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Monthly Archives: May 2016

What if I said no? A husbands rant -Promote Yourself


What if I said no,

What if I didn’t go?

Why won’t you leave me,

Go by yourself to see.

I haven’t lost one thing,

Nothing needed I can bring.

I know I’ll be annoyed,

Not once have I enjoyed.

Cart always pulls to right,

Never another one in sight.

Change carts and yet still,

Always get the bad wheel.

Items needed not in stock,

Empty shelves me they’ll mock.

Most list items once found,

Then the registers go down.

Didn’t want to be here,

After this I’ll need beer.

Hope you know I’m irritated,

By now you probably anticipated.

Shopping is such a chore,

Hate it more and more.

Worst part of my day,

Please, why can’t I stay?

By iamfunny2 and posted on I’m from the U.S. and I hadn’t written any poetry since I was in school over 20 years ago until I started my blog in July of this year.

‘Pondering Mysteries’ – Promote Yourself


I’d like to submit this poem mine to, “Promote Myself”.

Of what may become of this rose
only fate will know.
Its life’s string can be just as frail as our own.
Somehow much more beautiful in its sun touched petals.
The perfect drop of water hanging off its bent red cloth,
asking for just a little bit more time on the velvety smooth surface.
The rose is nothing exceptionally unusual
that it would have men and women glorifying its presence
more than their gods.
The rose calls, and it is heard.
Tainted with pain, painted with chivalry.
The rose is what stands above the rest;
without knowing why.

-Stephanie Matthews


Panthalassa – Promote Yourself


They say you can drown
In just a few inches of water

Well I drowned that night

As naked as the day
That I wish I wasn’t born on
In the tepid water
Of what looked like a bathtub to you,
But was Panthalassa for me.

It was our last night together –
You said
You’d lost your warmth towards me –
You said

I sat there.
Water circling iceberg knees.
In your arms
Violently weeping for an hour and a half.
No me
No body or being
Just melancholy.

And the hope that you would lower me
Into that tepid water.

I drowned that night.

Or at least wished that I had.

 Christopher Flame



Re-living the Dambusters’ Raid – exactly 70 years ago today

The Westminster Collection

16th May 2013 – the 70th anniversary of the Dambusters’ Raid – the exact moment when, on 16th May 1943, 617 Squadron set off from RAF Scampton in Lincolnshire under Wing Commander Guy Gibson to destroy the dams of Germany’s Ruhr Valley with their ‘bouncing bombs’.

As part of the official Battle of Britain Memorial, 495 specially designed Dambusters’ covers will be flown on board one of just two surviving Lancaster Bombers over Derbyshire’s Derwent Reservoir, part of Derwent Dam – an area used by the pilots for training.


An Officially Approved Royal Air Force Commemoration, each cover features an original Dambusters’ stamp, postmarked with an exclusive cancellation dated 17th May, and an official 70th Anniversary Dambusters Coin struck in Solid 925/1000 Silver to the highest proof finish, its reverse enhanced with selective 24-Carat Gold-Plating.

Just 495 available

Due to the cover’s uniqueness and the fact that tonight’s flight will never be repeated,

View original post 47 more words

dambusters 617 SQUADRON


Dog of Night
  While Lancs go forth consuming flight
  ascending safe through edge of light

The dog of night keeps Scamptons Gate
caressed by sleep whence time will break

In dreams and thoughts another day
of aircrews, grass and hours of play

His restlessness his turn of eye
a welcome touch, a voice, a sigh

Forever held no more to roam
Hells darkened depth to be his home

When ships return may he awake
and from this hole, his life to take

Soon voices free will cut the tie
to bring together both on high.

John C Haywood Copyright © Poetry In Action 



Count them back


I stand and count and count again                                                        
adrenaline blocking thought and pain

No more my friends their laughter shown
around this place now sombre grown

Oh! where Oh! where my thoughts run wild
as lips respond like gibbering child

I stand and count and count once more
then finally turn and close the door.

John C Haywood Copyright © 
Poetry In Action


The Real Aviator’s

Pilots and navigators, the adventurers of old
sometimes quite crazy, but most of all bold

Bleriot Sikorsky Alcock and Brown
they came from your city, they came from your town

And who would have thought it so long ago
that aerodynamics be part of the show

From Sopwith and Cierva Lockheed and Spad
so many killed though, the memories are sad

Handley Page, Messerscmitt, Short Brothers and Yak
remember the pilots who never came back

Then there’s our Amy, Lindbergh and Wright
the thrill of the take-off, the tension, the flight

But those with the calling were pioneers all
and they relished the flying, the lift, and the stall

I could go on for ever with tales of the few
about dare-devil aviators resting up in the blue

We won’t forget Vicker’s and Hawker, the best
in year 1940 they surpassed all the rest

From box-kite to jet plane in such a short time
they had a good reason and a good rhyme

Frank Whittle and Avro had come a long way
but air transportation was now here to stay

So when next in an aircraft think of these guy’s
watching your progress in their conquered sky’s.

John C Haywood Copyright © 
Poetry In Action

The Lanc’s of  Manby

Oh! faithful Lanc in flight so high, bearing airmen through the sky
Roaring Merlins carry back, commited airmen through the flack

Hour on hour of dulled distraction, signalled by the right of action
Born aloft from base in flight, returning wounded in the night

Surviving crew another day, carry those who have no say
Tour of duty in their stride, checked by ground crew with great pride’

John C Haywood Copyright © Poetry In Action

Warrior of the Sky

On trusty stead I mount the sky, as whispered cloudlets rush on by
I dive, pull back, invert and climb, till blinding lights dull space and time
Then roll and turn, leave fields below, while power surges on as though
I’ve lost control of all I sought, adrenaline bending every thought
Regaining charge my head now clear, so close disaster seconds near
As one we ride through wave and crest, decending mighty beast to rest
To ride on high another day, foreboding foe for you to slay
With lions roar and proof of worth, caressing trees we kiss the earth.
John C Haywood Copyright © Poetry In Action


Kirton Lindsay

‘I’d like my friends’ to tell a tale
of open sky’s and vapour trail

Our climb to height, our rush to Earth
all sinews taught, as if at birth

When whispered clouds brush metal skin
and face distorts all cramped within

The compressed torso cold with sweat
is forced by acts so quick to set

But nerves of steel come into play
and help us through another day.

Copyright John C Haywood © Poetry In Action

Tail End Charlie

I’m the tail end charlie at the rear of every ship
dreadfully cold, on each and every trip

Surrounded by perspex and stuck here every night
no room to manoeuvre, when the doors are all shut tight

I love the terra firma, but I’m the last to leave
you can say it’s rather silly, and maybe quite naive

But when the aircraft leaves the air, and we come into land
guess who’s last to leave the ship, now you’ll understand

Why the tail end charlie, on each and every mission
is such a solitary lonely guy, stuck in a daft position.

John C Haywood Copyright © Poetry In Action


Lady in white – Promote Yourself


Marital Bliss is on Equal Ground


Tonight our world will ring a new bell
A notion we have intimately embraced
Tonight is the wealth of our predecessors
Everlasting faith and will to believe; to live
We are human
We are real
We stand tonight
We are surreal
In the lovely arms of equality
Life has been patiently moving forward
Suggesting who we are may be acknowledged
We are progressive in the eyes of the law
And you are my partner
And I am your lover
And now ours is forever
And we are together
The world will hold court today
We watch hands held together
At the strike of a twilight hour
In that first minute change is real
For even in our childhood when love
Seemed only generated by family
As we grew old and shed innocence
There arose a new confidence in love
Tested in our every walk of life
Tested by our friends and family
Tested by our will to understand
Tested and passed when love …
Watch close, we reference the human condition
Society has challenged itself to be the agent
Creates a new path that everyone in His eyes
Evolve with deeper, heartfelt, delicious love

Thom Amundsen
August 1st, 2013




It rolls over the hills,
A mystic splendour to transform,
Like a mantle of gossamer beauty,
As the night gives way to the dawn.

It engulfs the spider’s web,
Glistening in the morning cold,
Jewels of exquisite beauty,
Bedecked with silver and gold.

It creeps along the greenery,
Then freezers in the night,
Jack Frost pays a visit,
To create a carpet of white.

It moves in ghostly silence,
To swallow everything around,
Like a phantom possessed,
I t visits without a sound.

Its one of natures many gifts,
That bedecks this world of ours,
She spins a web of beauty,
That covers the trees and flowers.

It creates a blanket of secrecy,
Of everything it has kissed,
Clings to Mother Nature,
That’s the toil of the mist.

Malcolm G Bradshaw

Escape – Promote Yourself

She watched her oppressor
Every move he made was important to her
As she planned her escape, his demise
Freedom, finally, from the emptiness in her eyes.
Drunk on lust and whiskey, he attacked
She bore the pain and performed the unthinkable acts.
No longer afraid,
She attacked him as he stumbled away.
His anger erupted, the vicious swings came
Without fear, she picks up his gun – takes aim
Bullets pierced the night and his blood rained.
He was dead in an instant,
But she paused only to wipe off her fingerprints.
She walked away from that place
Renewed hope, and for the first time in years, a smile on her face.

Thank you for this opportunity. For the last few years, all of my poems have been written, and put on my hard-drive, never to be seen by anyone but me. I realize now, that although protecting myself from critique, I was also violating the basics of being a writer – we write for ourselves, but we also write for others.

Trysh L Thompson

Answer machines are my only friends


I pick up the phone

I dial a number; unimportant

I talk to myself and wait for the tone

No one is ever in

Do I want them to be – I don’t know?

I pray they answer, but they never do

It’s always the same whenever I call

I could be in hospital after a fall

I could be younger with a broken heart

In need of advice from the man at the mini-mart

But I’m not – I’m old

I sit at bus queues and talk of the past

About the cost of today and the life – how fast

I can only afford the single phone

I have no family

The answer machines are my only friends

I’m just old, tired…and mostly alone

By Tom Dearden 

Friday The 13th


To many the number thirteen 

is a number to avoid and beware of,
add Friday in front of the number,
and you have a very scary day.

To me the number thirteen,
has always been always been a lucky one,
and Friday the thirteenth,
even luckier still

Then again, if you are superstitious
any number can be unlucky.
If you want to think it so,
it just depends on how positive you are.

Now if you think negative,
you will be that way to,
so in your thinking,
just be like me.

Positive is lucky, negative is unlucky,
so train you mind,
to think positive
all the time.

13 July 2007

The force of life – Promote Yourself




I am the wind ‘ that you breath ‘ I am the blood that runs

through your veins ‘ for I am the movement of your soul ‘ to where you travel to make you whole.

I am the vision ‘ is what you see ‘ I am the strength  ‘ to make you free ‘ I am the thought to make you shine ‘ for you to follow ‘ and learn in time .

For I  am the guidance ‘ to show you the way ‘ for this you will see the truth ‘ comes what may .

Patricia Bourne WordPress 2014.

Facebook / journey though life.

“I Read A Poem Today” – Promote Yourself


I read a poem today

Not cause I thought about u today
Or missed u today
But because I was curious about

what you had to say

In essence, you say

my absence affects you

A statement your actions

deem prophetically untrue

Understand that my demeanor is not of my choosing  
Cause our memories…

my mind hinders

as thoughts linger
of what yesterday..with u..once brought

I read a poem today

It was called “You”
I read and reread each line
to ensure comprehension

A Line by Line explanation

capturing my attention…

dictating how you think you’re starting to feel for me
I wonder if its real..

but still

your memory

provokes chills


You compare our narrative

to that of the gods




And though my smile

is a godly power only you convey

Your stained papyrus

I’m tempted to fray






have any inkling how to

Treat a goddess

So Timeless..

I read a poem today


“I L-l-like you..” it read

I wasn’t impressed

Cause you

Camouflage your

Executions of tomfoolery

So eloquently…

Lying lips licked love so lightly and

Made loyalty look so likely..

Put simply…

You’re no stranger

to the danger

that comes with…breaking hearts.





I pray to the gods

that your words ARE real;

I pray for



and Emotional Accessibility

So that your words

may reach ME

and not ….my ego

So here I go…


Dear God,


Can you hear me?

Its me, Jay.


He says he’s ready to keep writing


the day his writing will reach me..


So I sit here ready to keep reading

In hopes that one day his words

Will reach their home

In me.


I read a poem today.


On May Morning by John Milton – Famous poet


Life of John Milton (1608-1674)


John Milton was born on December 9, 1608, in London, as the second child of John and Sara (neé Jeffrey). The family lived on Bread Street in Cheapside, near St. Paul’s Cathedral. John Milton Sr. worked as a scrivener, a legal secretary whose duties included preparation and notarization of documents , as well as real estate transactions and moneylending. Milton’s father was also a composer of church music, and Milton himself experienced a lifelong delight in music. The family’s financial prosperity afforded Milton to be taught classical languages, first by private tutors at home, followed by entrance to St. Paul’s School at age twelve, in 1620. 

In 1625, Milton was admitted to Christ’s College, Cambridge. While Milton was a hardworking student, he was also argumentative to the extent that only a year later, in 1626, he got suspended after a dispute with his tutor, William Chappell.


On May Morning

Now the bright morning Star, Day’s harbinger,
Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her
The Flowery May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow Cowslip, and the pale Primrose.
Hail bounteous May that dost inspire
Mirth and youth, and warm desire,
Woods and Groves, are of thy dressing,
Hill and Dale, doth boast thy blessing.
Thus we salute thee with our early Song,
And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

On May Morning

by John Milton

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