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Daily Archives: May 3, 2015

Am I Wrong? – Promote Yourself

hate

Echoes of the night -Promote Yourself

night ==

Foot steps in the dark ‘ I hear them make ‘ I hide in shadows ‘ make no mistake.
Foot steps in the dark ‘ I hear the sound ‘ not knowing who’s there ‘ it’s so profound.
Foot steps in the dark ‘ the shadows are there ‘ I’m running scared ‘ but don’t know where.
Foot steps in the dark ‘ I’m going home ‘ its not safe ‘ or to roam.
Echoes of the night ‘ I hate to say ‘ I’m keeping my distanced ‘ and out of the way.

Patricia Bourne WordPress 2014

Flowers on a lamppost


Flowers on a lamp-post

A loving display

Tributes to a loved one

Whose life was taken away

Why did it happen?

For it`s tearing me apart

The pain that I am feeling

It`s breaking my heart

I keep on thinking if only

These things are within my head

If only they had been somewhere else

They would still be alive not dead

Oh God where were you?

When your help was needed most

If you had been with them

No flowers would be on the post

————————–

My child of the material

I sense and feel your pain

I have not failed you

For you will see them once again

I was with them when they needed me

I took them by the hand

I surrounded them with love and light

As we moved to the Summerland

Fear not for their safety

For their love for you will remain

For the bond of love is strongest

As they comfort you through your pain

When you look at the tributes

That you placed upon the post

Remember, I was with them

When they needed me the most

Malcolm Bradshaw

Reminiscing

old man
 

I am getting older now

And I sit here all alone

No one comes to visit

No callers on the phone

I can’t do the things I used to do

For I am to weak to try

The hours turn into weeks

And the months and years fly by

But I am not complaining

There are worse off people than me

Those that are bed ridden

Those that cannot hear or see

My world is my window

I watch nature as she displays

Unfolding all her treasures

In all so many ways

My God is my strength

His love is all around

Even when you are lonely

His comfort can be found

I count my blessing every day

And for everything He brings

Thank Him for the health I have

And Mother Nature for all She brings

Although I may feel lonely

I do not feel alone

For at least I have a roof

And a house to call my home

Malcolm G Bradshaw

The River Leen

 
I sometimes walk down by the side of the river,
Which meanders through the town where I was born,
It is a river with a very proud history,
But nowadays it looks forgotten and forlorn.
 
The river originates in the grounds of the Newstead Abbey,
At the lake where the poet Lord Byron often went,
From there it flows through several villages and townships,
Until it finally empties itself into the River Trent.
 
The river is part of our great heritage,
In past days it has served our township well,
In its journey it must have seen so many changes,
 If it could speak it would have so much to tell.
 
It provided the power to drive several mills,
In which many local people were employed,
But all this has now been confined to history,
And most of the mills have been destroyed.
 
At most times the river flows by unnoticed,
But sometimes it puts on a bit of a show,
At times when the snow falls have been heavy,
The melting snows have caused it to overflow.
 
Some of the nearby land has been flooded,
Streets and houses in some places have been submerged,
The water on the Main Street was too deep to traverse,
That’s when the rowing boats suddenly emerged.
 
The serious flooding took place in the winter of  ’47,
The engineers from the Council were instructed
 That any further flooding should be prevented,
So the flood prevention scheme was constructed.
 
The river was also a place of entertainment,
Where children would fish or paddle for an hour or two,
Children are rarely seen down there today,
Perhaps they have got more interesting things to do.
 
The River Leen still flows through the town centre,
But few people seem to know that it is there,
Maybe it’s because they are too busy to remember,
Or, perhaps it’s because they don’t really care.
 
As I walk down by the riverside,
Many things of interest catch my eye,
But my mind goes back to contemplate its history,
As I watch the waters of the river flowing by.
 
Ron Martin
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