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Monthly Archives: April 2016

The Ash Tree – Promote Yourself



It was when the path became a road

That I went right for I was told,

The way itself was paved in gold,

Where youth remained “never old.”


But left was right and right was wrong

I should have known that all along,

For the moment came then it was gone,

One final verse from one final song.


There was no riddle to this maze

Her beauty held no average gaze,

Or could be dreamt from a careless daze,

And consumed me still in a frantic blaze.


At first the seasons remained the same

But by and by they began to change,

And in me saw this something strange,

That my want for her began to age.


Do not mistake this for a foolish dunce

It didn’t happen all at once,

But as the weeks passed by and turned to months,

I saw my freedom as some precious bunce.


On a reckless youth I’d love to blame

Or on what Nature made but couldn’t tame,

For I had a reason–but I lost its name,

Now my source of pride is my point of shame.


So when bottom fell and our time had passed

She became once more, more than I could ask,

But the space between had grown too vast,

We’d gone too far and far too fast.


Oh what a wicked lesson learned

When once crossed there was no return,

Now each regret must await its turn,

And stoke this fire to an endless burn.


So upon the edge of a great divide

In the hallowed corners of my mind,

I see now that I was blind,

It was me I found I couldn’t find.


Now darkness hangs on sleepless nights

Where there are no colors, black or white,

And with her gone so went the light,

And what is left is far from right.

Copyright © 2016 by John Snowdon

Darkness of mothers. – Promote Yourself


We are the calm before the storms ‘ I am the leader of many ‘ I am the power behind the darkness ‘ I am the force behind what should be .

I am the person behind these words ‘ for I am the  mother of my children ‘ beware who ever harms my family.

Patricia bourne WordPress 2014.

Facebook /journey though life.

I’m a Wizard, I’m a Warlock


I’m a wizard, I’m a warlock,
I’m a wonder of the age.
I’m a sorcerer, magician,
prestidigitator, mage.

I can change into a chicken,
or perhaps a purple pig.
I can wave my wand and, presto,
I’m a waffle with a wig.

With the power in my pinky
I can burst like a balloon
or transform into a tiger
with the head of a baboon.

If I wiggle on my earlobe
or I knock upon my knee
I become a dancing doughnut
or a turtle in a tree.

Just a simple incantation
and I deftly disappear,
which I never should have done
because I’ve been this way all year.

And despite my mighty magic
I’m impossible to see,
for I never learned the spells I need
to turn back into me.

–Kenn Nesbitt

Race horse Called FRED


but I liked an old nag called Fred, 
he looked sort of eager and flighty,
as the bookmakers odds span around in my head,
and sweet Aphrodite went into the red,
and I wished that I was back home in my bed,
not here with these blokes rich and skitey.

“A hundred to one” said the fellow,
I decided to give it a go,
“Fifty dollars on Fred” was my bellow,
And all of the guys who were well in the know,
Sniggered and said I was doin’ my dough,
“Fred couldn’t outrun a three-legged crow,
On his back is a streak – and it’s yellow!”

And then all the horses flew past,
There was only two furlongs to go,
I stood there watching, aghast!
Fred was the leader, but starting to slow,
Five thousand dollars was there on the go,
And then it was over, and what do you know?
Fred came in motherless last.

My world turned from silver to black,
Aphrodite had killed them, of course,
My money would never come back,
And I slowly drove home from that devilish course,
full of repentance and full of remorse,
And the next time I put all my dough on a horse,
It won’t be a useless old hack!

Unknown Author

Picture Perfect


She stood there by the ocean,
The breeze gently lifted her hair.
Of that seagull just above her,
She was totally unaware.Seemingly floating in the sky,
The seagull’s wings were still.
I think it paused to take good aim,
And drop a mess at will.Too late she looked above her head,
Where the seagull hovered now.
Then as I watched in horror,
Bird droppings hit her brow.Her scream pierced the balmy air.
Splat! The stuff hit her face.
Then she saw my camera and me,
And stomped off in disgrace.


The Month of April


april mmmmm

 The Month of April

“The sun was warm but the wind was chill.
You know how it is with an April day.
When the sun is out and the wind is still,
You’re one month on in the middle of May.
But if you so much as dare to speak,
a cloud come over the sunlit arch,
And wind comes off a frozen peak,
And you’re two months back in the middle of March.”
–  Robert Frost, Two Tramps in Mud Time, 1926 


“And Spring arose on the garden fair,
Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere;
And each flower and herb on Earth’s dark breast
rose from the dreams of its wintry rest.”
–  Percy Bysshe Shelley, The Sensitive Plant 


“Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To fly–and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.”
–  Omar Khayyám


“The first of April is the day we remember what we are the other 364 days of the year.”
–  Mark Twain


Note:  This webpage is now updated and maintained at a new location


“Spring would not be spring without bird songs.”
–  Francis M. Chapman


“That God once loved a garden we learn in Holy writ.
And seeing gardens in the Spring I well can credit it.”
–  Winifred Mary Letts


“O Day after day we can’t help growing older.
Year after year spring can’t help seeming younger.
Come let’s enjoy our winecup today,
Nor pity the flowers fallen.”
–  Wang Wei, On Parting with Spring  


“The April rain, the April rain,
Comes slanting down in fitful showers,
Then from the furrow shoots the grain,
And banks are fledged with nestling flowers;
And in grey shawl and woodland bowers
The cuckoo through the April rain
Calls once again.”
–  Mathilde Blind, April Rain    


“Keep your faith in all beautiful things; in the sun when it is hidden, in the Spring when it is gone.”
–  Roy R. Gilson


“Tossing his mane of snows in wildest eddies and tangles, 
Lion-like March cometh in, hoarse, with tempestuous breath, 
Through all the moaning chimneys, and ‘thwart all the hollows and angles 
Round the shuddering house, threating of winter and death. 

But in my heart I feel the life of the wood and the meadow 
Thrilling the pulses that own kindred with fibers that lift 
Bud and blade to the sunward, within the inscrutable shadow, 
Deep in the oak’s chill core, under the gathering drift. 

Nay, to earth’s life in mine some prescience, or dream, or desire 
(How shall I name it aright?) comes for a moment and goes– 
Rapture of life ineffable, perfect–as if in the brier, 
Leafless there by my door, trembled a sense of the rose.”
–  William Dean Howell, Earliest Spring 


“When the time is ripe for certain things,
these things appear in different places in the manner
of violets coming to light in the early spring.”
–  Farkas Bolyai 


“April’s rare capricious loveliness.”
–  Julia Dorr


“You start in April and cross to the time of May
One has you as it leaves, one as it comes
Since the edges of these months are yours and defer
To you, either of them suits your praises.
The Circus continues and the theatre’s lauded palm,
Let this song, too, join the Circus spectacle.”
–  Ovid, Fasti (V.185-190, CE)


“Let the rain kiss you.
Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops.
Let the rain sing you a lullaby.
The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk.
The rain makes running pools in the gutter.
The rain plays a little sellp-song on our roof at night–
And I love the rain.”
–  Langston Hughes, 1902-1967, April Rain Song


“Sweet April showers
Do spring May flowers.”
–  Thomas Tusser, A Hundred Good Points of Husbandry, 1557  


“Every spring is the only spring – a perpetual astonishment.”  
–  Ellis Peters


“I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers:
Of April, May, or June, and July flowers.
I sing of Maypoles, Hock-carts, wassails, wakes,
Of bridegrooms, brides, and of the bridal cakes.”
–  Robert Herrick, Hesperides, 1648 


“Now that the winter’s gone, the earth hath lost
Her snow-white robes, and now no more the frost
Candies the grass, or casts an icy cream
Upon the silver lake or crystal stream;
But the warm sun thaws the benumbed earth,
And makes it tender; gives a sacred birth
To the dead swallow; wakes in hollow tree
The drowsy cuckoo and the humble-bee.
Now do a choir of chirping minstrels bring
In triumph to the world the youthful spring.”
–  Thomas Carew, The Spring, 1630    



“This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green,
Wild puffing of emerald trees, and flame-filled bushes,
Thorn-blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between
Where the wood fumes up and the watery, flickering rushes.
I am amazed at this spring, this conflagration
Of green fires lit on the soil of the earth, this blaze
Of growing, and sparks that puff in wild gyration,
Faces of people streaming across my gaze.”
–  D. H. Lawrence, The Enkindled Spring 


“When the April wind wakes the call for the soil, I hold the plough as my only hold upon the earth, and, as I follow through the fresh and fragrant furrow, I am planted with every foot-step, growing, budding, blooming into a spirit of spring.”
–  Dallas Lore Sharp, 1870-1929 


“If Spring came but once in a century, instead of once a year, or burst forth with the sound of an earthquake, and not in silence, what wonder and expectation there would be in all hearts to behold the miraculous change!  But now the silent succession suggests nothing but necessity.  To most men only the cessation of the miracle would be miraculous and the perpetual exercise of God’s power seems less wonderful than its withdrawal would be.”
–  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow   


“Poor, dear, silly Spring, preparing her annual surprise!”
–  Wallace Stevens


“Hark, I hear a robin calling!
List, the wind is from the south! 
And the orchard-bloom is falling
Sweet as kisses on the mouth. 

In the dreamy vale of beeches
Fair and faint is woven mist, 
And the river’s orient reaches
Are the palest amethyst. 

Every limpid brook is singing
Of the lure of April days; 
Every piney glen is ringing
With the maddest roundelays. 

Come and let us seek together
Springtime lore of daffodils, 
Giving to the golden weather
Greeting on the sun-warm hills.”
–  Lucy Maud Montgomery, Spring Song


On the 15th of April, in Eighty Nine,
A match was to be played, in the spring sunshine.
Sheffield Wednesday’s ground, was the F.A.Cup venue.
A Liverpool: Notts. Forest Semi-Final, was on the menu.

With all tickets sold, the 24,000 crowd
Waved their scarves, and sang out, deafeningly loud.
This was surely a players dream,
As the managers stood in front of their teams.

Kenny Dalgleish, and Brian Clough
Had selected the men that were talented enough;
They led the teams out, feeling proud,
To a tumultuous cheer from the waiting crowd.

The whistle started the game at three O’clock,
No one was aware of the coming shock.
All round the ground, they cheered on their side,
Not realising that soon, many people would have died.

Thousands still gathered outside the gate,
Liverpool fans, arriving too late;
The turnstiles were packed with the late arrivals,
Who joined those on the terraces, to watch their team’s survival.

Police ushered latecomers, families, and friends,
To add to the crush at the Lapping Lane end.
Six minutes later, the match was halted,
Players led from the pitch, as the game was aborted.

Barriers in place, separated fans from the stars;
Crammed on the terraces, behind wire mesh and steel bars.
Far too many bodies in such a small space,
Surging forward;…a disaster was taking place.

Agile souls climbed the fences, to get to the grass,
While others were trampled; it happened so fast.
Young and old alike; the poor and the rich,
Male and female, died on that pitch.

Pleading faces, many who drew their last breath,
Against the relentless barrier, were crushed to death.
Arms reaching aloft, lifted by those in the upper tier,
Hoardings used as stretchers, carrying bodies clear.

There were 700 or more, beside the deceased,
All needing treatment, for their injuries;
Too late for the victims, – but an after thought,
All seater stadiums, with no barriers, said the Taylor report.

At Anfield, relatives and fans annually commemorate
The loss of the innocent, at Bill Shankley Gate.
Flowers and shirts, in a mass of red,
A tribute to the 96 dead.

Survivors must find it particularly hard,
Recalling that day, that left them mentally scarred;
Tears well up in eyes, and the traffics stop,
As thousands pay their respect, at their beloved Kop.

Liverpool’s anthem is sung in that Scouser tone,
Gerry Marsden reminds survivors, they’ll never walk alone.
A salute to those injured, and 96 who died,
Leaving a gap in the families that have survived.

Still seeking answers from the Yorkshire police,
Mourning continues, for the innocent deceased;
Hillsborough has a reputation, unwillingly earned,
For those who went to a match…
…but never returned.

© Jim Bell

The moon light-Promote Yourself

Space landscape moon


EARTH DANCE – Promote Yourself


I am watching a story
Get written across pages
Not necessarily by this hand.
And only as creation
Is it in perfection.
Screaming off the cloak
Of all that binds,
Obliterating chains
That paint stories
And structures
Now only held by time
And it’s meditative fixation
On all we embody.
Ignition by awareness
That not even you
Reside in time.

Idealistic focus
On never present function
of a distracted
Conscious expression.
but insidious Its grip.
Words of more than
Breaths intent.
Focus upon horizon.
Slip within,
A dawning near
To a formative course.
Fear slips in,
A deceptive curse
To speak the jungle
Without each member by its name
Knowing too well
The tint of blood
That runs through the vein
Of all that IS
All that consumes
That sleeps
That dreams
And bleeds
A truth
That is nature
That is order
Pulsing to the council fire
Burning quicker than before.
Gathering intent
Brings those you seek
Feel the dance of life
In bones
More ancient than your own.
And Earth her body
My body
Aches to feel Part Of
Not Of
Part Of
Part of the movement
Part of the growth
Part of the dream
Part of the death
And what steps
Bring us forward
A march intent on
Thudding steady.
And what takes us
to the wisdom
of when the form began?
Seven directions set the tone
Exploding into what is known.

What a gift to be able to share my creations! I am ever so grateful for the Poetree Creations community and feel you are of great service to this world. My name is Emily Andari, I am 23 and am excited to begin producing more work, all of which based on my spiritual journey and transformation. It has been a wild and magical ride!

Emily Andari

Let us all put aside for a while

sunny hill

And look what religion is doing

We need to question their actions

And these actions need pursuing

Every movement feel they are right

And that every other faith is wrong

Surely this cannot be the case

And why can’t we all get along

I am sure the creator of our universe

Through his wisdom and his grace

Feels disappointed what we are doing

To the world and the human race

Our creator will not interfere

Although his patients has been tested

For every one has been given free will

But in the situation he is very interested

There is only one energy in this universe

Who feels that the energy is love?

Enjoy your beliefs with no malice

From your wonderful creator above

Live your life in harmony with each other

In peace all walk hand in hand

For loving your fellow being

Is what our creator had planned?

  Malcolm Bradshaw

Folcum Park – Promote Yourself




I was shocked, confused, bewildered
as I entered Heaven’s door,
Not by the beauty of it all,
by the lights or its decor.

But it was the folks in Heaven
who made me sputter and gasp–
the thieves, the liars, the sinners,
the alcoholics, the trash.

There stood the kid from seventh grade
who swiped my lunch money twice.
Next to him was my old neighbor
who never said anything nice.

Herb, who I always thought
was rotting away in hell,
was sitting pretty on cloud nine,
looking incredibly well.

I nudged Jesus, “What’s the deal?
I would love to hear Your take.
How’d all these sinners get up here?
God must’ve made a mistake.

And why’s everyone so quiet,
so somber? Give me a clue.”
“Hush, child,” said He “They’re all in shock.
No one thought they’d see you.”

Judge NOT.

Author Unknown
(Though possibly written by either the worst sinner or 
the most thankful person in heaven, or both!)



Why are the leaders of the world so inept?
That they continue to allow tyrannies to thrive
Why are they not prepared to take action?
To ensure that thousands starving to death are kept alive
Is it because they appear to be of no value
That their countries are not vital to the world’s economy
There may be other reasons for their inaction
But that is how it appears to me
What are they doing about drug production?
Which destroys so many people’s lives
Columbia continues to export tons of cocaine
The growing of opium poppies in Afghanistan still thrives
In the Sudan people are still dying of starvation
And thousands are being subjected to cruelty
We’ve seen the television reports which confirm this
And our Foreign Minister says it is a tragedy
But why do we allow these things to continue
Knowing it will cause millions to suffer a dire fate
Talking about it will not provide the solution
Action is required before it is too late
Ron Martin

Good Manners

I held the door to allow a lady to enter a shop
And as a result I got a very pleasant surprise
For she stood, looked at me, and said “Thank You”
Her good manners brought a tear to my eyes
For good manners are very scarce today
I thought they had been consigned to history
Why this should be is hard to understand
In fact it has become quite a mystery
For when we were young we were taught to be polite
To stand up on a bus to let a lady sit down
But that does not appear to be the practice today
As I observe when I travel on the tram into town
Are good manners not being taught in our schools
Are the teachers too busy teaching dancing and singing?
We should never underestimate good manners
For they are a sign of a good upbringing
It has been said that good manners cost nothing
But their benefits are hard to evaluate
They can have a profound effect on our charisma
And can lift us from being average to first rate
Good manners help to improve relationships
And these are important as we travel on life’s way
For we all expect other people to respect us
And it is important that good manners are taught today 
By Ron Martin

Just Thinking

old man
I was sitting by the fire, listening to the radio
Thinking of my life so many years ago
The things I did as a child, and as a youth
And began to realise that I must face the truth
That now by body is racked with aches and pain
I shall never be able to do such things again.
I used to meet my young friends in the park
And play with them until it was getting dark
The hardest thing that we had to decide
Was whether we would go backwards down the slide?
Oh yes, there was one other thing
How high we dare go on the swing.
Those childhood days went quickly past
And I became grown up at last
Exams were passed, my school days were over
Until then I had not realised I had been in clover
Now there was less time to play
I had to go out to earn my pay
Now, I found that this was hard to do
It seemed that everyone was watching you
To see if you would make the grade
And put your work mates in the shade
Or would just sit back and hope no one
Would think it was time that you had gone
And now I am old I can look back
Thankful that there is nothing that I lack
As I sit here I must face the truth
And accept that I have lost my youth
Thinking of the things that I used to do
As I sit by the fire listening to the radio
Ron Martin



Thank you God for the beauty,

 You bedecked this wonderful world,

 For the beauty of nature,

And its mysteries you unfurled.


For all the beautiful landscapes,

For the blueness of the skies,

For the many tiny insects,

The bees and butterflies,


Thank you for the sun,

That bathes our world with light,

Thank you for the moon,

That lights our way at night.


Thank you for the birds,

That fills our world with sound,

And for the animal kingdom,

That brings joy to all around.


Thank you for the air we breathe,

The water and the seas,

Thank you for the beautiful flowers,

 The rain and gentle breeze.


Thank you for life itself,

To experience these wonderful things,

To be part of your glorious Kingdom,

And all the gifts that it brings.


 Malcolm G Bradshaw



Everything has a purpose,

Everything has its place,

Like the beauty of this planet,

As it revolves around in space.


We must thank our creator,

For this wonderful world of ours,

We must thank him for the food we eat,

And natures beautiful flowers.


We must thank him for the sun,

As it sends out warmth and light,

The moon for its wonderful moonbeams,

As they illuminate the night.


Spring is when nature awakes,

When everything is fresh and green,

When all the plants burst into bloom,

It is an occasion that must be seen.


Summer is a time,

To enjoy the warmth of the sun,

It is a busy time for the farmer,

A time for the harvest to be done.


Autumn is the season,

When everything slows down,

When trees shed their foliage,

As they gently fall to the ground.


Life is like the seasons,

Spring represents our start,

Summer is our prime of life,

Autumn is when we part.


For our spirit only leaves our body,

It will continue in another form,

For as we enter the spirit world,

A new life for all will dawn.


Malcolm G Bradshaw   

Spring Sprung -Promote Yourself


Melifluous, superfluous and glorious
Dandelions and kerya carousing
Dark deadened corners to life.

(I know mellifluous has two ls but I prefer it with one)
(otherwise it looks like melly flew us)

(Now it doesn’t look right either way)
(But hey…it is Spring!)

Cheryl Bhagwandin

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