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CHRISTMAS CAROLS

PLAY OUR SELECTION OF CHRISTMAS CAROLS

WHILE YOU READ OUR CHRISTMAS POETRY ENJOY

An autumn painting

 painting

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

Malcolm  G Bradshaw

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?

The moon light-Promote Yourself

Space landscape moon

 

The Spring Equinox -Famous Poets

SPRING

Now is the pause between asleep and awake:
Two seasons take
A colour and quality each from each as yet.
The new stage-set
Spandril, column and fan of spring is raised against the
winter backdrop
Murrey and soft;
Now aloft
The sun swings on the equinoctial line.
Few flowers yet shine:
The hellebore hangs a clear green bell and opulent leaves
above dark mould;
The light is cold
In arum leaves, and a primrose flickers
Here and there; the first cool bird-song flickers in the thicket.
Clouds arc pale as the pollen from sallows;
March fallows are white with lime like frost.This is the pause between asleep and awake:
The pause of contemplation and of peice,
Before the earth must teem and the heart ache.
This is the child’s pause, before it sees
That the choice of one way has denied the other ;
Must choose the either, or both, of to care and not to care;
Before the light or darkness shall discover
Irreparable loss; before it must take
Blame for the creature caught in the necessary snare:
Receiving a profit, before it holds a snare.
YOUR FAVOURITE POEM
SENT IN BY YOU

Love is…

skip

Love is…

Dancing through the daffodils

Skipping with the lambs

Love is many things

Love is…

Finding that spring in your step

When your heart is leaping

Wherever you may tread

Love is…

Feeling that burning desire

Being with the one you love

To set your emotions on fire

Love is…

That unique feeling

That unique bond

Knowing you belong

Love is…

Picnics in the park

Being together

Underneath the stars

Love is…

Emotion you may discover

Happiness or sadness

Love is a roller-coaster

Love is an experience

To cherish like no other

Gillian Sims

I see winter fall like orchard pearls – Promote Yourself

moon

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,

So long.

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

Battle Of Britain – Poem by Colin Ian Jeffery

 spit

‘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.

Blacklivesmatte

blacklivesmatter~

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

http://thinkingoutloudagain.com 

DAYS THAT HAVE CHANGED THE WORLD

I remember the Battle of Britain

raf

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!

Frederick Norman Burtenshaw

Safari Ron Martin

🏰 the old bell tower 🏰. – Promote Yourself

bell
The top of the mountain ‘ sky so blue ‘ reaches the top ‘ and touching the moon .

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

Timeline’s Promote Yourself

 

Seeing Red/The Breaking point-promote yourself

 

The Country Of Marriage – YOUR FAVOURITE POEM

 

 marr 

I.

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.

 

II.

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.

 

III.

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.

 

IV.

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.

 

V.

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.

 

VI.

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.

 

VII.

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.

 

Wendell Berry

THE MEADOW -WORKSHOP POETRY

medow

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

Your Life – Promote Yourself

floor b

 

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

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