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“Valentine’s Day Coils”:

 

She Is Perfect..

spark

Her alluring sculpture of a woman

Her dark hair like a charming legend

Her feminine scent from heaven

Her beady eyes outshining diamond

Her dulcet voice like breeze tones

Her sweet lips as coconut flan

Her sharp wit penetrating stones

Her clear skin wearing no tan

Invaded my gamut of emotions

Inhabited my heart, soul, and mind

Dived into my deepest oceans

And cured my eyes that were blind

© Chaouki M’kaddem

December 25th, 2014

Download my new eBook- Manners Bear And Friends for your kids/Grandkids – Click the link below

DCIM100MEDIA

http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/reader/B00P6NNR8I/ref=sib_dp_kd#reader-link

CHILDREN AT CHRISTMAS

 

xmas So as we celebrate Christmas,

Let us think of all those in need,

We pray to you Father,

That all of them will feed,

For it is nice to celebrate Christmas,

When sound in body and mind,

When you have had your Christmas meal,

On turkey and pudding you’ve dined.

 

Think of all the children,

Who celebrate alone?

Who have no families?

No where to call there home,

There is nothing to celebrate,

For those little girls and boys,

No reindeer or Father Christmas,

No stockings to fill with toys.

 

So remember when we celebrate Christmas,

In a stable far away,

Was born a little baby,

And in a manger lay,

The shepherds and the three wise men,

Who travelled from a far?

They looked up into the sky,

And followed a bright new star.

 

They knelt down by Jesus,

To worship the new born King,

With Gold, Frankincense and Mere,

The three wise men did bring,

So send your thoughts out to the children,

For it should be a special day,

Let us thank the lord for what we have,

And to him we should say.

 

Father take all the children,

Surround them with your love,

Send your light to protect them,

From your glorious world above.

This world is full of profit,

Men that are full of greed,

What about the children,

Who die, if they don’t feed?

It would be nice,

If this time next year we see,

That all the children of the world are fed,

And that everyone was free.

 

Malcolm G Bradshaw  

One For The Road

drink

This was a common saying back in the day. People would be trying to leave a party, but no, “come on, one more for the road.” People would stay, there weren’t the drinking and driving laws there are today, people were driving half tanked all the time!

There is a drunk driving commercial circulating, I didn’t watch it, but I’ve enclosed the link. I don’t need to watch it, I don’t want to watch it.

http://www.thisblewmymind.com/the-most-powerful-drunk-driving-ad-ever/#CF8rkoMcetRXFojX.01

A very close family friend was killed by a drunk driver who then fled the scene. He didn’t even care enough about a son, a father and grandfather to even stop to check on him. This is the most cowardly and disgusting act, I truly want that man to die. I’m not Christian, I want him to die in the most painful of ways.

This Christmas season, please ignore those that say “one for the road.” Please remember that everyone is a son or daughter. Everyone has someone who will want to hunt you down and hurt you in the most painful of ways.

Everyone. Don’t let it be me, please, I can’t do that again

“A SOLDIER’S CHRISTMAS POEM” – Promote Yourself

images6666666666666666666

The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.
Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight.
The sparkling lights in the tree I believe,
Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.
My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep.
In perfect contentment, or so it would seem,
So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.

The sound wasn’t loud, and it wasn’t too near,
But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear.
Perhaps just a cough, I didn’t quite know, Then the
sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.
My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
And I crept to the door just to see who was near.
Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.

A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,
Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.
“What are you doing?” I asked without fear,
“Come in this moment, it’s freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!”

For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,
Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts..
To the window that danced with a warm fire’s light
Then he sighed and he said “Its really all right,
I’m out here by choice. I’m here every night.” “It’s my duty to
stand at the front of the line,

That separates you from the darkest of times.
No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I’m proud to stand here like my fathers before me.
My Gramps died at ‘Pearl on a day in December,”
Then he sighed, “That’s a Christmas ‘Gram always remembers.”
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of ‘Nam’,
And now it is my turn and so, here I am.
I’ve not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he’s sure got her smile.

Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The red, white, and blue… an American flag.
I can live through the cold and the being alone,
Away from my family, my house and my home.
I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat.
I can carry the weight of killing another,
Or lay down my life with my sister and brother..
Who stand at the front against any and all,
To ensure for all time that this flag will not fall.”

“So go back inside,” he said, “harbor no fright,
Your family is waiting and I’ll be all right.”
“But isn’t there something I can do, at the least,
“Give you money,” I asked, “or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you’ve done,
For being away from your wife and your son.”
Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
“Just tell us you love us, and never forget.
To fight for our rights back at home while we’re gone,
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.
For when we come home, either standing or dead,
To know you remember we fought and we bled.
Is payment enough, and with that we will trust,
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us.”

LCDR Jeff Giles, SC, USN
30th Naval Construction Regiment
OIC, Logistics Cell One
Al Taqqadum, Iraq

Author: LCDR Jeff Giles, SC, USN, 20th Naval Construction Regiment

When peace came down at Christmas. -YOUR FAVOURITE POEM

Christmas Truce

Were they ready

                   for the day when it came?
To pay the price –
                          the ultimate sacrifice.
 In a land they didn’t call home.
“It’ll be over by Christmas,”
                             their loved ones believed,
but all of them knew:
                    their hopes were deceived.
Each one waiting.
                           Anticipating.
Their  Cherubim – a different kind.

Were they ready,

                   for the day when it came?
Enveloped in calm,
                     they laid down their arms,
To listen,
          and watch peace unfurl.
Did they dare go over the top?
          To greet and frat and swap,
            offering gifts to those they should kill.
Each one waiting.
            Anticipating.
A haven in the midst of hell.

Were they ready,
                   for the day when it came?
A quietness fell,
                    no sound of a shell.
Silence covered the land.
Then singing was heard
                               on the night of goodwill.
Exchanges made,
                       the night so still
When peace came down at Christmas.
Each one waiting.
            Anticipating.
Fritz waved a greeting – or was it farewell?

© Karen Ette 

YOUR FAVOURITE POEM WHAT’S YOUR’S

IN REMEMBRANCE – Promote Yourself

The GHOST OF WORLD WAR ONE By Thomas Sims

Battle Cry

bitter

The battle raged all around

Bullets and shrapnel lay strewn on the ground

The sky was grey

I hear solders cry

I feel their pain as a hand rose high

Then a rocket lands close by

Another crater appears before my eyes

For more soldiers to be devoured

And buried them alive

Will these wars ever end

Can we learn from battles won or lost

Will we keep paying the cost

Or will we still hear the battle cry

Can someone please tell me why?

Thomas Sims

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Bonfire Night By Malcolm Bradshaw

Poetree Creations would like to Thank everyone who has submitted Halloween poetry

thank all

Short Story for Halloween – The Scariest Halloween Ever – Promote Yourself

 sweets
 

The town had made a mistake. A HUGE mistake! When it was brought up a few months ago at the town meeting the whole committee agreed unanimously. How could they have been so wrong? How could it have went this far?

The streets were a war zone. The sidewalks were lined with debris and the destruction just continued. No one seemed to know what to do. No one had any idea how to stop it or even slow it down. Should they call the National Guard? It had been suggested but that seemed like an extreme reaction. Maybe it was time for an extreme reaction?

The police officers just stood back and watched. This was something they were not prepared for and no one had ever trained them on how to handle. The ideas were all there but no one wanted to act on them so on the destruction went. Riot gear, tear gas, beanbag guns and tazers were all at there disposal yet not one of these items was put to use.

Suddenly a young man emerged from the chaos and approached the line of officers.

“I have a way to stop this. I need to speak with the mayor.”

The officers looked at one another each waiting for the other to make a decision.

“Just tell me where to find him. I’m not out to hurt anyone. I want all this to stop as much as you do but that won’t happen until I get to speak with someone who has a little authority.”

Finally one of the officers spoke up. “I’ll take him.”

“You sure it’s a good idea.” Another asked.

“No but it’s the first time anyone has offered any idea and I’m not losing the chance to stop this.”

The officer led the young man into the court house. Mayor Thomas and his staff were inside discussing their options when the two entered.

“This man says he has a way to stop this sir.”

“Well by all means let’s hear it. No one here has come up with anything yet.” as Mayor Thomas spoke you could hear the fear and frustration in his voice.

“Mr. Mayor. We need to have …..” the young man continued for only a minute with his plan.

It was so simple yet brilliant. The Mayor stood up from his seat yelling “Well you heard him. Let’s get on this ASAP and turn this thing around. I want that truck here yesterday.”

He looked back at the young man. “Son, if this works you got a hero’s celebration coming to you and a key to the city.”

“Only if the key is made of chocolate sir.” The young man said grinning.

It wasn’t long before a large dump truck was barreling through the streets headed toward the center of town. The driver was warned the trip might be hazardous and he needed to be on watch for anything. Just get to the courthouse as quick as you can without hurting anyone he was told. Why he was here and hauling this cargo he might not understand, but he was determined to do his job especially with the bonus this one was going to get him.

The closer he came to his destination the more uncomfortable he felt. It was unbelievable, unimaginable and just downright shocking. Streetlights were torn down, mailboxes had been tipped over and destroyed and the windows in nearly every car, home, and business were busted. “What had happened here, what was still happening here and what am I doing here?” he couldn’t help but think to himself.

He pulled onto Main Street and couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Right in front of him the chaos was happening and the culprits could be seen. Was it even possible and if so why? Why would they all go crazy at the same time and start tearing apart a town? Suddenly the cargo made sense and he knew he needed to get it in place quickly.

He pulled around and backed up to the sidewalk as close as he could get without hitting or hurting anything. He didn’t feel safe getting out of the truck but he had no choice. It had to be done. As he was selecting the lever to dump his cargo he overheard a young man hollering above the noise.

“Everyone, it’s here. Come on and take what you want. It’s time to fill your bags and go home. Halloween is over.”

The cargo slid from the truck landing onto the sidewalk. Bags of candy bars, lollipops, bubble gum and gummy bears steadily flowed from the truck bed piling into a mountain then very quickly began to vanish. The kids all gathered around scooping up candy and laughing happily. It was over. It was finally over.

The next day Mayor Thomas honored the young man at a press conference. He spoke a bit about the mistakes made and the cleanup that was needed. He asked for the parents to have lenience on those involved. He apologized and vowed that during his tenure “Candy free” Halloween would never again be attempted, no matter how overweight the children became.

Short Story by The Notorious JED and originally posted at www.jedsplayhouse.com 

Halloween Poetry: the best Dark, Eerie, Haunting and Scary poems …

Some of the best poems of all time are dark, eerie, haunting, scary poemsthe perfect poems for Halloween! Here you will find the great medieval ballad about madness, “Tom O’Bedlam,” Alfred Noyes’s bleakly romantic ghost story “The Highwayman,” Ernest Dowson’s haunting “A Last Word,” Walter De La Mare’s enigmatic “The Listeners,” and a terrifying poem about the specter of hell terrorizing Christian children, Robert Frost’s magnificent “Directive.” I chose the first two poems to complement the ghoulish picture above. (In fact, I wrote the first poem specifically to go with the picture.) The poems that follow include some of the very best dark, haunting poems in the English language, by masters of horror and the supernatural like William Shakespeare, Edgar Allan Poe, John Keats and Edward Arlington Robinson.

Thin Kin
by Michael R. Burch

Skeleton!
Tell us what you lack …
the ability to love,
your flesh so slack?

Will we frighten you,
equally pale & unsound …
when we also haunt
the unhallowed ground?

The Skeleton’s Defense of Carnality
by Jack Foley

Truly I have lost weight, I have lost weight,
grown lean in love’s defense,
in love’s defense grown grave.
It was concupiscence that brought me to the state:
all bone and a bit of skin
to keep the bone within.
Flesh is no heavy burden for one possessed of little
and accustomed to its loss.
I lean to love, which leaves me lean, till lean turn into lack.
A wanton bone, I sing my song
and travel where the bone is blown
and extricate true love from lust
as any man of wisdom must.
Then wherefore should I rage
against this pilgrimage
from gravel unto gravel?
Circuitous I travel
from love to lack / and lack to lack,
from lean to lack
and back.

A Last Word
by Ernest Dowson

Let us go hence: the night is now at hand;
The day is overworn, the birds all flown;
And we have reaped the crops the gods have sown;
Despair and death; deep darkness o’er the land,
Broods like an owl; we cannot understand
Laughter or tears, for we have only known
Surpassing vanity: vain things alone
Have driven our perverse and aimless band.
Let us go hence, somewhither strange and cold,
To Hollow Lands where just men and unjust
Find end of labour, where’s rest for the old,
Freedom to all from love and fear and lust.
Twine our torn hands! O pray the earth enfold
Our life-sick hearts and turn them into dust.

Ulalume [an excerpt]
by Edgar Allan Poe

The skies they were ashen and sober;
The leaves they were crisped and sere—
The leaves they were withering and sere;
It was night in the lonesome October
Of my most immemorial year:
It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,
In the misty mid region of Weir—
It was down by the dank tarn of Auber,
In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir …

Ghost
by Michael R. Burch

White in the shadows
I see your face,
unbidden. Go, tell

Love it is commonplace;
tell Regret it is not so rare.

Our love is not here
though you smile,
full of sedulous grace.

Lost in darkness, I fear
the past is our resting place.

Luke Havergal
by Edward Arlington Robinson

Go to the western gate, Luke Havergal,
There where the vines cling crimson on the wall,
And in the twilight wait for what will come.
The leaves will whisper there of her, and some,
Like flying words, will strike you as they fall;
But go, and if you listen, she will call.
Go to the western gate, Luke Havergal—
Luke Havergal.

No, there is not a dawn in eastern skies
To rift the fiery night that’s in your eyes;
But there, where western glooms are gathering
The dark will end the dark, if anything:
God slays Himself with every leaf that flies,
And hell is more than half of paradise.
No, there is not a dawn in eastern skies—
In eastern skies.

Out of a grave I come to tell you this,
Out of a grave I come to quench the kiss
That flames upon your forehead with a glow
That blinds you to the way that you must go.
Yes, there is yet one way to where she is,
Bitter, but one that faith may never miss.
Out of a grave I come to tell you this—
To tell you this.

There is the western gate, Luke Havergal,
There are the crimson leaves upon the wall,
Go, for the winds are tearing them away,—
Nor think to riddle the dead words they say,
Nor any more to feel them as they fall;
But go, and if you trust her she will call.
There is the western gate, Luke Havergal—
Luke Havergal.

Sea Fevers
by Agnes Wathall

No ancient mariner I,
  Hawker of public crosses,
Snaring the passersby
  With my necklace of albatrosses.

I blink no glittering eye
  Between tufts of gray sea mosses
Nor in the high road ply
  My trade of guilts and glosses.

But a dark and inward sky
   Tracks the flotsam of my losses.
No more becalmed to lie,
  The skeleton ship tosses.

The Listeners
by Walter De La Mare

‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses
Of the forest’s ferny floor:
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveller’s head
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
‘Is there anybody there?’ he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
By the lonely Traveller’s call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
‘Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even
Louder, and lifted his head:—
‘Tell them I came, and no one answered,
That I kept my word,’ he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone.

Macbeth, Act IV, Scene I
by William Shakespeare

Three witches, casting a spell …

Round about the cauldron go;
In the poison’d entrails throw.
Toad, that under cold stone
Days and nights hast thirty one
Swelter’d venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first i’ the charmed pot.

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the cauldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder’s fork, and blind-worm’s sting,
Lizard’s leg, and howlet’s wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

YOUR FAVOURITE POEM  WHAT’S YOUR’S

WHY NOT SEND YOUR POETRY IN AND CELEBRATE  HALLOWEEN

Scary Mary and Johnny By MALCOLM Bradshaw

Mr. Macklin’s Jack O’Lantern -YOUR FAVOURITE POEM

FIREEEEEEEEEEE
Mr. Macklin takes his knife 
And carves the yellow pumpkin face: 
Three holes bring eyes and nose to life, 
The mouth has thirteen teeth in place. 
Then Mr. Macklin just for fun 
Transfers the corn-cob pipe from his 
Wry mouth to Jack’s, and everyone 
Dies laughing! O what fun it is 
Till Mr. Macklin draws the shade 
And lights the candle in Jack’s skull. 
Then all the inside dark is made 
As spooky and as horrorful 
As Halloween, and creepy crawl 
The shadows on the tool-house floor, 
With Jack’s face dancing on the wall. 
O Mr. Macklin! where’s the door?

David McCord

YOUR FAVOURITE POEM SENT IN BY YOU WHAT'S YOUR'S

“Caught in a Summer Downpour” – Promote Yourself

Your lovely little post entitled ‘Step Onto Our Stage – Let Your Poem Dance With Others’ was inspiration tonight. Here’s one of mine – just a short one, entitled “Caught in a Summer Downpour”, which makes me smile in remembering the moment it captures:

Mothers Special Day

mummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

 

Mothers Day will be upon us soon

How are we going to celebrate this event?

Shall we buy her chocolates and flowers?

Or buy her an expensive bottle of scent

 

We all take mothers for granted

Expecting she will always be there

She is always a good listener

And all your problems she will share

 

She sometimes becomes a nurse and a doctor

When you have hurt yourself at play

She will sit you upon her lap

Until the pain goes away

 

She will do these things all of your life

In sickness and in health

She will never give up on you

For a mother never thinks of her self 

 

A champion to all of the family

At times she will have her say

For a mother is the kingpin of the family

So show your appreciation on this her special day

 

Malcolm Bradshaw

Mothers Day will be upon us soon

How are we going to celebrate this event?

Why not dedicate a poem to your Mother 

This Sunday

SEND YOUR DEDICATIONS OR POEMS

TO

poetreecreations@yahoo.com

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