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BACK TO THE BEGINNING

coff

Soldiers bore the weight of the flag-draped coffin,
A sight seen too often;
Parents’ were grieving,
For a child not breathing,
As the sun slipped beneath the darkening sky,
And all that remained was, “Why?”

Troops surrounded by enemy fire,
As the fateful moments became more dire,
A weapon-wielding patriot discharged a round,
Only to merge with the dusty ground.

Proud to ride the wings of the brave,
Deplaning among an eager conclave,
Physically prepared with mental certitude,
The new fighter marched on with numbing fortitude.

A new recruit raises their hand to be heard,
Listening to the call to battle; still a child, a fledgling bird,
Watching the Union Jack or Star Spangled Banner,
Waving with the wind ‘til the flag fades to amber.

(In Honour of Remembrance/Veterans’ Day)

Wendy Shreve

Bonfire Night

firefirexxx

As we celebrate bonfire night
Let us remember when it all began
Guy Fawkes tried to blow up Parliament
The government of the day was not a fan

His attempt to destroy failed
For his treachery he was hung
Today we all celebrate bonfire night
With everyone having lots of fun

With fireworks and sparklers
Jumping jacks, bangers and mushy peas
The fire burning lightening up the sky
See the rockets flying over the trees

The smell of bonfire toffee
Fireworks displaying so bright
The fire well alight now
Lightning up the darkest night

Remember to be careful
For fireworks can burn and maim
Let your parents light them all
Keeping all away from hurt and pain

Malcolm G Bradshaw

STOLEN HANDS – Promote Yourself

handsxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sunday Evening…
All ready I’ve
Suffered enough
Of this
Incurable
Hopeless rage.
I sit
To try and write it out
My feelings flowing
From blood
To words
On this unforgiving page.

See I once
Held hands
That i
Stole
While i plotted lives
With a cold hearted
Grace.
Now my hands
Lie
Only to my
Own skin
The punishment
I deserve
There is no longer
Solace in a
Beautiful face.

I betrayed
My own
Beating innocence
It is now
A cold dead tomb
In which i am burdened
By its weight
With dark skies
And overdue consequences
Time has finally caught on
The price of lies
I’ve discovered
Is beauty
Returning
As hate.

Gabriel Denver

ANOTHER LITTLE DITTY

writingxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
ANOTHER LITTLE DITTY
I’M TOLD IT SHOULD BE TRUE
TO STOP WOULD BE A PITY
THE THOUGHTS THEY MUST BE NEW

I’LL NEED A LITTLE TIME
TO FIND THE WORDS TO FIT
FIRST OF COURSE THERE IS THE RHYME
AND NEXT A LITTLE WIT

BUT MORE I THINK IS NEEDED HERE
THAN JUST A PHRASE OR TWO
A LITTLE FUN, A LITTLE CHEER
TODAY THAT’S ALL TOO FEW

SO THAT’S THE WAY I’LL WRITE THIS ONE
I’LL DO THE BEST I CAN
WHEN ALL IS SAID AND ALL IS DONE
THAT ALWAYS IS THE PLAN

WELL THEN I GAVE IT MY BEST SHOT
YOU CANNOT SAY I LIED
EVEN THOUGH I NEVER FOUGHT
AT LEAST THEY’LL SAY I TRIED.

NOW ANOTHER DITTY

NOW ANOTHER DITTY
IS FLOWING FROM MY PEN
I GUESS I’M JUST TOO WITTY
WITH THIS MY SECRET YEN

TO MAKE THE WORDS ALL RHYME
WITH SUCH A SILLY BEAT
THE LONGING MUST BE STRONG THIS TIME
JUST WATCH ME STAMP MY FEET

I KNOW NOT IF I COME OR GO
BUT I’LL NOT LOSE MY SMILE
LIFE’S TOO FUN FOR ANY WOE
AND I’LL NOT SUFFER VILE

SO INSTEAD I ACT THE FOOL
AND MAKE THE OTHERS LAUGH
HUMOUR USED IS JUST A TOOL
WITH WHICH TO MAKE A GAFF

AND NOW THE STORY’S TOLD TO YOU
I REALLY SHOULD BE GONE
I’LL LEAVE BEHIND THIS SILLY ZOO
BUT PLEASE I BEG DON’T YAWN.

SILLY DITTY

THE TIME HAS COME TO STOP THIS DITTY
THE WRITING IS SO SILLY
BUT YET AGAIN I’LL SHOW I’M WITTY
AND PEN ANOTHER DILLY

THEN EVERYONE WOULD KNOW
THE GENIUS THAT I AM
NOT FOR ME THE CASE OF WOE
I MEAN TO LEAVE THIS JAM

I’D WING ALOFT TO PLACES FAR
FOR FAMOUS I WOULD BE
NEVER FEAR I’D BE A STAR
THEN ALL THE WORLD WOULD SEE

BUT HERE PERHAPS I THINK I’LL STAY
A SILLY SCRIBE AT HEART
THE WORLD OF WEALTH I’LL KEEP AT BAY
AND FEAR A REAL GOOD START

NOT THE LAST THIS DITTY IS
I’M SURE I’LL POSE ANOTHER
SURE TO HOPE MY MIND WON’T FIZZ
I’LL STILL BE HERE FOR TOTHER.

 

SILLY LITTLE DITTY

THIS SILLY LITTLE DITTY
IS JUST TO MAKE A POINT
WORDS TO PROVE I’M WITTY
I REALLY MUST ANOINT

A PERSON AS MY SPEAKER
I’M SUCH A HUMBLE SOUL
THE FULLNESS OF MY BEAKER
I THINK I’VE HIT MY GOAL

IF THINGS WERE ANY BETTER
I COULDN’T STAND MYSELF
PERHAPS I NEED A FETTER
TO KEEP ME ON A SHELF

SO I END THIS LITTLE RAMBLE
THROUGH PHRASES SO DIVINE
NEVER ONE TO GAMBLE
GOODBYE JUST SUITS ME FINE.

WITTY DITTY

THIS DITTY WRITING REALLY
IS JUST TO PASS THE TIME
I KNOW IT IS QUITE SILLY
THAT EVERYTHING MUST RHYME

THAT’S THE WAY I AM I GUESS
I’VE HEARD IT SAID OF ME
I HAVE MY QUIRKS I MUST CONFESS
BUT THEY’RE WHAT MAKE ME, ME

I’VE BEEN TOLD THAT I AM DRIVEN
I HOPE IT ISN’T SO
I’M JUST A PERSON, THAT’S A GIVEN
WHO KNOWS IT’S TIME TO GO.

 

YET ANOTHER DITTY

YET ANOTHER DITTY
I CANNOT STOP IT SEEMS
TOO SOON I’LL LOSE MY WITTY
AND MUST RESORT TO TEAMS

PEOPLE ALL AROUND ME SURE
THAT I WILL FALL AT LAST
BUT TO MYSELF I’LL STILL BE PURE
AND GIVE A LITTLE BLAST

I’LL GET MY MOTORS GOING STRONG
AND THEN I’LL BE MORE BRIGHT
WHAT CAN I SAY I MAY BE WRONG
BUT WAIT I MAY BE RIGHT

THAT’S ENOUGH TODAY I THINK
IT REALLY WAS QUITE FUN
I DO NOT WISH TO SEEM A FINK
BUT NOW THIS DITTY’S DONE.

Pamela Read

WHITE RABBIT OR WHAT DO YOU SAY THE FIRST DAY OF EACH MONTH TO BRING YOU LUCK?

Super rabbit rabbit rabbit or white rabbit

What do you say first day of each month

To bring you luck

 
Fluffy white bunny rabbit.jpg

“Rabbit rabbit rabbit” is one variant of a common British superstition which states that a person should say or repeat the word “rabbit” or “rabbits”, or say the phrase “white rabbits”, or some combination of these elements, out loud upon waking on the first day of the month, because doing so will ensure good luck for the duration of that month. Today, it is a frequent tradition in many English-speaking countries.

“My two daughters are in the habit of saying ‘Rabbits!’ on the first day of each month. The word must be spoken aloud, and be the first word said in the month. It brings luck for that month. Other children, I find, use the same formula.”The exact origin of the superstition is unknown, though it was recorded in Notes and Queries as being said by children in 1909:

In response to this note another contributor said that his daughter believed that the outcome would be a present, and that the word must be spoken up the chimney to be most effective; another pointed out that the word rabbit was often used in expletives, and suggested that the superstition may be a survival of the ancient belief in swearing as a means of avoiding evil.

It appeared in a work of fiction in 1922:

“Why,” the man in the brown hat laughed at him, “I thought everybody knew ‘Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit.’ If you say ‘Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit’—three times, just like that—first thing in the morning on the first of the month, even before you say your prayers, you’ll get a present before the end of the month.”

Today it has spread to many English-speaking countries and in the United States the tradition is common in New England, in particular in Massachusetts andVermont,[citation needed] although, like all folklore, determining its exact area of distribution is difficult. The superstition may be related to the broader belief in the rabbit or hare being a “lucky” animal, as exhibited in the practice of carrying a rabbit’s foot for luck.[citation needed]

During the mid-1990’s, U.S. children’s cable channel Nickelodeon helped popularize the superstition in the United States as part of its “Nick Days”, where during commercial breaks it would show an ad about the significance of the current date, whether it be an actual holiday, a largely-uncelebrated unofficial holiday, or a made-up day if nothing else is going on that specific day. (The latter would be identified as a “Nickelodeon holiday”.) Nickelodeon would promote the last day of each month as “Rabbit Rabbit Day” and to remind kids to say it the next day, unless the last day of that specific month was an actual holiday, such as Halloween and New Year’s Eve.This practice stopped by the late 1990’s.

Rabbits have not always been thought of as lucky, however. In the 19th century, for example, fishermen would not say the word while at sea, and in South Devon to see a white rabbit in one’s village when a person was very ill was regarded as a sure sign that the person would die.

As with most folklore, which is traditionally spread by word of mouth, there are numerous variants of the superstition, in some cases specific to a certain time period or region.

  • “When I was a very little boy I was advised to always murmur ‘White rabbits’ on the first of every month if I wanted to be lucky. From sheer force of unreasoning habit I do it still—when I think of it. I know it to be preposterously ludicrous, but that does not deter me.” – Sir Herbert Russell, 1925.
  • “Even Mr. Roosevelt, the President of the United States, has confessed to a friend that he says ‘Rabbits’ on the first of every month—and, what is more, he would not think of omitting the utterance on any account.” – Newspaper article, 1935.
  • “On the first day of the month say ‘Rabbit! rabbit! rabbit!’ and the first thing you know you will get a present from someone you like very much.” Collected by the researcher Frank C. Brown in North Carolina in the years between 1913 and 1943.
  • “If you say ‘Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit’ the first thing when you wake up in the morning on the first of each month you will have good luck all month.” Collected by Wayland D. Hand in Pennsylvania before 1964.
  • “Say ‘Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit’ at the first of the month for good luck and money.” Collected by Ernest W. Baughman in New Mexico before 1964.
  • “…it must be ‘White Rabbit’ … but you must also say ‘Brown Rabbit’ at night and walk downstairs backwards.” Reported in a small survey that took place in Exeter, Devon in 1972.
  • “Ever since I was 4 years old, I have said ‘White Rabbits’ at the very moment of waking on every single first day of every single month that has passed.” Simon Winchester, 2006.
  • “…the more common version ‘rabbit, rabbit, white rabbit’ should be said upon waking on the first day of each new month to bring good luck.”
  • Superstitions what are yours
  • send them to us at poetreecreations@yahoo.com

The News

sunlightxxxxxxxxxxxx

The rains came today
Amidst news of government shutdowns.
In a mid-town café
All the faces held practiced frowns,
Voices lingered,
High pitched with banters pledged
“Well I figured,”
Shouted a nearby man on the edge.

When the skies lit up
There wasn’t any discussion of reprieve.
I could reach for my cup
Of java while around the room a sieve,
A genuine distaste
Reactive politics by those thought elite.
Withheld ideals erased
While outside quiet rains began to isolate

See, there is beauty
When in and around me economics falter
Somehow I feel pity
A kind soul is caught in rains without shelter
In the morning
A burst of sunlight will endure the horizon
And while waking
Our society is left to once again find reason

Yet in the midst of cloudy judgment and scattered reigns
Might our heart and soul appreciate just the simple rains

Thom Amundsen
thinkingoutloudagain.wordpress.com

Hands – villanelle – Promote Yourself

woman-walking-hand-in-hand-in-studio-silhouette-isolat

 

Holding hands with someone special
Such electricity flowing between both
Creating memories that last much longer.

 

We hold hands with many as we grow
There comes a time when we have more
Holding hands with someone special.

 

Thoughts return to bring us even closer
Remember a touch or a smell that excites
Creating memories that last much longer.

 

Feelings grow and we just seem to know
When fingers lace together without thought
Holding hands with someone special.

 

For some it is might last only a day

Occasionally we find someone special
Creating memories that last much longer.

 

A lifetime can seem to be summed up
Looking back at all those moments shared
Holding hands with someone special
Creating memories that last much longer.

 

by Gray Poet

Charles Townsend

How Do We Read

writingxxxxxxx

When you look upon the written word
How do you read what thought was sent
It isn’t the type or print that can influence
It is our own emotion, times we spent.

 

For black and white, possibly color added
The pages cannot give us the intent of heart
So why do we feel the words deep within
Can we know the end, reading from the start.

 

As we read the words that another has shared
We feel with the thoughts that we put to word
Not like a recording where we feel their emotion
The words read give us any emotion that is stirred.

 

Each has a reason why we read someone’s word
And I’m thankful for those that return to read mine
If I could put my emotion clearly into each word I write
You’d understand the reason for each letter of a line.

Charles Townsend

“Autumn” – Promote Yourself

autumn landscape
Autumn is like an old book:
Marred spines turn mean yellow,
staples rust red-orange.

Every stained page is stressed
by a splat of color. Rough-red,
like an old tavern,

we become hungry birds
and prepare for fall.
Shape and shadow are candied citron

as lanterns turn bitter yellow. Autumn
is a red fox, a goblet filled with dark wine,
a hot chilli pepper with smoky eyes.

Pressed leaves take in the colors
of seafood paella and saffron; these leaves
are like death, climaxing with a smile.

Autumn: Her dress is a net of mussels;
dark shelled, it covers up
summer’s weather-beaten body.

So pull out your boots
and stand on an aged, wood floor
like an evergreen.

Dear Gillian and Thomas Sims,

I was wondering if you would like to add the following short poem to your collection?

It was first published, Online (about.com), a few years ago.

Thank you,

Mary Hamrick
Tallahassee, Florida

A Western Australian Piano Graveyard

sheeppppppppppppp

The famer’s pressing oil, olives spread
on mashing mats. We talk of chooks
and foxes, irrigation and bush fires.

I’m here to see ruins in meadows,
on outcrops, brought from sheds
and yards, lashed to utes and trucks.

“All good things return to earth.”
She tells how a choral hum is raised
by strong wind, how possums nest in felt

and termites engineer collapse; how once
after rain, a derelict played like a pianola
as green tree frogs leapt in its heart.

I take her hand-drawn map, find
a Gold Rush era upright, laminate
blistered, keys jammed and gapped.

Despite its barroom look
a brass plaque by the keyboard
names an outback orphanage.

A Foley artist’s dream, felt-less hammers
conjure horror from bass notes, or tap
a level crossing where the hero speeds

to make the gate. Each instrument
decays uniquely; a baby grand is legless,
veneer turned peeled like cherry bark.

Under cracked coffin-gloss
a clutch of white eggs.

by Roy Marshall

Sea Fever – Your Favourite Poem

shipxxxxxxxx

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking,

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

BY JOHN MASEFIELD

A PLACE WHERE LOVE BEGINS – Promote Yourself

reachingxxxxxx

Not in the past where your tempests raged;
Or in the future, when unknown forces could shatter dreams;
Not in your soul, skewered by hatred and resentment;
Only in the present, as an open heart awaits.

Not by running from what is given;
Or hiding in bitterness and acrid thoughts;
Not in your head, where too many goals are left unfulfilled;
Only in hope, not beyond your reach.

Not in innocence lost or violence found;
Or misguided battles, conflicts unresolved;
Not in your body, ravaged with time and pain;
Only in forgiveness of yourself.

Not in others’ perceptions of who you are;
Or finding reasons to run from promise;
Not in your losses, though hard to bear;
Only in taking her hand; reaching for the sun.

Wendy Shreve

Marry me that way – Promote Yourself

recognition

Come with me to my parents
Sit on an African stool
And stretch out your legs
Drink from a calabash
And refresh your soul
Marry me that way

Let the whole family see you
Let them ask you who you are
Tell them your intentions for me
Marry me that way

Set the drinks before my parents
Let them ask you why you are here
Let me watch your heart beat fast
Because you want to impress
Marry me that way

Watch as my family accepts your drinks
And welcome you to the family
Watch as they start calling you;
In-law, Son, uncle, brother and friend
Marry me that way

 By Sheila Chanase

I still miss you – promote Yourself

 

trexxx

 

 

 

 

 

 

There are days,
When I miss you
With a sudden intensity
Which surprises me.

It aches, in a way I didn’t deem possible,
In a heart, I didn’t know I possessed.
And I lie in this room feigning sleep.
Pining away, struggling with my existence.
While I choke from these strange arms enveloping me.

Should I strive, in vain, for you, most divine?
Or should I instead, be miserably content with what’s mine?

– Sreshtha Sen
sreshthasen.wordpress.com

Wrong – Promote Yourself

 

paintxxxxxxxxxx

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Everything in this world is not color correspondent.
Like people.
Pink does not always mean female,
Blue does not always mean male.
Rainbows are not enslaved to queer folk.
This trinary only applies to things that are not complex enough for spectrums or intersectionalities.
Contrary to popular belief, gender is not pink or blue or vice versa.
Gender is a spectrum, mixed with complimentary colors.
Not a grey scale from light femininity to darkened masculinity.
New colors are made everyday by mixing, and extracting personal characteristics.
THE ARTIST IS THE ONLY ONE THAT CAN NAME THEIR COLOR.
Although too many people think they’ve discovered all of the colors, just because they’ve looked in their medicine cabinets.
Just because they’ve seen the outside world, they think they know the colors.

If I ever decided to have off-spring, their nursery will be painted in all custom colors:
To my queer child
Darling, do not allow your mind to dictate you.
Inside influences will tell you that you aren’t allow to exist.
Do not listen to them like I almost did.
Ignore the colors around you.
Instead of a gun, take a pen to your hand, and let your heart pour bullets to the page.
Write the synopia red-morbid things, write about the black olive world around you, write what goes through your minds.
Never conform to the point of dysphoria.
It only results in displaced self-loathing.
I feel that it’s only a matter of time before your Carolina-blue tears waterfall over your pillow.
Your rapids will sweep you away into a world of shades you’ve never seen before.
Don’t stop here, you will find your self stuck cycling somewhere that makes you feel like a stranger.
But just remember to find the colors that make you feel good.

______
Also, I have more poems at bucketsaurusrex.wordpress.com

ALL FACETS – Promote Yourself

hugsxxxxxxxxxxxx

I’m trying to attach
Meaning to you like a door with no latch
Or me without you on my mind, how can I explain that

                                                                           I’ll

always love you no
matter your issues
I’ll hug & kiss you
comfort with soft tissues

What

Other words can I say or you to me
When you’re the epidemy
of where love should be
Cause there’s never any riddle to be solved
I know where my heart truly belongs

I

Smile out loud
How can that be…well you’ve shown me how
With all facets of your beauty that I want now
I write,you read as it all comes out
My pen turns us singular into a noun

One

picture & thought with no sound
With many years of internal feelings written down
just thinking about you on my sofa
typing away wishing that you were closer
written from my feelings for you in my mental folder
as i cater to your emotions till the night is over

Lino Robles

ART OF HUMAN NATURE – Promote Yourself

shadowglowxxxxxxx

Smooth surface;
Water-chiseled
Stone with curves of
Henry Moore,
In a stream.
 
Girl stricken,
Taking her legs
But not her heart;
Andrew Wyeth,
In the field.
 
Black & white figures;
Modern day
Rockwell;
Banksy.
On concrete canvases.

Chiseled names
In blackness;
Sunlight &shade
Reveal lives past;
Maya Lin,
On the grass.

Women of texture;
Ordinary scenes,
Superlative color;
Romare Bearden,
By a tree.
 
Mother, child; boat;
Strokes of light & shadow;
Mary Cassatt,
On the water.

Murals of
Bracing colors;
Struggles for dignity;
Diego Rivera
Beyond the breadth.

Palette stream
In cataclysmic ash;
Framing“Scream;”
Edvard Munch,
In the sky.

 Wendy Shreve

The Craft – Promote Yourself

 

inkxxxxxxxx

the poet’s craft-
to capture essence of a thing,
and cram it into sparing words.
even truer so, is the poet’s fate…
to burn with such intense, inescapable feeling,
that to put pen to paper is his only option.

baring this to all the world is the art.

-Nuella Onyilofor
nuellaswords.wordpress.com

 

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