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Monthly Archives: December 2013



I will spend New Year’s Eve
I will not eat anything sweet, like leftover Christmas
I will not watch “When Harry Met Sally” because I’ll have a
I will smile when I hear revelers as they stay up
I will not go to parties which I know are a
I will toast the New Year with champagne, a kiss and “Come What
I will treasure each moment of the
I will wish only peace for those unable to
And toast the future with my love, my soul
Wendy Shreve

Australian Pioneers – Promote Yourself





In a time gone by there was a romance for adventure
The pleasures of a city left far behind, of houses
On busy streets, a mansion on a hill
Friends that adventurers cherished

A fever that attracted, many
From the cities, the roar of voices and traffic
Memories of joys and faces, were gone in a flash
Now in their place a coach wheel creek along a rugged track
As they make their way across a wilderness of everlasting plains

Pioneers they were that built mud slab huts
Sometimes camping by an embankment
Settling on new selections
On the frontier of a new nation

As they worked their new selections
In weariness and pain, pioneers now bronzed
From the red hot sun
Secrets of pioneers now held in grave sites of many

In a time gone by, there was a romance for adventure
The pleasures of a city left far behind, of houses
On busy streets, a mansion on a hill
Friends that adventurers cherished

Travel this land and you will see many dreams that never came true
Camp under the stars, look for a star that will show you the way
But there is a silence about the country, like a gentle touch of God
That will show you a track once traveled by pioneers
For he will understand your desire for adventure

Those that traveled before you will show you the way
Pioneers now hear the beating of your heart as you travel their road
They have shown you the way with their sacrifice
You now have faced the wilderness of those whom ventured far

And now with a hearts desire to accept the challenge
Of Pioneers that made this nation what it is today

 Barbara McAvaney

My name is Barbara McAvaney I write poetry and some short stories. This poem is about the hisotry of Australian pioneers making there way across the country to settle in unknown lands away from mansion and the busy street of the cities. Selections is what they called land that was zoned for farming and given to early pioneers

“Free” – Promote Yourself





Why must I worry
For things that don’t last?
And search for glory
In things that fade fast

Nothing I brought here
Nothing I bring out
Why do I then fear?
For life can’t be bought

So what I’ve no gear?
And my house is small
Why fuss what to wear?
I don’t love the mall

Why try to impress
The world in such vain?
To live more with less
Contentment is gain

I want to be free
Happy to then give
My time to bless Thee
As long as I live

By Melinda

The Death of the Old Year – Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1842) YOUR FAVOURITE POEM


Full knee-deep lies the winter snow,
And the winter winds are wearily sighing:
Toll ye the church bell sad and slow,
And tread softly and speak low,
For the old year lies a-dying.
    Old year you must not die;
    You came to us so readily,
    You lived with us so steadily,
    Old year you shall not die.

He lieth still: he doth not move:
He will not see the dawn of day.
He hath no other life above.
He gave me a friend and a true truelove
And the New-year will take ’em away.
    Old year you must not go;
    So long you have been with us,
    Such joy as you have seen with us,
    Old year, you shall not go.

He froth’d his bumpers to the brim;
A jollier year we shall not see.
But tho’ his eyes are waxing dim,
And tho’ his foes speak ill of him,
He was a friend to me.
    Old year, you shall not die;
    We did so laugh and cry with you,
    I’ve half a mind to die with you,
    Old year, if you must die.

He was full of joke and jest,
But all his merry quips are o’er.
To see him die across the waste
His son and heir doth ride post-haste,
But he’ll be dead before.
    Every one for his own.
    The night is starry and cold, my friend,
    And the New-year blithe and bold, my friend,
    Comes up to take his own.

How hard he breathes! over the snow
I heard just now the crowing cock.
The shadows flicker to and fro:
The cricket chirps: the light burns low:
’Tis nearly twelve o’clock.
    Shake hands, before you die.
    Old year, we’ll dearly rue for you:
    What is it we can do for you?
    Speak out before you die.

His face is growing sharp and thin.
Alack! our friend is gone,
Close up his eyes: tie up his chin:
Step from the corpse, and let him in
That standeth there alone,
    And waiteth at the door.
    There’s a new foot on the floor, my friend,
    And a new face at the door, my friend,
    A new face at the door.


Pains of the Young: One in Five


Pains of the Young: One in Five
One in five, one in five,
Has considered suicide.
Twenty percent, how many’s that?
A thousand? Ten? More?! Drat…
One in twelve inflicts self harms;
How many scars on many arms?
How many bruise? How many bleed?
One in ten abusing weed,
One in six abusing drink,
It makes you stop, stop and think,
What makes the young hurt so much?
Why do they hate themselves as such?
Life? Love? The world’s dark horses?
Expectations so-ci-ety enforces?
Expectations, yes. Expectations, no!
Expectations of parent, peer and foe,
Ex-pec-tation of ourselves,
Deep in to our souls it delves.
Expectations, wants, needs, desires,
Set alight our inward fires.

Mental illness? One in two,
Which one is it? Me or you?
Lucky you! It is me,
Bi-polar since I was one, three,
Bi-polar, going up and down,
In school I tried to be class clown,
Getting laughs to stop the tears,
I took pills to quell my fears,
I took pills and went to sleep,
Spiraled into sleep so deep,
I thank God that I climbed out,
I now love life, without a doubt.

It all comes back to one in five,
How many of them still alive?
And of those, how many live?
There’s a speech that Wilde would give,
On how they merely just exist,
Scared of life- you get the gist.
What can we do turn the tide,
We cannot turn and run, and hide,
The time is now to take a stand,
And reach out a helping hand,
To pull them out of their dark places,
Their scars will fade and become traces,
Traces of troubling, troubling times,
Reminders repressing future crimes,
Crimes against themselves, their lives,
One in five, one in five.

Related articles
One in Five Young People In Ireland is Experiencing a Mental Disorder:
Kind Regards,
Paul Roche
Poet, Novelist and Children’s Story Writer
Dublin, Ireland

Digging – Your Favourite Poem








Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests; as snug as a gun.

Under my window a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down

Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.

The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.

By God, the old man could handle a spade,
Just like his old man.

My grandfather could cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner’s bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, digging down and down
For the good turf. Digging.

The cold smell of potato mold, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.

Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I’ll dig with it.

  Seamus Heaney.
– from Death of a Naturalist (1966)




Christmas tree12345


The Christmas brings memories.
And kindest thoughts untold.
Of friends we may not often see.
But hope to always hold.
So may the greeting be a relation.
In friendship’s valuable chain.
& may there be a Christmas.
When we shall meet again!


Christmas Comes


Christmas comes with children singing,
Christmas comes with sleigh bells ringing,
Christmas comes with frosty nights,
Christmas comes with snowball fights.

Christmas comes with Santa Claus,
Christmas comes with snowy floors,
Christmas comes with robins and reindeer,
Chsitmas comes with a hearty cheer.


The Angels Had Returned


The angels had returned to heaven,
The shepherds to their quiet fold,
The magi to their eastern homeland,
The manger still was hard and cold.

And yet, the Infant Son of God
Could not remain in it for long:
A cruel despot’s ruthless threat
Drove Him to foreign land and tongue.


The Beautiful Mother


The beautiful Mother is bending
Low where her baby lies
Helpless and frail, for her tending:
But she knows the glorious eyes.

The Mother smiles and rejoices
While the Baby laughs in the hay,
She listens to heavenly voices:
This Child shall be King some day.


For You


My Christmas Rosary I say
For you upon this blessed day;

Each prayer a precious Christmas Rose
To please the Baby Child, who knows

How many joys I wish for you;
May every one of them come true!


A Christmas Carol


The Christ-child lay on Mary’s lap,
His hair was like a light.
O weary, weary were the world,
But here is all aright.

The Christ-child lay on Mary’s breast
His hair was like a star.
O stern and cunning are the kings,
But here the true hearts are.




Many a year is hurried past
Since first your eyes on me were cast
Ah! Happy day! You held me fast.
My Mary!

A young maid’s mind began to grow
And learn’t of you–God’s Hand-maid low
And learn’t to love, to love you so.
My Mary!

And then one blessed Christmas night
You left your home in heaven’s height
You stood before me glowing white.
My Mary!

Just for a while you lingered there
And then you left your Child so fair
The first time in my heart to care.
My Mary!




There was seen a radiance
Glowing one night
Near the little maiden Mary
In blue and white.

“Lilies are not fairer,
“Roses more red,
Than the Child she sings to slumber,”
An angel said.

So the shepherds ventured
Through the white cold,
And their eyes beheld the Infant,
An hour old.

Long they gazed and wondered,
Awkward in awe,
At the paramount perfection
Within their straw.

A spirit of Christmas by Thomas Sims


Christmas lights near Nottingham




Christmas lights mansfield notts uk

Christmas lights derby uk

Christmas light


The twinkling lights of emerald green
And brilliant blue and white
Are piercing darkness, all enshrouded
In the black of night.

The scarlet Christmas lights reveal
To us the price He paid
In giving all, His life in death,
The way to God was made.

The greens remind us of His love
In making life forever,
That we who trust Him may be sure
That He’ll forsake us never.

The blues speak of eternity,
The never ending span,
The timeless age, unnumbered years,
According to His plan.

The hue most beautiful of all
Tells of His righteousness,
A robe of snowy, spotless white,
In faith ours to possess.

The tree’s bedecked, the window’s bright,
A star and tinkling bell,
The gifts are made, the carol’s played,
Do not the story tell.

He came to die and not to live
We worship not the child,
But God incarnate, holy, great,
Not virgin, or infant mild.

We cannot worship stars above,
Nor mangers filled with hay,
Not e’en the cross made out of wood,
Raised to the sky that day.

But Christ alone, for He is God,
He’s all we’ll ever need.
Remember not His birth alone,
For in His Word we read:

“This do in memory of me,”
His death, for this He came.
His body broken, bleeding sore,
He hung in blinding shame.

The sun refused to shine at noon,
The darkness fell as night,
The temple veil was rent in twain,
God spurned this Prince of Light.

On Him was sin, all yours and mine,
A black and ugly guilt.
The world’s Light died, “It’s done,” He cried,
His precious blood was spilt.

It’s crimson red, it’s giving life,
We have in faith believed it,
For sinners we can now be free,
Because we have received it.

So, Christmas lights of red and green,
Of amber, blue, and white,
We look beyond the lovely scene,
To God our Christmas Light. 

By Majori Morrison

Christmas lights

over the top xmas

Christmas Lights

My son lives in Florida with his spouse 
I was visiting them at their house 

On my last day in the warm sunlight 
He was outside hanging a Christmas light 

I walked outside and my eyes started to tear
Because my wife is no longer hear

I always disliked hanging Christmas lights
Early comes the winter days and nights

My wife would always give me directions 
On how to hang the decorations 

I now miss hearing my wife say
No don’t do it that way 

I didn’t always take her advice
To hear her now would really be nice 

Michael Gelb

Light a Candle – Ron Martin

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