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Monthly Archives: October 2016

Missing you – Promote Yourself

ask heartxxxxxxxxxx 

Hello my darling I miss you

No longer arms to hold me tight

No longer to reassure me

As we embraced and kiss goodnight

 

My aching heart has now broken

My life to me is not worthwhile

The happy time we spent together

 Now missing your beautiful smile

 

I miss the long walks together

The way you always held my hand

The laughter we both enjoyed

As we walked upon the sand

 

All these happy memories I treasure

They all help to ease the pain

For I know one day my darling

We shall be both together again

Malcolm Bradshaw 

Getting Satisfaction

The sun has set in the western sky

The darkness of the night envelops the earth

It is the time to evaluate the results of our day

To establish if we did anything of real worth

 

Many things may have given us pleasure

But have we done anything to enhance the human race

We should realise that our lives affect others

And that kindly deeds make the world a better place

 

So, ask yourself did you do anything to improve the situation

Did you do something to help someone on their way

Did you do anything at all to benefit others?

Or was it just another wasted day

 

If so do not let guilt surround you

And to let your failure lead to distraction

Try and do better from now on

And I am sure this will bring satisfaction

Ron Martin

No Disgrace

If someone should take a close look at us,

What is it that they would really see?

Would it be someone who is proud of their reputation?

Someone who would call out, “I’m glad that I am me”.

 

Or someone who has failed to reach their potential,

Someone regarded as a person of low esteem,

Someone prepared to plough a lonely furrow,

Or one, who is not regarded as a member of the team?

 

It may well you’ll never be a winner,

Or even someone who has achieved a medal place,

The fact that some may never reach the winner’s rostrum,

Is something that many people have a face?

 

For every time there is a winner there is a loser.

And not to win is not really a disgrace,

Take a good look around at the non-runners,

And be proud that you were entered in the race.

 

For it’s not winning, but taking part that is important,

Being one prepared to face the challenge of the test

To lose should not fill you with disappointment,

For you can still be proud, if you’ve done your very best

Ron Martin

The Bridge of Love 

Each one of you is accompanied

By a soul from the world so bright

By a guide, companion or a teacher

That will lead you by their wonderful light

 

Someone who has the affinity with your Spirit

For where love is there is no separation

For if a loved one is in spirit

There is always a celebration

 

The etheric bridge can be crossed

Angels and your loved ones are there

By just raising you conscious mind

 Memories and thoughts you will share

 

By realising this truth within yourself

You can create the bridge of love

By believing in God the Father

You will converse with those above

 

When doubts assail your understanding

It’s only the promptings of your lower sight

The material self that cuts you off from loved ones

Who live in the world of light?

 

This message is for those who need comfort

 Reassurance of loved ones remain

The spirit of love never dies or forgotten

And there personalities are just the same  

Malcolm G Bradshaw 

WICKED – Promote Yourself

 baxter106
A wicked gale, 1841,
Took all souls, both old and young.
Among the shipwrecks off the Cape,
No sadder story leaves mouths agape.
Seven ships were swept like splintered trees as
Sailors fought the rising seas.
Fifty-seven lads left that cursed day,
From Truro Harbor through Cape Cod Bay.
With farewells to families and prayers of thanks,
To fish for cod along George’s Banks.
Headed nor ‘east at full sail,
The hopefuls met that dreaded gale.
Soundings dropped as winds blew wild,
And fear spread from man to child.
For closer their vessels approached the shoals,
Which cut their hulls with ripping rolls,
Nature took victims without remorse,
And most were lost who’d set the course.
Legend has it that on autumn nights,
Amidst Truro’s moors, below the heights,
Ghosts of sailors mourn their ghastly plight,
With frightful wails across the night.
So if you dare to brace that wicked wind,
You may hear cries of those doomed kin,
Brothers of the sea who dared to go,
Where others still venture and fight the foe.
Wendy Shreve
(In honor of All Hallows’ Eve and those spirits who are still with us)
NOTE: This poem is based in part on real events off Truro, MA in 1841 (Source: Provincetown Banner, June 28, 2009). The legend is fiction.

Certain Days Like These

raininggggggggggggggggg

 

Are we meant to match up with the climate around us?

Today’s forecast – gloomy,

periodic stillness

intermittent tears.

Winds that wound around our souls

create a need to seek shelter

from the agony of a reality that sometime implodes.

~

The rains leave us helpless when they spill onto dry eyes.

Water resistant fears

allow the cold, bitter, icy

trails beyond our reach

to become frozen;

We reach out skeptic

arms of early tanned limbs wanton of sunlit skies.

~

Are we expected to fold up our tents and buckle in fear?

The horizon is a masked hue

of forbidden outcomes

waiting to be renounced

or acted upon with frivolous

denial of lurking dangers.

Chasing storm fronts as we are told to fight our battles alone.

~

When I die the sun will rise as normally as an autumn mourning.

Temperatures will remain

as different as a forest trail

left without trodden norms

for two or three seasons

while the earth revives

Her manner of grace we so often forget envelops our silly lives.

 

©Thom Amundsen 2014

http://thinkingoutloudagain.wordpress.com

Might Listen

 

 BriefEncounter

I go to your school

Yea, I’m that guy

The one you know

But choose to

Ignore

I mean,

Granted you’re busy

Too ah, caught up

In trying to get along

To achieve

To feel that sense

Of what is the word-

Entitlement …

No, I’m sorry

I didn’t mean that

Well, yes I did

You see

I see you everyday

But well,

And

I know

You see me

Paths cross

Moments define

The brush of a shoulder

Heading to class

And just that brief encounter

Thus far defines who you are to me

Who I am to you

Who might sea …

I walk past you

How our lives interact

In the eyes of our community

See?

Our worlds are labeled as different

Suggested the ‘Man’ to everyone

Thom Amundsen 2013

MRS. PANKHURST

pank
 
Women owe a lot to Mrs. Emily Pankhurst,
Who was the first militant suffragette,
She suffered many trials and tribulations,
Which those who have followed should not forget.
 
She founded the Woman’s Social and Political Union,
This was in Manchester in the year nineteen hundred and three,
She was supported by her two daughters Christabel and Sylvia,
With votes for women as their first priority.
 
They moved to London to lobby the Liberal Government,
And set about heckling leading politicians of the day,
They performed attention seeking stunts at processions,
Anything to allow women to have their say.
 
At first their actions were quite peaceful,
But in Nineteen twelve they became more militant,
They were directed by Christabel from Paris,
To where she had fled, but where she became more dominant.
 
Mrs. Pankhurst spent several spells in prison,
She went on hunger strike and was subject to force feeding,
She was so intent on getting votes for women,
Nothing could diminish her enthusiasm for the campaign she was leading.
 
When the First World War started she called off her campaign,
Realising that there were more important things to do,
She concentrated her efforts organising National Service,
But about votes for women she never changed her point of view.
 
When the war ended the politicians modified their opinions,
They had been influenced by the Campaign for Women’s Suffrage,
But Mrs. Pankhurst’s ambitions were only partly satisfied,
When votes were only given to married women over thirty years of age.
 
So Mrs. Pankhurst continued with her campaign,
And eventually her aspirations were satisfied,
All women over twenty one were given the vote
In nineteen twenty eight, a few weeks before Mrs. Pankhurst died.
 
Mrs. Pankhurst’s campaign lasted five and twenty years,
Her name is now part of our country’s history,
What she did will never be forgotten,
For she has left women a valuable legacy.
Ron Martin

Solo By Gillian Sims

REQUIEM TO A SAD POETESS


 
The many words she has inscribed upon the page
Reveal the unhappiness and anguish she has known
That she has suffered throughout her life can be seen
For in so many ways she has often felt alone
 
In her simple words she tries to show
Why it is difficult for her to understand
How life could deal her such cruel blows
Why fate had dealt her a losing hand
 
And so she picks up her pen to write
For she wants all the world to know
That unhappiness has marred her life
In the same way that the weather is blighted by the winter snow
 
But life is very much like seasons
The winter snow melts and spring eventually comes again
The sunshine will break through the clouded skies
And happiness will take the place of pain
 
And so she now faces life with hopes renewed
Knowing here are opportunities that she can take
Opportunities which will give her much satisfaction
And that failing to take them would be a terrible mistake
 
We can now see that her happiness is returning
But its completion may take a little while
The visions of joy which the future holds
Can now be seen in her winsome smile 
By Ron Martin

You are the one


I close my eyes, and I pray that I’ll dream of you
I’m waiting
for a day when I’ll get your point of view
We’re so alike but
we’re different in many ways
Like fairy butterflies wanna go in
opposite gates

You like shopping, I like reading
I ride a bicycle and you drive rental
I’m so visual and you’re into
bridals
We can’t agree on what we wanna do

But out of all
the girls that God and I know
You’re the one that I wanna
show
How my hearts beats when I’m with you
Cause darling
you’re my baby boo

By Lumiere Le Dumpiere

 

A Rose by Charles Townsend

STOLEN HANDS – Promote Yourself

handsxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sunday Evening…
All ready I’ve
Suffered enough
Of this
Incurable
Hopeless rage.
I sit
To try and write it out
My feelings flowing
From blood
To words
On this unforgiving page.

See I once
Held hands
That i
Stole
While i plotted lives
With a cold hearted
Grace.
Now my hands
Lie
Only to my
Own skin
The punishment
I deserve
There is no longer
Solace in a
Beautiful face.

I betrayed
My own
Beating innocence
It is now
A cold dead tomb
In which i am burdened
By its weight
With dark skies
And overdue consequences
Time has finally caught on
The price of lies
I’ve discovered
Is beauty
Returning
As hate.

Gabriel Denver

HOME ALONE

I sit at home

So lonely,

No-one there but me,

The house is dark I’m frightened

There is no electricity.

Mum has not paid the bill

I wish my mum was here

I can’t stop these rolling tears,

All I can see is an empty bottle

On the table in front of me.

The clock strikes twelve

She must have lost track,

Because mum is not back.

Once again

Mum’s hitting the Gin.

It’s not fair life like this

Because I’m only six.

My father left some time ago

Because he didn’t wont to know,

I can’t really blame him

He tried but couldn’t stop mum from drinking,

So I’m home alone once again

Living the pain and loneliness.

Thomas Sims

Pat the cat

Pat was a pussy cat

Who was very  fat

Pat got stuck in the cat flap,

They rang the Police

And the Firebrigade,

And the Ambulance too,

But no-one  knew what to do

The policeman asked the fireman

The fireman asked the ambulanceman,

So they pulled his head and then his tail

This made the cat wail

Then they didn’t feed him

So he became quite thin,

Then he popped out of the cat flap

With a smiley grin

By Brendon Wakefeild

 6 years old

With a little bit of help from gran and grandad



Grandad’s mate made a video

It’s on YouTube under Gillian Sims

IT’S GREAT!!!

Believe in me

beachxxxxxx

I’m that face you see strolling by you
In a sea of strangers every morning
I see your eyes shifting away at the right moment
Your affect sheds a little fear as we cross paths
And my eyes hit the ground again
Because you’re gone, rounded the corner
And my eyes search for the end result
While a memory moves through the space
~
I wonder again at lunch when across the room
Your friends are laughing while unnoticed
My eyes search for your connection
If only just a passing glance I am complete
Again for a couple of hours to relax and dream
That later in the day when our desks are rows apart
We can look across the room and indirectly interact
Quiet moods are real even I believe that can be true
~
Our lives exist by responding to a passing smile
An acknowledgement that feels real is the peace
That exists when from afar a person can connect
With another human being that gives them hope
Allows that instance to be enough inspiration
Intrigue, delight, fascination, to hold onto their memory
I will appear again in the morning ready for our routine
To cross paths early across the sea with an imagined wink
~
We are two souls that notice our lives are intertwined
Lacing the tangles that allow ourselves to really believe

Thom Amundsen 2013
Thinkingoutloudagain.wordpress.com

A clouded Imagination

I lay and look into the sky
Watching all the clouds float by,
It’s strange the different shapes I see
Imagining what they could be,
Before they break and the rain falls
They move and mould and create more,
Shapes and things floating free
All the things I wish I could be,
All the animals I’ve never seen
Landmarks of places I’ve never been,
It’s strange to think they are more than just clouds
Imagination taking over the here and now.
Abbe Cutforth

Sunday Afternoon

 

Jan 1 (5)

 

I walk to find

 Peace of mind

By the water’s edge,

River bursting from the rain

Still it feels the same

White feathered friends

Swim by my side

Like a dedicated friend,

Creating ripples

Causing no harm

Creating ripples of calm,

A window of still life

Walking by the waters side

A gust of wind now picks up my hair,

I’m in a place where I really don’t care

We should all take the time

To go somewhere tranquil

Searching that  peace of mind

 

Gillian Sims

A love poem, In French and English hope you enjoy.- The Lost Lovers Poem -YOUR FAVOURITE POEM

PARIS6

Je pense que j’ai finalement traduit de l’anglais vers le français parfaitement!
très dur, mais super boulot moi
Un poème pour envoyer à quelqu’un que vous aimez

C’est ce que j’appelle Les Amants Perdu Poème…..

Je n’ai pas honte de dire ou admettre que c’est vrai.
Je suis un toxicomane mais d’une manière spéciale,
Vous voyez, mon cœur veut juste vous.
I’am un toxicomane à cet amour que je ressens,
depuis le jour où j’ai posé les yeux sur tu que je connaissais.
chaque jour qui se lève mon cœur bat,
et il se demande ce qu’il faut faire.
Votre absence rend mon coeur que vous voulez tu,
et mon corps aspire à votre contact.
L’énergie qui coule dans mes veines,
me donne envie de vous tellement.
Si seulement je pouvais vous tenir,
Et vous avoir à côté de moi.
Peut-être que cette douleur que je ressens à l’intérieur,
allait enfin me libérer libre.
Je t’aime au-delà de tout,
et au-delà des étoiles que je ne peux pas voir.
J’espère juste que tu ressens la même
quand vous dites que vous m’aimez.
Tout ce que je voulais, c’était d’être dans votre cœur demain, hier et aujourd’hui.
et pour nous d’être ensemble et de ne jamais être loin.
J’espérais qu’un jour vous vous rendrez compte,
mon amour pour toi est vrai.
comment vous êtes si parfait à mes yeux.
et comment mon amour pour toi juste grandi.
Il s’agit d’un poème Je voudrais pouvoir vous envoyer.
mais je n’ai jamais reçu votre lettre et je n’avais pas de place pour l’envoyer trop.

LONDON

translated into English;

—————BELOW————————

I think I finally translated from English to French perfectly!
very hard, but great job me
A poem to send to someone you love

This is what I call The Lost Lovers Poem …..

I’m not ashamed to say or admit that it’s true.
I’m an addict, but in a special way,
You see, my heart just wants you.
I’am an addict to this love that I feel,
since the day I laid eyes on you I knew.
each waking day my heart beats,
and wondered what to do.
Your absence makes my heart want you,
and my body craves your touch.
The energy flowing through my veins,
makes me want you so much.
If only I could hold you,
And have you beside me.
Maybe this pain I feel inside,
would finally release me free.
I love you beyond all
and beyond the stars I can not see.
I just hope you feel the same
when you say you love me.
All I wanted was to be in your heart tomorrow, yesterday and today.
and for us to be together and never be far away.
I hoped that one day you will realize,
My love for you is true.
how you are so perfect in my eyes.
and how my love for you just grew.
This is a poem I wish I could send you.
but I never received your letter and I had no place to send it too.

© tomdavis

YOUR FAVOURITE POEM

SENT IN BY YOU WHAT’S YOUR’S?

Coastal Bluff

 bud
Frozen laughter
Slices through salt edged air; 
Squeals of delight echo incongruously,
Weaving amongst deserted chalets.
An ageless orange skyline
Remains subdued as disfigured
Sunshine splinters along
Promenades carpeted with silvery hoar.
Stained faces
Stare seawards, breathing with the tide
And isolated shores confront a
Grey, foaming aggressor:
Seemingly unannounced.
Local with a walking stick:
Standing, sideways,
Huddled beside an arcade,
With a lady who smokes
And a dog that shivers.
The rock emporium is up for sale.
Daylight suffers as a blanket of
Gloom shrouds each stranded folly;
Deep, mournful, marble shadows
Accumulate:
A lone tug-boat exhales.
Songs of summer evaporate
Into a clear, star speckled night.
Pier: Victorian, railing, paint peeling,
Lists just a little more,
Groaning amid the waves.
The Punch and Judy man
Stands alone on the beach:
In silhouette;
With wet feet;
Waiting.
Stephen Holloway

Urban breakdown

Urban breakdown, society in
turmoil,
we used to live simply, off the working man’s toil.
Communities
stuck together, in good times and bad,
Good family values are what we had.

Then life became too busy, chasing materialistic ideals,
no time
to talk to each other; over family meals.
Greed and selfishness crept in,
and living together was no longer a sin.

Money and false
celebrities became the gods,
and going to church was no longer mod.
People
became indifferent
and good friends distant.

Now we have so many lives
in a muddle,
with so many young mums left to struggle.
What happened to
free love, the 60s dream?
Why did our lives turn out so mean?

How sad
to see so many relationships fail.
No one said the liberal life, would have
such a sting in the tail.
Whether you live in the country the city or town,
we are all paying the price of the urban breakdown.

By Simon Icke

More of my poems can be found on the Tring People websitehttp://www.tringpeople.co.uk/Poetry-group-Tring-People/story-12982944-detail/story.html
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