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Monthly Archives: March 2016

Garden Magic

magic garden
This is the garden’s magic,
That through the sunny hours
The gardener who tends it,

Himself outgrows his flowers.

He grows by gift of patience,
Since he who sows must know
That only in the Lord’s good time
Does any seedling grow.

He learns from buds unfolding,
From each tight leaf unfurled,
That his own heart, expanding,
Is one with all the world.

He bares his head to sunshine,
His bending back a sign
Of grace, and ev’ry shower becomes
His sacramental wine.

And when at last his labors
Bring forth the very stuff
And substance of all beauty
This is reward enough.

Please send your poetry

Wild Orchid – Promote Yourself

“The flower that walks”, the Indian; said, 
And walking spreads its crown-like roots 
Through forest glades and upland dales. 
Moccasin flower or Lady’s Slipper,
It matters not the name
Or if it be fair white or rose or tiny yellow kind
Tis ever rare and wondrous there 
This woodland beauty Bequeathed us from another age. 
A Heritage to guard with 
And cherish for posterity
That other eyes in future years
Mav see this Orchid walk the trails
As did our native Indian braves
And shy eyed maidens of the tribe.

Tobermory Boy – Promote Yourself


White-tailed eagles and seagulls
Rose high above the clouded contours
I will depart these static shores
Closing all the doors
Scattering ancient skulls

A shaded eye cast out at sea
Was all that remained of me
And he, that boy of Tobermory
With broken bones, from clambered tree
Sang with outstretched family

Ships approach by sound alone
Church bells blindly toll
A funnel muffles an angry groan
The sea, the sea, let it roll
We all sell our youthful souls

I, not he, will leave these shores
Will take my dreams away
He, in lanes, behind closed doors
Can only weep and stay
Alone to silently pray

Alongside dunes – some swooping gulls
Their journey takes full flight
Unlit lamps obscure the path that dulls
Direction – to a boy with tears in evening light:
To Mull, to Mull.

And views escape my ageing sight
Cut coastline dragged and drowned
I remember the young eagle in flight
Amid the ruins and bog–laden ground
Listening for the homeward sound.

Stephen Holloway

Jewels of spirit

From the world of spirit we are,

In time we shall return,

On loan to this material world,

To gain knowledge and to learn,

Sent by the God of wisdom,

A jewel from the eternal force,

Where everyone is perfect,

For they all have their spiritual source.

Only when they touch the material,

Lead astray they become unsure,

Only then is that jewel unreal,

For within there lies a flaw,

So to all the jewels of spirit,

Let the light of God shine bright,

Be a jewel that always glitters,

Like the stars that dazzle at night.

Be proud that you are spirit,

Explain to those that are blind,

To learn all they can from this world,

To be helpful patient and kind.

When that jewel is returned,

It will have increased its value and more,

To sparkle with those in spirit,

Who live under spiritual law?

No matter what jewel you are,

Together you all will stand,

Treasures in Gods kingdom,

A wealth under his command.

G Bradshaw

A Morning Stroll (after the tragedy)

The trip to Jerusalem


St George came to Nottingham

To meet his old mate Robin Hood

They went for a drink in

The Trip to Jerusalem

An old local pub,

St George always loved the taste of good ale

So when Robin told him a very good tale

The tale of the dragon

That roamed across the land

After a few drinks

They thought of a very cunning plan

To capture the dragon,

That roamed across the land

But Robin had only seen the dragon

Once he’d had a drink

So this of course made St George rethink

He asked himself

Are the dragons all extinct?

The locals say dragons aren’t real

It’s a matter of opinion

How do you feel?

Thomas Sims

You are the sun – Promote Yourself


You’re the sun I never shun

Besides you, I cherish none

You’re the prize I’ve ever won

For hard times, joy and fun

You proved to be the one


You’re my source of light

You made my life so bright

I am ravished with delight

Whether here or out of sight

I remain your grateful knight


© Chaouki Mkaddem

June 3rd, 2014


Chaouki M’kaddem
Senior EFL teacher,
Ministry of Education, Tunisia

Social butterfly

Are you a social butterfly?

Fluttering from tree to tree?

Are you like the Red Admiral?

So bold and daring, fighting to be free?

Or are you trying to escape the chaos
That cities can bring?

Or maybe you are the social butterfly
That has to have everything

Whoever you are, the next time you are
fluttering from tree to tree

Stop to think, where it is that you would
really like to be,

Where it is that you would like to rest your wings

In the city or countryside?

Where you may still continue to be a social butterfly,

Do consider, not breaking too many hearts

Respect this as a brand new start

Sometimes you may have to pay the price,

For being so bold and free

Whenever you flutter from tree to  tree,

It is only you that can decide

Where to settle your wings

It is only you
That can change many things

By Gillian Sims

The Spring Equinox -Famous Poets


Now is the pause between asleep and awake:
Two seasons take
A colour and quality each from each as yet.
The new stage-set
Spandril, column and fan of spring is raised against the
winter backdrop
Murrey and soft;
Now aloft
The sun swings on the equinoctial line.
Few flowers yet shine:
The hellebore hangs a clear green bell and opulent leaves
above dark mould;
The light is cold
In arum leaves, and a primrose flickers
Here and there; the first cool bird-song flickers in the thicket.
Clouds arc pale as the pollen from sallows;
March fallows are white with lime like frost.This is the pause between asleep and awake:
The pause of contemplation and of peice,
Before the earth must teem and the heart ache.
This is the child’s pause, before it sees
That the choice of one way has denied the other ;
Must choose the either, or both, of to care and not to care;
Before the light or darkness shall discover
Irreparable loss; before it must take
Blame for the creature caught in the necessary snare:
Receiving a profit, before it holds a snare.






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

Oblivion – Promote Yourself


Slowly I feel myself slipping away into oblivion. I feel my empty vessel of a soul start to crush my being.
I no longer feel any pleasure from deeds I have done. I only feel the slow erosion of my pathetic existence .
I stare into the darkness that is my body and brain, and see a swirling mass of confusion.
Nothing it seems will stop the darkness from being
I once saw hope I thought I was in control, but fool as I am I never had a clue.
Many emotions , thoughtless deeds could not prepare me for the void that I face.
I stand alone on the presipus  staring into the emptiness that my life has created
Through the hole in my soul I feel a clawing a ripping burning sensation that can only be m eased by the slow release of death.
Death, she stares at me and calls my life she beckons my soul, this feeling I know all to well
I wish I could stop hurting and end my wasted hurtful life. I see now that I have failed.
All I thought I was doing all I have done, was just empty gestures trying to ask for forgiveness.
So now i stand on the edge of the void looking back to see the wasted effort that was my being.
I ask her to please release me from this last step and let me go.
But she only looks at me and smiles and calls my name like whispers on the wind.
I feel her say to me just stand there and look what could have been look what wasn’t.
So I wait fir the final push the final curtain to say goodbye
Oblivion is nothingness empty wasted souls that have done nothing with their chance
I soon will be in my own death my own oblivion and the world will be better off
I had a chance and failed and all my thoughts have been curtailed
I can see her smile as she grabs my arm it is time to go now you no longer will do harm
Please take this lesson I am trying to give Oblivion will collect you and again you will no longer live
Not in good Not in bad just a lost emptiness where all are sad
Oblivion is my way out life please let me go I have had my chance and failed to show
I say good by , laugh if you will But be careful my friend your own Oblivion meet you will..

Sean P Warren

Tuckered out – Promote Yourself

Tuckered out
fell fast asleep with rose colored glasses on
awoke in an air-conditioned room feverishly trembling in fear
stumbled out into a hot and humid dawn
with clouded lenses saw silhouettes
wearing big silly hats
that didn’t seem to fit upon bloated heads
so preposterous had to laugh
where to, dressed like that?
Shadowy figures, ersatz, bizarre, elongated
compressed funhouse mirror images
struggled through a skewed vision arms akimbo
feigned resolve in a limbo of ambiguity
convex conclaved saddened and distraught
over the loss of so many once beautiful imaginary plants
that time and a diseased mind
had sown
along with all the thorns that also had grown
Such and such’s
so and so’s
neglected, taken for granted
often forgetting
how to pretend
to water them
Mourn the deaths of unbegotten substitutes
for sons and daughters
say a prayer just because it seems as though
an awkward silence needs to be filled
kinda’ seems like…
someone oughtta’Took the rose colored glasses off
to try to wipe the smudges away
with the hem of a filthy garment
it slipped from out of greasy hands
bounced and tumbled
deep down beyond reach
into a curbside storm drain
Terror of terror’s
contemplating what might or might not be seen
without them on
hands sweating nervously
but the shirt in the light of day
was not filthy at all
Peered around cautiously
and saw folks of every kind
just plain ole’ folks…
And the truly amazing thing was…
with the glasses off
we could see into each other’s eyes
Every single one of them that passed closeby
did not for a moment hesitate to smile and say:
“good morning”
where to now?
And what of this strange sensation
something warm and wet rolling down a cheek
from out of the deepest darkest corner
of a mind’s eye
and seeping silently into a heart
hurts in a good way
to relate this story
it’s a mystery for sure…
A Gomez

And here I am – Promote Yourself


Shall I will I ever have a chance to be freed
That’s, only when my wings I need to spread

You put me one day in a cage
Can’t you see me today that I age?
Can’t you see me that I am weeping?
Can’t you see me that I am bleeding?

That day going my way straight to my fate
That I used to be free before t’was too late
Then I was nattering in my joy and glee
With No motive for my killing spree
Spending my joy from tree to tree
Having no foe, nor a prey I was to be
Safe that my carol of joy betrayed me
I was caught In a dream-catcher net
It was a gloomy day, that’s Ô! My fate
Mother Nature comes to me, ready set to rejoice
Full of fun, laughing of plenty to hear my voice
For, You don’t know why I sing, ah! me
It was the first day of Spring, for me
It’s only now but a prayer, from the bottom of my heart I sing
but a plea wish you hear me, that upward to Heaven I fling
That one day  you may let me free, before it was too late
It’s only Poetry, a lady  she knows before me, that said:


I know why The Caged Birds sing, ah me,
when his wing is bruised and his bosom sore
when he hit the bars, and would be free;
it is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his hearth’s deep core,
but a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings
I know why the caged bird sings_Maya Angelou

The Hermit – Promote Yourself


The dream was simple

With a hint of something


A shaky apprehension

Threatening to shatter

The illusion.

In the summer sun, anything

Seemed possible;

Even the crazy – turning

From a hermit sheltering in

A secluded corner

Of an empty beach

To a fully-fledged adventurer

Going where? Leaving when?

Who could tell?

A loner in the wind.

The crab listened with interest

To suggestions,

Fired from all angles,

Took new ideas on board, however

Out of character they seemed.

A claw dug through the sand

That was its shelter

And with intention,

Slow but deliberate,

The hermit followed.

The world outside beckoned

To it, calling

Attention to future possibilities;

So it scuttled away to discover

What the shelter

Could not teach it

On that little beach where it hid;

Plunging into the ocean, it made

The first step out

To sea, to the world beyond

Its protective shelter,

Where brand new memories

Waited to be found.

© Laura Marie Clark

Laura is from England, UK. “The Hermit” is an excerpt from her first book of poems, “City of the World”.

Thank you for considering featuring my poetry,
Laura Marie Clark

A Martian makes his mark on Nottingham


A Green Martian came to Nottingham

To made his mark upon the land,

He landed in the castle court-yard

And was surrounded by Robins merry band,

They were all dressed in green

That made the Martian scream,

They laughed and pointed at the Martian

But the Martian said I come in peace,

So please take me to your leader

Then Robin came from around the corner

With tankard in his hand,

Robin told the Martian

I’ve just come from the Trip To Jerusalem,

You must have come to join my merry band

Which the Martian did not really understand.


By Thomas Sims


I find a penny

I pick it up
give it to my sister
So she has good luck.

I skip the cracks

No broken backs

I knock on wood
To keep it good.

I cross my fingers

So good luck lingers.
I laugh and play
To save the day.

By Brenda Braene


How do you know how it feels to be me?

Press Release
It seems my poem: How do you know how it feels to be me? has
struck a chord with the judges of Poetree  Creations; an up and coming UK poetry
website based in Nottingham England..apparently it has won their 2010 National
Poetry Award..the poem is dedicated to people everywhere who have suffered (on
the ‘inside’), whether it be due to illness; physical/mental or even emotional;
perhaps broken-hearted; hurt by someone they loved
or perhaps something really tragic that has happened in their life. Whatever the
reason this poem was written for them; in the hope that others around them,
especially their friends and family might show a little more love and
How do you know how it feels to be me?There’s a lot more to me
than what you see.Have you felt the same hurts and pain?We’ve
lived different lives,we are not the same.I’m simply trying to rebuild a life worth having; in this hard world.

I’m surviving the trials
of everyday living.

Oh why can you not be more

Your careless hard words, if only you knew,

they cut me through and through;

even though I make no judgement on

I wonder if you realise,

just how much you

with your cruel words; that you sometimes send.

I would
just love to be well, like you my friend;

I really hope that I’m on the

And that my painful journey is near its end.

by Simon Icke
Aston Clinton Buckinghamsire



Love is like fairies

It is magical

Soft and angelic

Like sweeping snow,

I questioned myself  how do I know?

Then one day I discovered

True love it was like no other

Feeling ever, truly magical

Like a fairy waving a wand

Amongst the snowdrops,

With the birds singing a song

Through the woods

I followed them,

This is where I belonged

With my heart full of love

Singing in the soft breeze,

Watching the fairies dance between the trees

They would put a spell on me,

If true love feels like this

Then this is where I want to be

In a land that is magical to me

By Gillian Sims

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