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Monthly Archives: April 2015



I took my children to the county fair,
To sample the delights of simple lives.
The sounds and smells of livestock filled the air,
And merry banter of husbands and wives.

Exhibits passed, munching apples we strolled,
Breathing in the burnt crisp October air,
Chanced upon a friend, who pointed and told
Of a miracle-man just over there.

A miracle-man! The children’s eyes glowed.
I confess that mine began to glisten.
As we approached him, our quickstep it slowed
And ears unfurled and began to listen.

“Come one, come all! Gather round, gather round!
Let me make you richer than you can dream.
Hush now, hush now! Folks, please don’t make a sound!
Allow me to tell you about my scheme.

“Something for nothing’s the name of our game,
We use the latest financial magic.
Just give me the spark and I’ll make the flame,
To miss out on this chance would be tragic.

“You lend us your livestock: cows, pigs and sheep.
We package them on to the street known as Wall.
They’ll earn tidy interest for you as you sleep,
And always remain within easy recall.

The farmers applauded as their eyes brightened.
“We get paid for our herds and we don’t have to feed ’em!”
Miracle-man smiled as my stomach tightened.
“You can always call back your swine when you need ’em!”

My friends and neighbours rushed to fetch their herds
And lead them to the miracle man’s camp.
Too busily straining to exchange a few words
As they pushed their cows and swine up the ramp.

The speaker left, his trucks bulging with meat,
Each hoof and mouth checked for impurity.
The farmers were holding a bright pink receipt,
Left by the miracle-man for security.

The winter rolled in and hoar-frost descended,
Each day farmers strode past empty stable,
Felt a regret at the herds they had lended,
The winter is long with no meat on the table.

At last, spring’s green shoots escaped winter’s cold clutch
‘Tis the time that the farmer loves the most.
This year, not least because of the crutch
Of good news from the miracle-man in the post.

When the envelope came, he snatched it with glee,
And called in his wife, two sons, and his daughter.
Then ripped it open, his jaw dropped to see
The miracle-man had sold his whole herd for the slaughter.

by Macro Man

For Baby Leo – forever one year old -Promote Yourself


The Mirror – Promote Yourself








My mirror is dull and tarnished,

Cracked and warped beyond repair;

My reflection is so diminished –

Is that really me in there?


‘Use mine,’ says the Father,

‘It’s always shining, crystal clear.

See me smiling, over your shoulder?

See me wipe away that welling tear?’


Anyone can use that mirror,

Not one spoiled by a world that lies.

Embed that truth, make it a pillar,

And smile right back at His smiling eyes.


by Faith Unlocked


Travel – Promote Yourself

Out of windows overused
into the rounded distance
where time does not stand still
but swarms in coexistence
of all things past and present
of youthful thoughts –
forgotten knots
that never really come or go
relentlessly they slide on waves,
the memory’s tetchy ebb and flow.
And as the grown-up mind
flies dreams at half mast
you gently push away the veils
to see them come undone
into explosive streams of rust.
Hey, I have just read about you on the blog and I really liked your idea, although it is probably a lot of work for you:) Hopefully, you enjoy it and get all the beauty you can from it.
I’m sending one of the poems I wrote recently just in case you might be interested:) There are some more on, some in English and some in Romanian. The verses I’m sending now refer to the feelings that travelling triggers, namely that purgatory or world of the inbetween, where people are no longer their usual, ordinary selves, where they reunite with all their former selves into a form of energy rather than anything else. This is not a concrete, terrestrial phase, it does not have a clearly defined body or face, it is a luminous place of memories, experiences and dreams. It feels like a personal mythical time capsule that spreads energy into the being and gives some sort of substance and sense to an otherwise fickle existence. And since it makes it easier to understand with the help of a picture, 
Hope you’ll enjoy it and best of luck with your project!
Adina Pop-Coman




Poppy is having a lazy day

As she relaxes within a flower

First, she will freshen up

From the dewdrops she will shower


She will dust herself with pollen

All gathered from fairy rings

Then settle upon a buttercup

To stretch her gossamer wings


She will comb her golden hair

As it glistens in the morning sun

Then tip toe across a rippling stream

For Poppy a new day has begun


Malcolm Bradshaw

smell old metal – Promote Yourself

“The Love of Your Heart”. – Promote Yourself

Way in Green by Molly BriggsThe painting is by Molly Briggs:

Horse Senses-promote yourself

Lifes dreamer. – Promote Yourself


ou dream of a life ‘ you wish 🌠 you could have ‘ keeping fingers crossed ‘ as can be’ wishful thinking ‘ that’s just me.
Life can be great ‘ give it a chance ‘ take a step ‘ and not a glance.
You dream of a life ‘ you wish 🌠 you could share ‘ with family 👪 and friends every where.
The things you could do ‘ with just a smile 😊 ‘ take a chance’ and go for a mile.
Life could be good ‘ if you give it a try ‘ give it a go ‘ not with a sigh.
You dream of a life ‘ you wish 🌠 you can have ‘ trying new things ‘ that’s not bad.
Life can be good ‘ if you give it a chance ‘ no looking back ‘ or even a glance.
Things can change ‘ that’s a fact ‘ time to take charge’ and not a step back.

Patricia Bourne WordPress 2014

Have A Heart-promote yourself

The beginning of civilisation

The Ice Age, the Iron Age and the Bronze Age,
Have all contributed to the development of man,
But it is still less than six thousand years,
When civilisation as we know it first began.
Up to that time man had hunted, and collected herbs and berries,
What they had to eat really was quite bland,
Then someone realised they could have a better diet,
If only they were prepared to till the land.
They began to live together in small communities,
To live together for the common good,
They worked together to grow crops and feed animals,
Building houses to live in from wattle and of mud.
The first cities were built in Mesopotamia,
About five or six thousand years ago,
On the fertile land between the Rivers Tigris and Euphrates,
A very good place for their crops to grow.
Every city had its own market place,
Where the harvest of the fields could be sold,
The wealth provided allowed them to develop other skills,
Records were kept so we know how people lived in days of old.
Another group of cities were built in the country now known as Pakistan,
By those who farmed on the hills of the valley where the River Indus flows,
Their cities were built to a more orderly pattern,
Laid out with a system of connecting roads.
And so it was that man started to live together,
In walled cities that helped them overcome their fears,
This was the beginning of our civilisation,
The start of a process which had continued down the years.
How far has our civilisation developed?
Is this really the kind of world our forbears desired.
Are we still working together for the common good?
Have we achieved the aims to which our ancestors aspired?
If we look closely then we shall quickly see,
Our world is one which seems to have lost its sense of direction,
Those seeking power have torn the world asunder,
What we see is a world full of imperfection.
We still live together in communities,
And some efforts are made for the common good,
But selfishness is still the order of the day,
Very few people do what they really should.
We really, really should make more effort,
To fulfill the hopes which prevailed when civilisation first began,
When everybody has a common purpose,
And thus to achieve the brotherhood of man.
Ron Martin

The Legend Of Honey Pie – Promote Yourself

George Mackay Brown – Famous Scotish Poet

  • brown
    George Mackay Brown
Born: 1921 in Stromness, Orkney Islands
Died: 1996 in Stromness
First Book: The Storm (Orkney Press, 1954)
Awards: Short-listed for the 1994 Booker Prize for Beside the Ocean of TimeGeorge Mackay Brown is considered to be one of the greatest Scottish poets and authors of the twentieth century. His technical mastery and control of both prose and verse attracted a world-wide readership. Although never reaching bestseller status, his books were published in more than a dozen countries around the world, drawing hundreds of avid fans to his house in Orkney each year.

Born on 17 October 1921 into a poor family living in Stromness in the Orkney Islands, Mackay Brown attended the local Stromness Academy. It was here he discovered a talent for writing, excelling in the weekly compositions set by hisEnglish teacher.

His time at school was brought to a premature end when he contracted tuberculosis and was sent to a sanatorium in Kirkwall. He was troubled by the disease throughout his life and never completely returned to full health. His illness excluded him from service during the Second World War, and made him essentially unemployable on a long-term basis.

However, the extended periods of rest which the disease enforced upon him meant that he was able to read and write extensively, thereby developing his literary talent. By the early 1940s his prolific writings were beginning to emerge publicly with news stories, reviews and a regular column in the Orkney weekly newspaper. This column was a constant feature throughout the rest of his life, with his final piece appearing just two days before his death on 13 April 1996.

After his initial success in the early 1940s he began to drink heavily and only wrote occasional poems and his column for the local newspaper. This lifestyle continued for almost ten years before he received an invitation to become a mature student at an adult education college in Dalkeith in 1951. The college was run by Edwin Muir, a poet and fellow Orkadian whose work Mackay Brown greatly admired. Much of Muir’s work, and especially his 1940 The Story and the Fable (which Mackay Brown read when he went to the University of Edinburgh two years after graduating from the Dalkeith college), interweaved Orkadian life and history with myth and legend, and had a profound effect on the future style and subject-matter of Mackay Brown’s later achievements.

In the summer of 1970, he met – entirely by chance – the composer Peter Maxwell Davies in the remote valley of Rackwick in Orkney. In the subsequent years, the two men forged a fiercely strong friendship and went on to collaborate together to produce many of Maxwell Davies’ Orkney-inspired works.

Following the publication and success of Booker Prize short-listed Beside the Ocean of Time, Mackay Brown wrote two collections of short stories, the second of which was published posthumously. When he died on 13 April 1996, he left a legacy for both Scottish literature and the communities of the Orkney Islands. Able to transcend the common and often mundane perception of Orkadian life and history, Mackay Brown’s writing was ethereal and timeless, filled with strong universal truths that deeply touched his global readership.

A Calendar of Love, Beside the Ocean of Time, Greenvoe, Hawkfall, The Island of the Women, A Time to Keep, Vinland, and Winter Tales are all available from now Polygon. Selected pieces are also published by Polygon in Lament: Scottish Poems for Funerals and Consolation and Scottish War Stories, and an extensive interview with Mackay Brown is featured in Scottish Writers Talking.

An early start

bird in tree

I woke early in the morning and nothing could be heard

But as I listened carefully I could hear the singing of a bird

It was the early morning chorus bidding welcome to the day

And listening to its singing that bird was heard to say 

Wake up, wake up everybody the sun is on its way

Daylight will soon be breaking, prepare to meet the day

Don’t lie in bed a’sleepnig, when there is so much to do

Rise early in the morning, take the opportunities life gives to you

They won’t last forever, they will quickly pass away

The time is ripe to take them at the beginning of the day

If you miss these opportunities it could bring sadness to your heart

So take example from the birds and make an early start


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It’s all right-angles in the city over Newton’s lock.
Square foot, Square Mile. The joiner, mason, architect
have passed through, each one dangling a plumbline.
Build it once, then rake it back to ash and build again.

Down here the river measures twice, cuts once.
Bring spirit levels, bring your guillotines and gates,
you’ll not cut water
                                  as it halves this place.
Meet it on its own terms, soft and true enough.

Between the builds, a greening, an uncornering.
The rivers make a curve of every angle; gentling a lattice,
licking sharpness from an edge. They gather leaves
and shake out clouds in tunnel mouths.

Welcome them. They change, and wait, and change.
Uncoil a path, a monument to those who go at walking pace
between the cathedrals of speed. A path means hope;
it links new places through an arc of sapling sycamores.

Invite the artist; the unjoiner, cutting out a halved house
on each bank. For Newton, keeper of the unlocked Lea,
you split the cottage like an apple. Water pulses through,
measuring the old familiar drop from hill to estuary.

Bent finger in a London of straight lines, the river
beckons to the city, points out the value of a curve
and floats on. Easy in its channels, unbiddable;
idle under mirrored bridges, waiting for the walls to fall.

By Jo Bell

Spirit level’ is Jo Bell’s specially commissioned response to Newton’s Cottage, at Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park. As part of a series of events this weekend celebrating the cottage, Jo will read this poem alongside more poems that about our waterways. 




We May Never Understand

The beauties of nature are there to be seen
But have you realised that this is evidence
of where God has been
When you walk in the woods and marvel at the trees
Can you hear god speaking to you in the breeze
If you look and listen it will help you to understand
That creation was the work of God’s almighty hand
Sometimes this can be difficult to comprehend
When as the result of natural disasters
many lives come to an end
If god is the creator why is this destruction taking place?
Is god sending messages to a sinful human race?
If this is something that you honestly believe
The concept of god as a god of love is difficult to conceive
Can we believe that this is part of god’s master plan?
And that he uses natural disasters in order to punish man
Some people might think that this is so
But this is something that we might never know
We can ask the question time and time again
Hoping to discover why nature inflicts so much pain
Seeking to discover if this is something that god has planned
Yet, knowing that we never, never understand

Hands of justice. – Promote Yourself


When there is a crime ‘ what do we say ‘ who has done this ‘ and in what way.
Such crimes must be punished ‘ at what length ‘ years in prison ‘ an a long stretch.
No more freedom ‘ you will have ‘ all locked up ‘ and that’s just sad.
You must be punished ‘ by me and you ‘ at what length ‘ its up to you.
Anger and rage ‘ just to be sure’ justice will be done ‘ an there’s more.
No more crimes ‘ you will tell ‘ your going to jail ‘ and locked up in a cell.
Hands of justice ‘ has been done’ now your locked up ‘ and no fun.

Patricia Bourne WordPress 2014.

Testing Times – Promote Yourself

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