PLAY OUR SELECTION OF CHRISTMAS CAROLS
WHILE YOU READ OUR CHRISTMAS POETRY ENJOY
PLAY OUR SELECTION OF CHRISTMAS CAROLS
WHILE YOU READ OUR CHRISTMAS POETRY ENJOY
Autumn, ah it’s a painting on canvas
With splashes of colour everywhere
It’s not hidden away from view
It is an occasion for all to share
An artist has created it
With colours of every shade
The vibrant shades of beauty
In their splendor are on parade
Each tree and shrub stands proud
Making an hypnotic colourful display
Of leaves falling gently to the ground
Creating a carpet of colour where they lay
As the winter winds grow stronger
They tantalize the fallen leaves
All whipped up in frenzy
Stripping all the shrubs and tree’s
Now the canvas has been completed
The paints and brushes packed away
Mother Nature displays her painting
Of the perfect Autumn Day
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.
translated into English;
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.
YOUR FAVOURITE POEM
SENT IN BY YOU WHAT’S YOUR’S?
Dancing through the daffodils
Skipping with the lambs
Love is many things
Finding that spring in your step
When your heart is leaping
Wherever you may tread
Feeling that burning desire
Being with the one you love
To set your emotions on fire
That unique feeling
That unique bond
Knowing you belong
Picnics in the park
Underneath the stars
Emotion you may discover
Happiness or sadness
Love is a roller-coaster
Love is an experience
To cherish like no other
We all have 3 seconds,
To make the entire sonnet count.
To summon spectators,
Who begin with seeds of doubt.
What can be amplified?
What can join the fray?
A gander at the Gambler,
Incited to play.
The fulfillment to a lifetime of longing,
Is to stand at that Triade source and see,
Oh, that is why,
I was delayed in that storm,
And why the dream took,
Why the basil dried,
And the movie sold out.
Why I spoke so poorly,
And my child’s lips formed a perfect pout.
It is why my button came undone,
And the reason incense,
Reminds me of something long gone.
Why the stain did not wash clean,
And the glass left a splinter, unseen.
The reason it was not a good sail day,
Why the feathers turned to clay,
And I lost self, along the way.
You were looking out for me,
In ways invisible to a passing glance,
So I would be amazed see, that collectively,
Guidance was provided in that 3 second chance.
by Lisa Ann DeNunzio-Gomes
‘Never before in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so
many to so few.’
Winston Churchill 1940
The siren scrambles the spitfire squadron
Young pilots mostly in their teens
Rush to clamber into cockpits
Engines roar, and planes race down the runway
Rising skyward in battle formation.
Fear grips and some pilots want to vomit
Flying upwards they seek advantage of height
Above the slow droning German bombers
Targeting England’s cities and ports
Guarded by darting M109 Messerschmitt fighters.
‘ Here we go, ‘ radios an Aussie squadron leader
‘ Let’s give the blighters hell.’
And out of the sun with cannons roaring
Spitfires attack like deadly hawks
Twisting and turning as the savage dogfight ensues.
Sergeant-pilot Peter Duncan trapped
Tries frantically to free his jammed cockpit cover
But flames engulf him – – melting hands and face
The spitfire spirals to the ground
Exploding in a fireball ending the sergeant’s suffering.
I draw little attention to who I am
based solely upon a certain gem
some would call the bane of life
yet I might think of none of them.
I walk in a department store alone
gather little if any attention shown
I could probably open the register
take a dollar bill and dial the phone
While standing nearby noticed you
I couldn’t help but think of the blue
vibrance in sky that dreams peace
stillness occurs to recognize few
We thrive in a world of confusion
a constance bold without solution
little concern merits our evolution
little concern, we await revolution
photo found on Pinterest
© Thom Amundsen
This is a poem written by me, about my memories as a boy of the Battle of Britain.
“I remember when barrow boys hawked through our roads,
Bellowing loudly and selling their loads
Whilst Brewery Shire horses with black stunted tails
Tugged giant wagons piled high with real ales.
The sound of the sirens from far then near places,
Stopping us playing to upturn our faces.
Irregular throbbing from South-Eastern skies raised grubby forearms to shade seeking eyes.
Heinkell’s, Dornier’s and other flying things
Flickered the sunlight with hundreds of wings
As children we scurried from all adults sight,
before they could stop us from watching a fight.
We each heard our mother out calling our name,
and skulked low in silence enjoying our game.
SO we saw some Hurricanes, clawing for height,
just scrambled from Tangmere to join in the fight.
I remember their Merlins, and stuttering guns, when Dowding’s ‘Young Chicks’ started mauling those Huns.
Shelters were filling with folk and their prattle, when everywhere echoed loud sounds of the battle.
And when the conflict came straight overhead
Down toppled shell cases fighters had shed.
An old man then shouted, “Look, Spits are about, they’ll give the Blighters a good hefty clout.”
We next saw a Heinkell with an engine aflame, pursued by a Hurrican with fantastic aim.
The Bomber was sinking we saw it go down, as the Hurrican victor was crossing the town.
It just skimmed the roof tops, thrilling our crowd, before soaring aloft seeking foe above cloud.
But high in the heavens was more for the eye,
long woven contrails divided the sky.
Whirls of dark smoke showed, where fighters had spun, sparkling bright cockpits reflected the sun.
We all heard the warring sounds gradually fade, and gaped at the sky at the sketches they’d made.
It was then that our fighter boys, briskly returned, dispersing the smoke where the fallen still burned.
We waited until sirens declared it all clear, then had to face mother and got a thick ear!
For whom the bell tolls ‘ let it ring out ‘ every one should sit up and listen ‘ and not scream and shout .
Panick in the streets ‘ people running around ‘ not knowing where to go ‘ or to be found .
🏰 as the bell is ringing out ‘ every one stops ‘ and pointing out.
At the top of the mountains ‘ so sky blue ‘ that’s where the bell tower is ‘ in full view.
Now the warning has been heard ‘ the sand storm is coming ‘ save the herd .
All is save ‘ man and beast ‘ peace at last’ and relief.
Patricia Bourne WordPress 2014
They’re all gone,
All counted as loss
Those earthly treasures accumulated over years
Mementos, possessions, unclaimed, cut-off, left for dead
There was a photo of my dear niece Yaasmiyn with my sister Paula
Taken on my boat that I treasured more than the damn boat
Lives in my heart and in my mind vividly
Why she kept it…so cruelly, so jealously
Is still a mystery to me
There was a photo of myself with my arm around my Father
Taken at 510 cortland ave. Syracuse @ my sister and brother-in-law’s
Where he was actually smiling, spontaneously, joyfully…
A rarity…I still can see, again…most vividly
Why would she keep this from me?
If not only vindictively…but I forgive easily
Some things I still see clearly
Living inside of me
No one can touch or take it from me
Twice I walked into the unknown rejected
All my stuff was strewn about treated callously,
the things that once meant something to me
broken inside, misunderstood, defeated,
beaten down by all I tried to hide living inside of me
with only the clothes on my back
there was a bridge I could not cross
not with either one of them
it just was not meant to be
I was not meant for them
And they were not meant for me
I’d already been claimed…unknowingly
And I was exactly the same
“cracked and leaking pot”
The day that she found me
The day I met…number three
So what happened,
To change me?
All I can say is…
I would not change a thing
And I would never be tempted to trade
A multitude of number ones or number twos
For number three
One in three…three in one
Seems to make perfect sense
Let us leave the past in the past
Seems like the right thing to do
But if you stepped in shit yesterday
You still gotta clean your shoes
Either that or track a mess back home
Now your past is in your present
Stinking up your house
It all happened in the past
But you ain’t clean in the “now”
No way…no how
Who goes number two
Without wiping their ass?
I know it sounds crude
Perhaps I’m being rude?
But you can’t parade yourself as some “upright” dude
If you’ve been a glutton feeding your face
From out of someone else’s soul-food
If you took what wasn’t yours
By the power of your own will
And made it your own
By the silence of lambs
Fashioned a robe from flesh
Every gain from only a boost
Well guess what?
“the chickens are coming home to roost”
What goes up must come down
An apple upside the head
Or six feet under ground
Can ya’ hear me now?
Ya’ feel me?
I was right beside you all along
Did you ever really see me?
I was there when you snatched a ring from the carousel
But ya’ climbed on someone else’s shoulders to do it
Put your ass in their face
Made a profession of faith
And still clung to disgrace
What goes around
And that carousel is what you’ve remained on
While thinking you were walking straight
Evil in your eyes
Concealed by designer shades
But they will come off
The light will hit you
You’ll be my next rhyme
And I will spit you
Neither hot nor cold
I will name you
Call you out into the open
And shame you
You’ll get angry
Your temper will flare
But I’ll stay on you
Till you are spent
Mad bulls charging full of rage
I’ll be at peace at the table prepared before me
Put on my bi-focals
Turning page after page
make a little finger swirl in the air
while whispering a lackluster whoop-dee-do “ole'”
Till your panting and puffing and gasping
Collapse in a heap
Fall into a sound sleep
And all that much vaunted pride
Is flicked off of your flesh
Like the puny pathetic lies
Of a deceiving little flea whispering in your mind
That it ever really was.
I dream of you walking at night along the streams
of the country of my birth, warm blooms and the nightsongs
of birds opening around you as you walk.
You are holding in your body the dark seed of my sleep.
This comes after silence. Was it something I said
that bound me to you, some mere promise
or, worse, the fear of loneliness and death?
A man lost in the woods in the dark, I stood
still and said nothing. And then there rose in me,
like the earth’s empowering brew rising
in root and branch, the words of a dream of you
I did not know I had dreamed. I was a wanderer
who feels the solace of his native land
under his feet again and moving in his blood.
I went on, blind and faithful. Where I stepped
my track was there to steady me. It was no abyss
that lay before me, but only the level ground.
Sometimes our life reminds me
of a forest in which there is a graceful clearing
and in that opening a house,
an orchard and garden,
comfortable shades, and flowers
red and yellow in the sun, a pattern
made in the light for the light to return to.
The forest is mostly dark, its ways
to be made anew day after day, the dark
richer than the light and more blessed,
provided we stay brave
enough to keep on going in.
How many times have I come to you out of my head
with joy, if ever a man was,
for to approach you I have given up the light
and all directions. I come to you
lost, wholly trusting as a man who goes
into the forest unarmed. It is as though I descend
slowly earthward out of the air. I rest in peace
in you, when I arrive at last.
Our bond is no little economy based on the exchange
of my love and work for yours, so much for so much
of an expendable fund. We don’t know what its limits are–
that puts us in the dark. We are more together
than we know, how else could we keep on discovering
we are more together than we thought?
You are the known way leading always to the unknown,
and you are the known place to which the unknown is always
leading me back. More blessed in you than I know,
I possess nothing worthy to give you, nothing
not belittled by my saying that I possess it.
Even an hour of love is a moral predicament, a blessing
a man may be hard up to be worthy of. He can only
accept it, as a plant accepts from all the bounty of the light
enough to live, and then accepts the dark,
passing unencumbered back to the earth, as I
have fallen time and again from the great strength
of my desire, helpless, into your arms.
What I am learning to give you is my death
to set you free of me, and me from myself
into the dark and the new light. Like the water
of a deep stream, love is always too much. We
did not make it. Though we drink till we burst
we cannot have it all, or want it all.
In its abundance it survives our thirst.
In the evening we come down to the shore
to drink our fill, and sleep, while it
flows through the regions of the dark.
It does not hold us, except we keep returning
to its rich waters thirsty. We enter,
willing to die, into the commonwealth of its joy.
I give you what is unbounded, passing from dark to dark,
containing darkness: a night of rain, an early morning.
I give you the life I have let live for the love of you:
a clump of orange-blooming weeds beside the road,
the young orchard waiting in the snow, our own life
that we have planted in the ground, as I
have planted mine in you. I give you my love for all
beautiful and honest women that you gather to yourself
again and again, and satisfy–and this poem,
no more mine than any man’s who has loved a woman.
In the meadow I sat alone
Beneath the swaying trees
With pollen drifting all around
It was then I began to sneeze,
The air was filled with silence
On my face was a gentle breeze
I felt so relaxed sitting there
I started eating my bread and cheese,
I then thought of the needy
among the falling leaves
I was so overcome
That I fell down to my knees
By Malcolm Bradshaw
Squat on the floorboards
And let your life surge out of you
Hot, sticky, and wailing for attention
Red fisted fingers raised with demands
Your life wants you undivided
In treeforts and toeshoes
Clarinet howling at the mounting moon
Gyrating disgracefully to an untamed song
Be luminous, scraped and scarred
In mud and blood and bright green glitter
She wants shameless love to burn her
Brand her with its valor
She will seethe and storm and slam doors
Strand you with your reasons
Forsake your obligations
And fearsome responsibilities
Your life would rather be held against a raw heart
With all the ache and passion and mess there
Than sit cross-legged in some therapist’s chair
Wondering why her soul is barren
Why she won’t squat on the floorboards
And bring her life to birth.
by D. Wallace Peach