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Remembering Valentines Day

red hearsts

 

I remember all my Valentines

They are deep within my heart

Every one  was so special

Until the  day we had to part

 

You see my loved one past away

After many years together

All the  memories of Valentines Day

To me I  will always treasure

 

Red roses were always given to me

And a candlelit meal for two

Every  time Valentines comes around

My  everlasting love I send to you

 

And on this special day

I place  by your picture frame

A bunch  of red roses in memory

To ease  my heartache and pain

 

Malcolm  Bradshaw

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!!!

Travel – Promote Yourself


 zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
 
 
Out of windows overused
into the rounded distance
where time does not stand still
but swarms in coexistence
of all things past and present
of youthful thoughts –
forgotten knots
that never really come or go
relentlessly they slide on waves,
the memory’s tetchy ebb and flow.
And as the grown-up mind
flies dreams at half mast
you gently push away the veils
to see them come undone
into explosive streams of rust.
 
Hey, I have just read about you on the blog and I really liked your idea, although it is probably a lot of work for you:) Hopefully, you enjoy it and get all the beauty you can from it.
 
I’m sending one of the poems I wrote recently just in case you might be interested:) There are some more on http://memorybazaar.wordpress.com, some in English and some in Romanian. The verses I’m sending now refer to the feelings that travelling triggers, namely that purgatory or world of the inbetween, where people are no longer their usual, ordinary selves, where they reunite with all their former selves into a form of energy rather than anything else. This is not a concrete, terrestrial phase, it does not have a clearly defined body or face, it is a luminous place of memories, experiences and dreams. It feels like a personal mythical time capsule that spreads energy into the being and gives some sort of substance and sense to an otherwise fickle existence. And since it makes it easier to understand with the help of a picture, 
Hope you’ll enjoy it and best of luck with your project!
Adina Pop-Coman

FROM THE BOTTOM UP – Promote Yourself

 

stumplogsstump

 

Pulling and pushing in every direction;

Yet even a raging nor’easter cannot

Uplift or tear these tendrils from the soil.

 

Ridges along the bark rising toward the canopy,

Each a memory: sometimes nicked, sometimes untouched;

Inside, concentric rings reveal the years but not the truth;

Skin rugged when peeled left vulnerable, exposed.

 

As a sentence map, diagrammed: branches seemingly haphazard,

But each off-shoot shares a purpose to capture the light.

And in turn, the yellow orb provides nourishment,

Through the green-veined leaves.

Nature’s juice which travels a webbed network.

 

For like the oak tree, you rise from grounded roots,

But bend with the wind.

Your weathered, show signs of punishment;

Still you stand.

 

Arms; legs round and muscled reach for the sky, gather strength,

As your trunk holds despite setbacks, exposed truths;

Blood surges along labyrinthine veins, feeding your body,

While hardened memories softened by your inner nature,

Are fed by earth-bound senses and love’s light.

Wendy Shreve

Through the eyes of a child by Malcolm Bradshaw

Motto – Your Favourite Poem

mootm

I play it cool I dig all jive
That’s the reason I stay alive
My motto As I live and learn
Is dig and be dug in return
 

© Langston Hughes.  All rights reserved

Your Favourite Poem – Sent in by you – What’s yours?

Kahlil Gibran on Love – YOUR FAVOURITE POEM

Kahlil Gibran and Mary Haskell Painting by Kahlil Gibran

 

When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams
as the north wind lays waste the garden. 

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth. 

Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God’s sacred feast. 

All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life’s heart. 

But if in your fear you would seek only love’s peace and love’s pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love’s threshing-floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love. 

When you love you should not say, “God is in my heart,” but rather, “I am in the heart of God.”
And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course. 

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love’s ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.

 Kahlil Gibran

YOUR FAVOURITE POEM SENT IN BY YOU WHAT’S YOURS

 

Spring – Promote Yourself

 

springbbbbb
I stayed the Fall
to welcome the Spring
The skyscrapers
scraped the sky,
tore it wide open.
And the eye of the heaven
glanced down,
at the pandemonium below
through a laceration,
amid the clouds
that smothered the sun.
With wounds-
crawling under his skin
wounds- that’ll heal.The October rust faded
and awakened
a new beauty
in nature’s secret womb.The flowers lit up,
singing,
in the orgasm
of their fiery rebirth.-The Manoj Arora.

Check out more of my works at my blog-

http://themanojarorablog.wordpress.com

If – Your Favourite Poem

rudyard kipling

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build’em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son! 

Rudyard Kipling
The most inspiring poem I ever came across..And it inspires me everyday
Rajat Chakraborty
SENT IN BY YOU WHAT’S YOURS?

The Sheep Child BY JAMES L. DICKEY – YOUR FAVOURITE POEM –

SHEEP

Farm boys wild to couple
With anything      with soft-wooded trees   
With mounds of earth      mounds   
Of pinestraw      will keep themselves off   
Animals by legends of their own:   
In the hay-tunnel dark
And dung of barns, they will   
Say    I have heard tell
That in a museum in Atlanta   
Way back in a corner somewhere   
There’s this thing that’s only half   
Sheep      like a woolly baby
Pickled in alcohol      because   
Those things can’t live.      his eyes
Are open      but you can’t stand to look   
I heard from somebody who …
But this is now almost all   
Gone. The boys have taken   
Their own true wives in the city,
The sheep are safe in the west hill
Pasture      but we who were born there
Still are not sure. Are we,
Because we remember, remembered
In the terrible dust of museums?
Merely with his eyes, the sheep-child may   
Be saying      saying
         I am here, in my father’s house.
         I who am half of your world, came deeply
         To my mother in the long grass
         Of the west pasture, where she stood like moonlight
         Listening for foxes. It was something like love
         From another world that seized her
         From behind, and she gave, not lifting her head   
         Out of dew, without ever looking, her best
         Self to that great need. Turned loose, she dipped her face   
         Farther into the chill of the earth, and in a sound   
         Of sobbing      of something stumbling
         Away, began, as she must do,
         To carry me. I woke, dying,


         In the summer sun of the hillside, with my eyes
         Far more than human. I saw for a blazing moment   
         The great grassy world from both sides,
         Man and beast in the round of their need,
         And the hill wind stirred in my wool,
         My hoof and my hand clasped each other,
         I ate my one meal
         Of milk, and died
         Staring. From dark grass I came straight
         
         To my father’s house, whose dust
         Whirls up in the halls for no reason
         When no one comes      piling deep in a hellish mild corner,   
         And, through my immortal waters,
         I meet the sun’s grains eye
         To eye, and they fail at my closet of glass.
         Dead, I am most surely living
         In the minds of farm boys: I am he who drives
         Them like wolves from the hound bitch and calf
         And from the chaste ewe in the wind.
         They go into woods      into bean fields      they go
         Deep into their known right hands. Dreaming of me,   
         They groan      they wait      they suffer
         Themselves, they marry, they raise their kind.
YOUR FAVOURITE POEM SENT IN BY YOU WHAT’S YOURS?

Do not go gentle into that good night, -YOUR FAVOURITE POEM

Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

~ Dylan Thomas

YOUR FAVOURITE POEM SENT IN BY YOU WHAT’S YOURS?

La Belle Dame Sans Merci – Your Favourite Poem

 

keatsxxxx

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I.

O WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms, 
Alone and palely loitering? 
The sedge has wither’d from the lake, 
And no birds sing. 

II.

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms! 
So haggard and so woe-begone? 
The squirrel’s granary is full, 
And the harvest’s done. 

III.

I see a lily on thy brow 
With anguish moist and fever dew, 
And on thy cheeks a fading rose 
Fast withereth too. 

IV.

I met a lady in the meads, 
Full beautiful – a faery’s child, 
Her hair was long, her foot was light, 
And her eyes were wild. 

V.

I made a garland for her head, 
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; 
She look’d at me as she did love, 
And made sweet moan. 

VI.

I set her on my pacing steed, 
And nothing else saw all day long, 
For sidelong would she bend, and sing 
A faery’s song. 

VII.

She found me roots of relish sweet, 
And honey wild, and manna dew, 
And sure in language strange she said – 
«I love thee true.» 

VIII.

She took me to her elfin grot, 
And there she wept, and sigh’d fill sore, 
And there I shut her wild wild eyes 
With kisses four. 

IX.

And there she lulled me asleep, 
And there I dream’d – Ah! woe betide! 
The latest dream I ever dream’d 
On the cold hill’s side. 

X.

I saw pale kings and princes too, 
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; 
They cried – «La Belle Dame sans Merci 
Hath thee in thrall!» 

XI.

I saw their starved lips in the gloam, 
With horrid warning gaped wide, 
And I awoke and found me here, 
On the cold hill’s side. 

XII.

And this is why I sojourn here, 
Alone and palely loitering, 
Though the sedge is wither’d from the lake, 
And no birds sing. 

John Keats

Your Favourite poem sent in by you – What’s Yours?

Spring – Promote Yourself

springgggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg
I stayed the Fall
to welcome the Spring
The skyscrapers
scraped the sky,
tore it wide open.
And the eye of the heaven
glanced down,
at the pandemonium below
through a laceration,
amid the clouds
that smothered the sun.
With wounds-
crawling under his skin
wounds- that’ll heal.

The October rust faded
and awakened
a new beauty
in nature’s secret womb.

The flowers lit up,
singing,
in the orgasm
of their fiery rebirth.

-The Manoj Arora.

Check out more of my works at my blog-

http://themanojarorablog.wordpress.com

COSMIC STORMS – Promote Yourself

 

cosmick

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Balance abounds this great Earth

she has risen forth and given birth

a New world,

new breath of life restored.

Resurrection as the Christed One

ascended now and forever held.

Member proud, and member known

we welcome you upon the throne.

Initiation comes as waves of grace

even in confusion’s wild embrace

forget not the keys

within your hand

no time beyond where you now stand.

Entered into chambers rare

remember knowledge bestowed to you there.

Infinite imploding shapes collide

find natural order where you abide.

Residing structures move this night,

revel in creations delight.

Give me remembrance of the form.

To execute a new world and how it is born.

There is a rhythm here I wish to heed

allow me to catch it in Godspeed.

Help beyond the human realm?

Alone now in an ashen hell?

Never wander into a false abyss

Poignant and insistent keep.

Listen for a cycle here,

rolling into futures near.

Be aware of nothingness,

be aware of flight

let Earth speak of her insight.

Transmission is possible.

We move across sands anew

holding time so still for you.

You wonder where your going,

you wonder what to do.

Just let go

we are here for you.

Watch every moment

Synchronicities create your time.

Filling space between,

heightened awareness, increases speed.

The flutter of a feather

the drip of dew

leaf, flutter to ground

or river running through.

You know its beat

you know its rhyme

and yet still get lost in time.

Veil is thinning as we speak

many more of you to meet.

Only moment ever mattered

is the one in which your in

initiation, obliteration

It is Time to Begin.

By Emily Andari

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