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Mothers Day -GENTLE SHE WAS – Promote Yourself


Gentle she was, a young woman of means,

Beautiful in her Marcel Wave she was. 

A hair dresser with her own shop 

A teaser of hair and tresses. 

Then the quiet Irish man took her eye and her heart.

Not impressed were her parents 

With the young Irish trade unionist from the motor trade.

 Time eventually brought them round to accept the vows

 The young couple had made.

Grief she bore when her fist born 

Died at six months. Brave she was to have more.

 Three girls then two boys, and two more angels lost in-between. 

Then after all was finished, me, making six. 

Hard she worked to bring us up and support her quiet man 

Who was there for her too.

Kind she was, good and open hearted she was.

 The door always open to family and waifs and strays

 Big hearted she was to all who past through our door. 

Always there she was, with words of wisdom and comfort.

 Her beautiful heart shone through her eyes.

Patient she was  but there was temper there if needed, 

She was not strong or mean but if needed 

Her children and her man she would defend to the death!

Beautiful she was in features and in heart 

There was no task she would not finish if she had made a start. 

Cried for her daughters she did as her man gave them away 

And when her sons married too she had a proud day.

Together alone again by themselves again.

Happy she was full of the business of her quiet man. 

Yet she was always ready to talk and help and ease our pain. 

Clever she was but not school or college wise 

She was wise in life and love and truth and need.

Lonely she was when her man was taken,

Wept she did as she wanted to join him. 

Lost she was without the quiet man . 

Heart broken she became though 

She threw herself in to caring for grandchildren.

Gone she was before her body, her mind and soul went to him. 

Lost to us she was a smile here and there 

Maybe a flash of recognition.

Unknowing of all around her she was,

Sad eyed frighted lamb lonely lonely.

Tiny she was when she went, sadly lost to us long before.

Gone into her mind to find her quiet man. 

Tears we shed for her,we wept in grief and I in anger

 Because so long had she been gone and I had wanted to talk to her,  

But gone she really was.

Anemones her favourite flowers were

 They always remind me of her. 

I forgave her for leaving me 

And now accept she had to go 

As by the side of her quiet man was where she had to be.

Never to be forgotten.

willow Willers

We come into this world with nothing – by Malcolm Bradshaw






Just a dream


I am an infantry man

I do the best I can,

With my musket cap and ball

I stand proud and tall,

I keep my powder dry

I’m so frightened I will die,

With musket balls flying by

Just like rain drops in the sky,

And I see solders not intact

So I must get ready for another attack

There’s smoke and bodies all around,

Lot’s of friends I have lost and found

Whilst the enemy stands there waiting

He’s anticipating,

It’s just like a game of chess

He’s putting me to the test,

He’s waiting for my move

Who will win or lose?

There are muskets and cannons firing

This battle is so tiring,

I feel my head hit the ground

There’s just this deafening sound

Then I realise it was all a dream

Replaying the life I have seen.


Thomas Sims

The fall of angels – Promote Yourself

 fallen ang

The times of restless, ancient still
When all did bow to tyrant’s will
And raging beast did stir in mind
Of glowing orb of purest rime,
Who that great God bestowed upon
The ghastly truths of divine One
And how harsh lies of damned deceit
Would make His cattle, kneel and bleat.
How kings and monks would fall on ground
And beg The Lord to let them drown
The men who did not follow creed
Of scriptures law, by human weeds.

And so when angel did learn of
The pointless life and hollow love,
He rose above that smirking Lord
To strike him down for good, for sure.
And yet cruel God did know his flight
With ever-present, burning sight.
That angel fell to fiery deep
Where always cursed to wrongly reap
The souls of men who did not good
Nor either did they take the hood
Of wrongs and sin, but did not accept
The love of Christ who purely wept
For sins that man was meant to bare
If’t truth that some Creator’s lair
Did lie before the dawn of time
And ’twas he that shaped us from the lime.

So then that angel was not damned
With righteous heart of loving lamb,
He was but first to truly see
The wrong shut in His pleasing glee,
For t’world did not stem from a Thing
That’s good and beats it’s glowing wings,
It must then be a that of mad intent,
Confused and wanting back that leant,
The soul breathed into Adam’s mind
Which made him mortal-god enshrined.

Damnation, ’tis for those who hate,
Who kill and maim, do not relate
The law within to loving all,
And gazing ‘pon dull gold, enthralled.

W.A Moorfoot: United Kingdom, aspiring writing of poetry, fiction and philosophy.

15th April 1989 Never Forget – sent in by a Forest SUPPORTER

I found this poem. Always brings a tear to my eye!Check the tickets in my wallet
Then swig a cup of tea
7.30 in the morning
One game from WembleyOut the door and on the street
Off to meet the boys
To sing the songs we love to sing
And fill the ground with noise

The coach pulls up and we all pile on
Belly full of butterflies
Then off to sheffield we all go
The FA cup our prize

9.00am and the songs have started
I talk about the game
To a young lad thats sat next to me
I didn’t catch his name

The journeys taking hours
And we cross the pennine hills
But my mind drifts off to hillsborough
As i dream of beardsleys skills

“My favourite players Aldo”
Says the boy sat next to me
His eyes full of excitement
And his words are filled with glee

“I’m meeting me mate when i get to the ground”
“He’s travelling up by train”
“I’ll see you back here on the coach”
“When we’ve beaten forest again”

The coach pulled up and off he went
Going to meet his friend
I check my ticket once again

Its getting near to kick off
And i’m getting close to the ground
But nobody seems to be moving
I’m stuck tight in this crowd

I’m just starting to panic
And a bizzie opens the gate
A red tide moves down the tunnel
Moving closer to thier fate

I remember clearly that tunnel 
And the light shone at the end
And as i think back to that fatefull day
I still cant comprehend

That the coppers called us vandals
And drunken loutish liars
And the media fed us spite and hate
When compassion was required

But back to that day and the things i saw
Unfold before my eyes
The sight of grown men screaming
And the air was full of cries

But i was one of the lucky ones
Because i came home alive
I watched heroes in scarves on the pitch
Trying helplessly to revive-
Their friends their family and strangers
Who’d all come to watch a game
But their lives were crushed that fatefull day
On a terrace called Leppings Lane

The memories still haunt me
Every time i go to sleep
But theres one memory that gets me 
And always makes me weep

Back on the coach with my head on the glass
I remember my heart it skipped a beat
When i turned to the young lad next to me
And noticed his empty seat

There were 96 empty seats that day
96 friends that we lost
And while Kelvin counted the pennies
The families counted the loss

So next time you’re at Anfield
Visit the eternal flame
Feel the stone cold marble
And touch a persons name

And while you say a silent prayer
And your dreams are tossed and blown
Remember those 96 empty seats 
That must never walk alone

Justice for the 96

You’ll never walk alone

 15th April 1989 Never Forget
Remember those 96 empty seats 

Soliloquy – Promote Yourself


I enter from Stage Left
onto my stage,
not his stage,
but, his stage;
and cross down center
to enter the spot of light
to deliver his words,
not my words,
but, my words,
to my audience,
not his audience,
but, his audience.

And I speak every syllable,
every word,
every sentence,
every paragraph
of his thoughts,
not my thoughts,
but, my thoughts
with the passion and force
that were his,
not mine,
but, mine.

And in that bath of light,
his light,
not my light,
but, my light,
I luxuriate and bask
as he did
on his stage
with his audience
in the applause
that was his applause,
not my applause,
but, my applause.

And I think
his thought,
not my thought,
but, my thought:
The play’s the thing.

Copyright © by Lawrence S. Marsden, 3 April, 2014

A Sonnet for T – Promote Yourself

To my chaste darling who knows love beyond
the boundaries of my pomegranate heart,
the depths of dim gravity’s fish-less pond,
and the sphere of an ever-growing dart,
in this living carcass you see debris,
left by resentful ancestors at noon,
you walk in the wake whilst others, nice, flea,
and start the prayers to the One whose moon
is the signal that remembrance follows
sleep of the unconscious, dwelling in brains
of lovers bodies moved by day’s swallows,
and nature’s pretty painted trees as veins;
you swim to prevent love’s death, in this me,
you know this temporary, pure souls see –
– HM (c)

Hartley Morgan

My name is Hartley Morgan and I am just a creative soul

who hopes my art work and writing connects with people.

God’s Economy – Promote Yourself

food bank
Scandalous bankers –
Spend thousands on expenses,
Cash in on downturn
Morally bankrupt –
Gambling with people’s lives,
Short term gains that cost
The man on the street
Who can’t feed his family –
Relies on food banks
Shamed economy –
Which humbles working people,
While the rich walk by
God’s economy
Invests in life, flows with love –
Never running out
Never in the red –
Our debts paid by Jesus’ blood,
Freely shed for all
by @faithunlocked
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