone a present, but you couldn’t find that perfect thing? Well, the next time that happens, have no fear — because our love poem tip guide is here (you love our snazzy rhyme, huh?)! Some feelings just need to be expressed, and writing a love poem is one of the most creative and sincere ways to say I LOVE YOU.
  1. Feelings. When you look at the person you love, what runs through your mind? Think of words to describe how they make you feel, so you can use them throughout your poem. Even if they make your brain all foggy, write about that!
  2. Firsts.  Everyone loves a bit of nostalgia. Remember how this person first came into your life. Was it love at first sight, or were you totally turned off until you got to know them better? Where were you? What details can you remember about the first time you met/went on a date/kissed? The little things matter, especially in a love poem, so don’t forget about them.
  3. Comparison. If you’re writing a love poem about someone, chances are they’ve had a pretty big impact on your life. In your poem, compare how your life was before and after this person began playing a role in your life story. Maybe you were going through a rough time and they made it better, or you were always a happy person, but they just made you smile a little wider. Whatever your story, everyone enjoys being told how much they matter, so be sure to let this person know how much they’ve changed your life for the better.
  4. Tone. Don’t worry about making your poem sound too sappy or romantic. Just be yourself, use your personality, and write about the things that might be a little harder to say out loud. Yeah, it sounds corny, but the best poems are the ones that come from your heart.
  5. Pattern. When it comes to the format of the poem, creating a rhyme scheme or pattern shouldn’t be the main focus. If a rhyme comes naturally, go for it, but remember that some of the greatest poems don’t rhyme. Sometimes, a sing-song rhyme can take away the heart of a poem because both the writer and the reader pay more attention to how the poem is written, instead of what it’s about. For a love poem, it’s about what you say, not how you say it.
  6. Spread the Love. No matter who you are or who stole your heart,
  7. we all love a love poem At Poetree Creations.
  8. Why not give it some thought.

CHECK OUT THE POWER OF LOVE

IN THE MOOD FOR LOVE YOU WILL FIND IT HERE ON FEBRUARY 14 VALENTINE’S DAY.

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Did You Know?

Approximately 141 million Valentine’s Day cards are exchanged annually, making Valentine’s Day the second most popular card-sending holiday after Christmas.

SEND YOUR LOVE POEMS

TO

poetreecreations@yahoo.com

love poems

Remembering Valentines Day

red roses bbbbb

I remember all my Valentines
They are deep within my heart
Every one was so special
Until the day we had to part

You see my loved one past away
After many years together
All the memories of Valentines Day
To me I will always treasure

Red roses were always given to me
And a candlelit meal for two
Every time Valentines comes around
My everlasting love I send to you

And on this special day
I place by your picture frame
A bunch of red roses in memory
To ease my heartache and pain

Malcolm Bradshaw

VALENTINES DAY POETRY CHALLENGE – IT’S THAT TIME OF THE YEAR AGAIN LOVE IS IN THE AIR!

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SEND  YOUR LOVE POEM’S TO US  AT: poetreecreations@yahoo.com

AND HELP  US  CELEBRATE OUR WEDDING ANNIVERSARY 

WE HAVE BEEN MARRIED FOR SEVEN YEARS

FEBURARY 14th 2016

Two gold rings by Gillian and Thomas Sims A dedication to each other for their wedding anniversary

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY  GILLIAN LOVE FROM HUSBAND THOMAS XXXX Eight YEARS

CELEBRATE BURNS NIGHT TODAY WITH A WEE DRAM AND A POEM

BURNS NIGHT 777

WEE DRAM 55555

BURNS NIGHT 555

Download my new eBook- Manners Bear And Friends for your kids/Grandkids – Click the link below

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http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/reader/B00P6NNR8I/ref=sib_dp_kd#reader-link

TOP TEN NEW YEARS RESOLUTIONS FOR 2018

 

New Year’s Resolutions to Ring in 2017

It is that time of year again.  We start off  the new year singing “Auld Lang Syne.”  One of my all time favorite movies, “When Harry Met Sally” has clever dialogue about the song.  Harry: What does this song mean? My whole life, I don’t know what this song means. I mean, ‘Should old acquaintance be forgot’? Does that mean that we should forget old acquaintances, or does it mean if we happened to forget them, we should remember them, which is not possible because we already forgot?  Sally: Well, maybe it just means that we should remember that we forgot them or something. Anyway, it’s about old friends.

Making New Year’s Resolutions are also quite popular at the stroke of midnight.  Some will last until the next New Year’s Eve while others don’t make it a day into the new year.  Some interesting statistics… A 2007 study by Richard Wisemen from the University of Bristol involving 3,000 people showed that 88% of those who set New Year resolutions fail, despite the fact that 52% of the study’s participants were confident of success at the beginning. Men achieved their goal 22% more often when they engaged in goal setting, (a system where small measurable goals are being set; such as, a pound a week, instead of saying “lose weight”), while women succeeded 10% more when they made their goals public and got support from their friends.

Here are the 10 most popular New Year’s Resolutions:

HAPPY NEW YEAR – 2018

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HAPPY NEW YEAR TO EVERYONE FROM ALL AT POETREE CREATIONS XXX

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WE WISH YOU A MERRY CHRISTMAS

A MERRY CHRISTMAS FROM POETREE CREATIONS – GILLIAN AND THOMAS

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WHAT DO YOU THINK?

YOU CAN SEND YOURS TO THIS WEBSITE

EMAIL – poetreecreations@yahoo.com

http://www.poetreecreations.org

NOW 

12 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS

Poems for Armistice Day Veteran Day ,and Remembrance Sunday

Monument honouring the dead near Compiegne

The term “armistice” means a cessation of hostilities as a prelude to peace negotiations.  In the context of the First World War ‘the armistice’ is generally referred to in context of the agreement between the Germans and the Allies to end the war on November 11, 1918.

 

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For the Fallen by Lawrence Binyon

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

They mingle not with laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England’s foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.

Ich hatt’ einen Kameraden by Ludwig Uhland

Ich hatt’ einen Kameraden,
Einen bessern findst du nit.
Die Trommel schlug zum Streite,
Er ging an meiner Seite
In gleichem Schritt und Tritt.

Eine Kugel kam geflogen:
Gilt’s mir oder gilt sie dir?
Sie hat ihn weggerissen,
Er liegt zu meinen Füßen
Als wär’s ein Stück von mir

Will mir die Hand noch reichen,
Derweil ich eben lad’.
“Kann dir die Hand nicht geben,
Bleib du im ew’gen Leben
Mein guter Kamerad!”

REMEMBRANCE DAY TO DAY COME AND JOIN US AND SHOW THAT YOU STILL CARE!

Remembrance Sunday is held “to commemorate the contribution of British and Commonwealth military and civilian servicemen and women in the two World Wars and later conflicts

TWO MINUTES SILENCE

LOOK OUT -THERE’S A BONFIRE TREAT COMING DONT GET BURNT THE POETRY IS RED HOT

 

PLEASE TAKE THE TIME

TO VOTE

FOR YOUR

FAVOURITE

POEM

WHO IS THIS GUY CHECK HIM OUT ON NOVEMBER 5TH

The world is our oyster – Take a look at this comment!!! – Follow us!!!


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Friday Highlights 54 | … 4m
[…] Gillian & Thomas Sims have created a community that is alive with amazing creative energy, as poets from all around the world showcase their work on their blog Poetreecreations. The first thing that caught me was the name of the blog, as I’m a sucker for interesting business/site/etc names. The more I perused it, the more interested I became and just knew that it would be a great one to share with all of you. Not only will you be able to read great poems, but there is lots of information for those interested in the craft, various projects, videos, ways to promote your own poetry and so much more for visitors and members alike. Make your weekend just a little more exciting with Poetreecreations found ‘here.’ […]

An autumn painting

 painting

Autumn, ah it’s a  painting on canvas

With splashes of  colour everywhere

It’s not hidden  away from view

It is an occasion  for all to share

An artist has  created it

With colours of  every shade

The vibrant  shades of beauty

In their splendor  are on parade

Each tree and  shrub stands proud

Making an hypnotic colourful display

Of leaves falling  gently to the ground

Creating a carpet  of colour where they lay

As the winter  winds grow stronger

They tantalize  the fallen leaves

All whipped up in  frenzy

Stripping all the  shrubs and tree’s

Now the canvas  has been completed

The paints and  brushes packed away

Mother Nature  displays her painting

Of the perfect  Autumn Day

Malcolm  G Bradshaw

“Caught in a Summer Downpour” – Promote Yourself

Your lovely little post entitled ‘Step Onto Our Stage – Let Your Poem Dance With Others’ was inspiration tonight. Here’s one of mine – just a short one, entitled “Caught in a Summer Downpour”, which makes me smile in remembering the moment it captures:

The legend of St George’s and the dragon

The Legend of St. George and the Dragon

St GeorgeSt. George travelled for many months by land and sea until he came to Libya. Here he met a poor hermit who told him that everyone in that land was in great distress, for a dragon had long ravaged the country.

‘Every day,’ said the old man, ‘he demands the sacrifice of a beautiful maiden and now all the young girls have been killed. The king’s daughter alone remains, and unless we can find a knight who can slay the dragon she will be sacrificed tomorrow. The king of Egypt will give his daughter in marriage to the champion who overcomes this terrible monster.’

When St. George heard this story, he was determined to try and save the princess, so he rested that night in the hermit’s hut, and at daybreak set out to the valley where the dragon lived. When he drew near he saw a little procession of women, headed by a beautiful girl dressed in pure Arabian silk. The princess Sabra was being led by her attendants to the place of death. The knight spurred his horse and overtook the ladies. He comforted them with brave words and persuaded the princess to return to the palace. Then he entered the valley.

George slaying the dragon

As soon as the dragon saw him it rushed from its cave, roaring with a sound louder than thunder. Its head was immense and its tail fifty feet long. But St. George was not afraid. He struck the monster with his spear, hoping he would wound it.

Fstival of History

The dragon’s scales were so hard that the spear broke into a thousand pieces. and St. George fell from his horse. Fortunately he rolled under an enchanted orange tree against which poison could not prevail, so that the venomous dragon was unable to hurt him. Within a few minutes he had recovered his strength and was able to fight again.

St George fights the dragon with his sword

He smote the beast with his sword, but the dragon poured poison on him and his armour split in two. Once more he refreshed himself from the orange tree and then, with his sword in his hand, he rushed at the dragon and pierced it under the wing where there were no scales, so that it fell dead at his feet.

The dragon is killed

How will you be celebrating St George’s Day?

“April Fools Day”

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I’ve been known to act like a fool,
not just once but a time or two.
So April Fools Day suits me to a T
It’s a special holiday made just for me!

 Author: Nancy Hughes

HAPPY EASTER EVERYONE FROM POETREE CREATIONS

EGG

EASTER TIME


Easter time is upon us

Spring has come at last

Displaying all her beauty

Like a carpet she has cast

 

Out of the dreary winter

With colours of every shade

A breath-taking panorama

That Mother Nature has made

 

Frogs in the Lilly ponds

With frogspawn all around

Soon there will be tadpoles

Jumping up and down

Birds are also busy

Building with haste and zest

Making ready for new life

As they build their precious nest

 

 Children prepare their Easter bonnets

Decorated with chicks eggs and glue

Display them at the Easter Parade

For the delights of me and you

 

It’s a time of new beginnings

To focus on new things to do

 Be more positive in your thinking

To create a better future for you

 

Malcolm G Bradshaw

Mothers Special Day

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Mothers Day will be upon us soon

How are we going to celebrate this event?

Shall we buy her chocolates and flowers?

Or buy her an expensive bottle of scent

 

We all take mothers for granted

Expecting she will always be there

She is always a good listener

And all your problems she will share

 

She sometimes becomes a nurse and a doctor

When you have hurt yourself at play

She will sit you upon her lap

Until the pain goes away

 

She will do these things all of your life

In sickness and in health

She will never give up on you

For a mother never thinks of her self 

 

A champion to all of the family

At times she will have her say

For a mother is the kingpin of the family

So show your appreciation on this her special day

 

Malcolm Bradshaw

Mothers Day will be upon us soon

How are we going to celebrate this event?

Why not dedicate a poem to your Mother 

This Sunday

SEND YOUR DEDICATIONS OR POEMS

TO

poetreecreations@yahoo.com

HAPPY MOTHERS DAY

CALLING ALL POETS – PROMOTE YOURSELF AND DANCE ON OUR STAGE

poetry mmmmmmmmmmmmm

 

 

LET YOUR POEM MINGLE WITH OTHERS

LET YOUR POEM:

DANCE ON OUR STAGE

ANY LENGTH, ANY SUBJECT, ANY TIME

SEND YOUR WRITTEN WORK TO:gillianandthomas@yahoo.com

WE WILL GLADLY POST IT HERE FOR ALL TO SEE ON OUR POETRY PLATFORM!

AlLWAYS REMEMBER

Follow my journey and download my new eBook

life and love

http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=node%3D341689031&field-keywords=Love+and+life+by+Gillian+Sims

Garden Poems Wanted

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We would love to see your poetry about gardening

Please send them to: gillianandthomas@yahoo.com

201 YRS OLD PRIDE AND PREJUDICE JANE AUSTEN -1813

Saint Patrick’s day


 

A little leprechaun sat pondering

Saint Patrick’s Day was fast approaching

For he wanted to learn to sing

But his voice needed coaching

So he went to see his friend Mick

Who’s voice was so sweet and true

I want to sing like an angel

Would you tell me what to do?

Let me hear you sing said Mick

His voice brought Mick to tears

The sound of his voice was so terrible

Mick stood with his hands over his ears

Mick was not put off by his voice

Placing the leprechaun inside a fairy ring

Did a jig of magical mystery

To enable the leprechaun to sing

Then the leprechaun was happy

Thanking Mick, he went on his way

For now, he had a beautiful voice

For him to sing on Saint Patrick’s Day

Malcolm G Bradshaw

BURNS NIGHT

The Story of Burns Night


On or around January 25, his believed birthday, the life and work of Scottish poet Rabbie Burns is celebrated with a ritual of food, drink and poetry.
The Burns’ Supper was started by friends of Burns, a few years after his death in 1796, as a tribute to his memory, but it has also become a celebration of Scottishness, and, increasingly in Northern Ireland, America, and Canada of Scottish ancestry. It is important to note that Burns was also a Freemason and many of these celebrations are open to the public locally at Masonic Lodges.
Wherever you are, and however Scottish you are, you can join in with our recipes for the supper and a selection of the great man’s poems and songs.
Northern Ireland has its own tradition of poets in the Burns’ style, the weaver poets of Antrim and Down.
Who Was “Rabbie” Burns?
Born on 25th January 1759, in the parish of Alloway, Ayrshire, Burns was the eldest of seven children to William Burness and Agnes Brown (or Broun). Well educated in a variety of subjects, from Scottish history and folklore to literature, Burns was forced to assist his father in working on the family farm, and took over at 25 when his father died in 1784.

By 28, Burns was beginning to be well known in his literary career; In 1786 he published “Poems: Chiefly in Scottish Dialect”, which was expanded in 1787 and again in 1793 (Ibid.). Beginning in 1786, Burns would spend much time in Edinburgh among the elite and intellectuals of Scottish society, although Burns felt that they were only patronizing him because his soul of literary genius lied within the body of a country bumpkin. He returned to Ayrshire and unsuccessfully tried farming; in 1791 he became an exciseman, or customs agent, and joined the local yeomanry unit, the Dumfriesshire Volunteers. However, the physical and mental toll of his hard life, plus growing financial burdens, weakened him, and in 1796, Burns died of rheumatic heart disease, caused by his lack of a healthy diet in his younger years.

However, physical and financial matters were not the only things that troubled Robert; The Kirk of Scotland (The Presbyterian Church) and it’s opposition to his lifestyle was another. In particular, Burns’s sexual escapades caused much hostility between him and the church. Burns fathered a number of illegitimate children, including one by his future wife, Jean Armour, the daughter of a Master Mason. Burns wanted to marry Jean; her father refused and Burns and Jean appeared for penance in church to “receive public reproof for the sin of fornication” Burns would continue his rampant sexual activities right up until several years before his death. He never stopped his literary war against Scottish Calvinism, and lampooned it in a number of poems, including “Holy Willie’s Prayer”, “The Holy Fair”, and others.

Besides his rather libertine actions with women, Burns was also a political radical, and a rather strange mix at that. From reading Scottish history, Burns became an ardent nationalist, writing many romantic ballads about Scottish attempts to secure their independence from the English, from Robert the Bruce to Bonny Prince Charlie. This can be seen in poems like “Scots wha Hae”, “Charlie is My Darling”, “The White Cockade”, and many others.

Burns combined his Jacobite sympathies of the past with Jacobin politics of the present. He vocally supported the French and American Revolutions, which aroused suspicion of his loyalties, especially when in the service of His Majesty’s government as an exciseman, although Burns did recant his French tendencies when Britain and France went to war in 1792 . And while Burns may have been inspired by the French Revolution, his involvement in Freemasonry certainly played a large part in his opinions in favour of both secular and religious equity
He was only 37 when he died of heart disease but in that last year of his life he had written some of his most-respected works, such as The Lea Rig, Tam O’Shanter and O, My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose.

 

Twelve March Poems

 MARCH MAD

 
 
“March Snow”
 
There is something hopeful about March,
something benevolent about the light,
 
and yet wherever I look snow
has fallen or is about to fall, and the cold
 
is so unexpected, so harsh,
that even the spider lily blooming
 
on the windowsill seems no more
than another promise, soon to be broken.
 
It is like a lover who speaks
the passionate language of fidelity, but
 
when you look for him, there he is
in the arms of winter.
 
— Linda Pastan
 
* * *
 
“March morning unlike others”
 
Blue haze. Bees hanging in the air at the hive-mouth.
Crawling in prone stupor of sun
On the hive-lip. Snowdrops. Two buzzards,
Still-wings, each
Magnetized to the other,
Float orbits.
Cattle standing warm. Lit, happy stillness.
A raven, under the hill,
Coughing among bare oaks.
Aircraft, elated, splitting blue.
Leisure to stand. The knee-deep mud at the trough
Stiffening. Lambs freed to be foolish.
 
The earth invalid, dropsied, bruised, wheeled
Out into the sun,
After the frightful operation.
She lies back, wounds undressed to the sun,
To be healed,
Sheltered from the sneapy chill creeping North wind,
Leans back, eyes closed, exhausted, smiling
Into the sun. Perhaps dozing a little.
While we sit, and smile, and wait, and know
She is not going to die.
 
— Ted Hughes
 
* * *
 
“Sunny Day in March”
 
Even the weathercock turns with the sun on such a day.
It must be spring. Outside the cellar wall the cat
has found himself shelter. He’s asleep, no doubt,
but his fur is well puffed up and his paws
well tucked under. A fly has been tempted out
from a crack in the warm plank wall — starts
buzzing. Soon stiffens. It’s too cold.
 
— Olav H. Hauge
translated from the Norwegian by Robin Fulton
 
* * *
 
“A Death in March”
 
Even so the Spring goes forward.
The rind of the trees weepy with sap. No spigot to carry it off.
From here to the other side, ice is motley. The river’s current
expression: a stutter of ice cakes on the shore. Fret of spume.
Some days, though, we waken to snow,
fugacious erasure of mud and broken branches.
We feel the setback. Want the spectacular squalor
of Spring: its colourless smear. There’s no word for that.
For snow falling, fugue slow, through fog. Earth and air
unable to settle what it’s to be. Now is after. Or, ahead?
Interrugnum: Its beauty is brutal. A raw wind through bereft.
 
— Anne Compton
 
* * *
 
“Spring Equinox Full Moon”
 
I breathe to you
love in the south of the many
months of spring
hibiscus in dark hair water
at the source
shadows glistening to hips
thighs slender sunset shining shores
 
fingers rolled fragrant leaves
presence of deep woods
earth veiled in green drift
that hides running
of small airs
untraceable fine sounds
passing as on a face
feet first drops of rain on a mountain
hands greeting flowers
holden stolen flowers
 
closed eyes of every creature
sepia and amber days
back
of tall tree
arms’ glide
voice of rain forests
birds in tree heights
throat of palm
 
wrist of palm
palm of palm
morsel breasts
melon navel waist of high waterfall
surf laughter face hearing music
body of flight
secret
beach
 
away from you on a corner of the earth
I want to think for six hours of your hair
which is the invention of singing
daughter of islands
born in the flood of the fish harvest
I see long mornings
lying on your hair
I remember looking for you
 
— W. S. Merwin
 
* * *
 
“March 2003”
 
In March exact shadows on snow,
blue in the spectrum overtakes lavender;
the pillows of vapor at a slow bedroom gallop.
 
Up, up, the whistle pierces; the burn
of one and one, couples the rising
yearn, twin twine, dare,
and thickening flash in shoals.
 
Even deep-rooted conifers,
their green wax fangs open,
hustling in the languorous swells.
 
— Ruth Stone
 
* * *
 
“Unknown Things”
 
were set before me on earth .
But once I touched them I’d known them
right back from the blinding sight I caught
of the glacier by whose foot red and golden
birds foraged in the shadow of tall mammoths
and the noise I heard from the bells and the smell
of church porches, earth in March, so many springs . . .
Every day tools they were. A hammer, a saw and
the things which people during the time they have on earth
learn the names of, and cut into each other with.
 
— Henrik Nordbrandt
translated from the Danish by Robin Fulton
 
* * *
 
“March 21”
 
The vernal equinox is to blame
for the celestial uproar, Anne
Carson said, and nothing surprises
me more than the streaks of white
sunlight this morning with Dexter
Gordon’s version of “Tangerine”
in my mind the day is a rhyme
the pencil broke, no need to shout,
I want a girl to write sonnets about
in college & love is the food
that nourishes what it consumes
in springlike days in furnished rooms
I’m hungry, please come and touch me
and I’ll whisper your name the only
thing missing in this picture is you
 
— David Lehman
 
* * *
 
“March”
 
A bear under the snow
Turns over to yawn.
It’s been a long, hard rest.
 
 
Once, as she lay asleep, her cubs fell
Out of her hair,
And she did not know them.
 
It isk hard to breathe
In a tight grave:
 
So she roars,
And the roof breaks.
Dark rivers and leaves
Pour down.
 
When the wind opens its doors
In its own good time,
The cubs follow that relaxed and beautiful woman
Outside to the unfamiliar cities
Of moss.
 
— James Wright
 
* * *
 
“If I Could Paint Essences”
(Hay on Wye)
 
Another day in March. Late
rawness and wetness. I hear my mind say,
if only I could paint essences.
 
Such as the mudness of mud
on this rainsoaked dyke where coltsfoot
displays its yellow misleading daisy.
 
Sch as the westness of west here
in England’s last thatched, rivered
county. Red ploughland. Green pasture.
 
Black cattle. Quick water. Overpainted
by lightshafts from layered gold
and purple cumulus. A cloudness of clouds
 
which are not likie anything but clouds.
 
But just as I arrive at true sightness of seeing,
unexpectedly I want to play on those bell-toned
cellos of delicate not-quite-flowering larches
 
tht offer, on the opposite hill, their unfurled
amber instruments — floating, insubstantial, a rising
horizon of music embodied in light.
 
And in such imagining I lose sight of sight.
Just as I’ll lose the tune of what
hurls in my head, as I turn back, turn
 
home to you, conversation, the inescapable ache
of trying to catch, say, the catness of cat
as he crouches, stalking his shadow,
 
on the other side of the window.
 
— Anne Stevenson
 
* * *
 
“Three Things That Make Me Outrageously
Happy in March”
 
Begin with the evergreen Clematis montana. Shy
about opening, blooms pulse into view
a few at a time against the night sky. Some
morning, a creamy tsunami
sweeps over the chain-link fence in a spring
seizure of yearning. Drenches the passerby in
dizzying scent and charges winter’s
dark air without warning.
 
Next, the black umbrella
ribs of Styrax japonica open to rain. Their
delicate green incipient leaves
reverse the gradual losses of autumn. remember
this overture to the Japanese Snowbell
symphony in May when it’s time to clean up
the carpet of dried flowers and pods, time to
cart uprooted seedlings away.
 
When navel oranges
kissed by lazy California sun, glow like
moons in every supermarket, I go
crazy, buy all I can carry. At home, they
tumble from the sack to kiss my eager lips, and as
that nectar of the gods floods my veins, I live
in lovers’ paradise every juicy moment
of Seattle rains.
 
— Madeline DeFrees
 
* * *
 
“March”
 
A Caribbean airflow
shampoos the brook.
The deepsea deepwarm look of
sky wakes green below
amid the rinds of snow.
 
Though all seems melt and rush,
earth-loaf, sky-wine,
swept to bright new horizons
with hill-runnel, and gash,
all soaked in sunwash,
 
far north, the ice
unclenches, booms
the chunks and floes, and river brims
vanish under cold fleece:
the floods are loose!
 
The sullen torn
old skies through tattery trees
clack, freezing
stiffens loam; the worn
earth’s spillways then relearn
how soaring bliss
and sudden-rigoring frost
release
without all lost.
 
— Margaret Avison

Pancake day treat

When the children have finished play

They suddenly remember its Pancake day

Inside they run to see all the treats

That will surround their Pancake feast,

Jams fruit and cream a Pancake dream

The children lick their lips

Whilst mum masters the mixture and whips,

All the magic ingredients together

To produce batter as light as a feather

patiently the children wait,

Whilst mother designs and creates

This scrumptious feast

That will knock them off their feet

Once the Pancakes have reached their plates

She relishes in their happy faces

Their eyes light up with such joy

Like Christmas all over when opening their toys.

By Gillian Sims

Pancake day

The children all look forward

To the tradition of Pancake Day

Whilst mother cooked the pancakes

The children went outside to play

 

The smell of the pancakes cooking

Creating an hypnotic aroma in the air

Children just like a magnet

Drawn inside, just to stop and stare

 

They stood watching their Mother

Tossing the pancake with glee

Children shouting.” Please don’t drop it”

 Landing safely back in pan for all to see

 

Out came the oranges and lemons

Making them delicious to eat

Children tucking into the pancakes

Everyone enjoyed that pancake treat.

 

Malcolm G Bradshaw

AIRING OUT LOVE’S ATTIC

 the park
 
 
We started when autumn leaves stuck to the ground,
And rambled; bantered all around.
When morning dew smeared the vehicle’s glass;
Onlookers admired our repartee ’til trip passed.
 
Off to a park on a sky clear day,
You made your intentions known along the way;
My heart emerged to blast the bitter wind
And so I knew our union would begin.
 
Every day collected as a new secret shared;
If the unhidden had scarred, we didn’t care;
For laughter, thoughts and dreams we discovered,
Without seeing realities not yet uncovered.
 
Important moments, holidays, suddenly arose,
Though I wasn’t invited to share in any of those;
I excused the overlook as the newness of love,
Until the frosty cold forced me to peer beneath my gloves.
 
What I found were the same working hands,
That tried to remold; then you stopped and took a stand;
Stuck you have been in years of hardened ways,
Rebuffing my present efforts to settle and stay.
 
For your life has never truly belonged to me;
You made that clear from day three;
That love has eluded you, its constancy, too,
Still your heart wants to begin with me anew.
 
So out with long-standing, tired ways,
We strive to forgive, to mend broken days;
Packed baggage we open and hope to toss;
Happy memories saved, unhappy lost.
 
For pain hasn’t resurfaced with the fallen rain;
No, I’ve been there before and probably will again;
Decades I’ve traveled: body tired, not spirit;
Naysayers may dither but I won’t hear it!
Wendy Shreve

Be my Valentine


 

Will you be my Valentine?

Will you be my love?

For you were sent from heaven

An angel from above

I will send you flowers

Chocolates so sweet and dark

For I am infatuated with you

I have placed you within my heart

I promise not to hurt you

To treat you with tender care

To love and provide for you

 For everything I have I’d share

So please be my Valentine

 Together till the end of time

I will never desert you

If only you’ll say your mine

Malcolm G Bradshaw

Remembering Valentines Day

malolm va l

I remember all my Valentines

They are deep within my heart

Every one was so special

Until the day we had to part

You see my loved one past away

After many years together

All the memories of Valentines Day

To me I will always treasure

Red roses were always given to me

And a candlelit meal for two

Every time Valentines comes around

My everlasting love I send to you

And on this special day

I place by your picture frame

A bunch of red roses in memory

To ease my heartache and pain

Malcolm Bradshaw

Remembering Valentines Day

red hearsts

 

I remember all my Valentines

They are deep within my heart

Every one  was so special

Until the  day we had to part

 

You see my loved one past away

After many years together

All the  memories of Valentines Day

To me I  will always treasure

 

Red roses were always given to me

And a candlelit meal for two

Every  time Valentines comes around

My  everlasting love I send to you

 

And on this special day

I place  by your picture frame

A bunch  of red roses in memory

To ease  my heartache and pain

 

Malcolm  Bradshaw

Ode to Friesian

wendy 1
Ode to a Friesian (a.k.a. Ode to Milo)
A rare Chestnut among your peers,
Baroque in body, an athlete’s frame:
Well-chiseled, short ears,
Compact and strong of limb, a stallion’s name.
 
A war horse with a passive heart;
Classical lines, pure soul, a breed apart.
Free spirit, though workhorse when reined in;
Spurred to full gallop, you fly with the wind.
 
Your past, though fraught with labor,
Cannot keep you from what you savor,
To step outside your confined walls,
And show your worth to whomever calls.
 
For you stand tall,
Your legs rise and fall,
Muscled, toned you walk with grace,
But these don’t diminish your strength, your pace.
 
Power emboldens your ancestral pride;
You are never taken for just a ride;
Body groomed to take action,
Yet a disciplined mind keeps your traction.
wendy2
 
Dedicated to the  Man I Love
Wendy

“Valentine’s Day Coils”:

 

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