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Top 3 flowers to say “I love you”

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One of the most meaningful and classic ways of showing your love for someone is giving   flowers, but with all the options out there, it can be hard to choose the bloom that will mean the most to your loved one. However, in a sea of pink and red flowers, there are a few that will get across the best message.
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Roses. The number one choice for someone you love is roses. This has always been the case, and there’s a reason for it. Red roses in particular represent love and passion, making them a classic and fitting choice for this holiday. 
stargazer-lily-wedding-flowers
Lilies. Hopkins Patch reports that sending lilies to someone you love is a perfect way to show someone that you admire them and value them as a friend. However, stargazer lilies are a good bloom to choose along with roses if you really want to impress your loved one
Red-Tulips-5

Tulips. According to Patch, pink tulips are a good flower choice for relationships when that aren’t quite at the passionate love stage yet. But Life123.com reports that a red tulip is a “declaration of love” and white ones signify “beautiful eyes.” Given these meanings, giving tulips for a loved one is never a bad idea, either. 

My Princess

My princess!
My heart aches at your face
pale,
My heart strings- fragile, moulds bale.
                Droops,
lively blossom-mottled cheek,
                Drips, my sorrow – your Bridal
Veil in bleak.

My princess!
Upon the mirror of my love
sheen,
Twinkles, your glorious beauty preen.
                  Ah!
Entombed into me, your soul,
                  Now, bade me disfigured –
deserted doll.

My princess!
My arms- tender, longs for
you,
Seeks your vision to embrace you.
                  Hold me; I will
cede you my heart’s pulse,
                  I will resuscitate your sleeping
beats convulse.

©-SAMARENDRA PATRA-2011
  Author,
poet-(INDIA)

title-2-Drips, charismatic beads….

Bows, early
dawn’s opalescent sky,
Transient strokes, infinite grace.

        Drips, charismatic beads from on high,
Onto the caravan of veins, slumbering solace.

Rejoices, Splashes of green
tender,
Beads: crystal, reflecting light Prismatic: amber.

          Flakes of dulcet tone, camouflaged slender,
Spout-symphony woven out of air.

      Caressingly,
spreads on Sepal’s palm,
      Dew: beads, slithers, Voyage-sinuous.

            Gleams -At the apex of ladybug’s charm,
                Suspends-
spherical, ecstasy, pearly-gloss.

©-SAMARENDRA PATRA-2011

Author, poet-INDIA

Poem for Armistice Day – By Joshua Peters Aged 9 yrs

pop

We’ll be pausing for two minutes at 11 o’clock today to mark Armistice day. 

When we talked about the importance of remembering and the wearing of poppies a few weeks ago, we had such a big response that we kept in touch with some of the listeners we spoke to – many of whom were under 16. 

Joshua Peters is nine years old and he has written some poems about remembrance. He’ll be on the radio at about 10.50am today, and two others, both called Olivia, will read their poems about World War 2 after the silence.

Here’s one of Joshua’s poems I thought you might like to see:

Heaven is all around, Life in War 1914-1918

Lying without motion on the ground 
The lost ones have been found. 
The dead have been crowned. 
Heaven is all around.
Those soldiers fought in war 
With the Devil at their doors. 
Now without a sound, 
Heaven is all around.
Don’t leave them there, for God’s sake, 
End their loved ones ache. 
Heaven is here.

By Joshua Peters 
Aged 9 yrs (March 2007)

The Raven BY EDGAR ALLAN PO – YOUR FAVOURITE POEM

 

ravon

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visiter,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
            Only this and nothing more.”
    Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
    Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
    From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
            Nameless here for evermore.
    And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
    “’Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
            This it is and nothing more.”
    Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
    But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
    And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
            Darkness there and nothing more.
    Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
    But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—
            Merely this and nothing more.
    Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
    “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
      Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
            ’Tis the wind and nothing more!”
    Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
    But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
            Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
    Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
    Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
            With such name as “Nevermore.”
    But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
    Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
    Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
            Then the bird said “Nevermore.”
    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
    Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
    Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
            Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”
    But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
    Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
    Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
            Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”
    This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
    This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
    On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
            She shall press, ah, nevermore!
    Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
    “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
    Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
    Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
    On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
    Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
    It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
    “Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
    Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
    Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
    And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
    And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
            Shall be lifted—nevermore!
YOUR FAVOURITE POEM SENT IN BY YOU WHAT’S YOURS

The world is our oyster – Take a look at this comment!!! – Follow us!!!


My-Heavenly-Helpers-Picture-For-Card1

Friday Highlights 54 | … 4m
[…] Gillian & Thomas Sims have created a community that is alive with amazing creative energy, as poets from all around the world showcase their work on their blog Poetreecreations. The first thing that caught me was the name of the blog, as I’m a sucker for interesting business/site/etc names. The more I perused it, the more interested I became and just knew that it would be a great one to share with all of you. Not only will you be able to read great poems, but there is lots of information for those interested in the craft, various projects, videos, ways to promote your own poetry and so much more for visitors and members alike. Make your weekend just a little more exciting with Poetreecreations found ‘here.’ […]

Falling

I am lost, I am falling, I am now living in a world with no sleep; The night has become an ocean and I am drowning in the deep

..

The moon has become my sun,  The stars bring light to my sky; Staring at a ceiling unable to sleep, no matter how hard I try

..

I am living in a silent world full of artificial light; Words fall from this pen, as pages are filled with these darks verses that I write

..

My eye lids are feeling heavy now, But are my eyes already closed? Or is this just a longer blink; My mattress is turning into quicksand, As I slowly begin to sink

..

Soft whispers start to tumble and fall down,  I wonder am I asleep or am I still awake; Maybe this is all a daydream, and I am laying here just waiting for yet another dawn to break

..

As I fall deeper I feel my body lifting up high, as soft voices whisper they have heard me calling; But just as the sun begins to rise I wake up screaming as I feel my body falling.

 ..

BARRY MOWLES ©2012

Tell Me!

tell me

Why some people do not ponder
Before acting or uttering words of wonder?
Is it out of denseness or narrowness?
Or maybe due to immaturity or impulsiveness?
Or just to vex or show rudeness?
Are they aware of the repercussions
Of their irresponsible actions
and verbal aggression?
Shall we resort to avoidance
Or wear a costume of patience?

© Chaouki Mkaddem

four Limericks by Mark Sherriff – Promote Yourself

LIMERICKS

WORDS

I think I will write up some words,
I’m scared that you’ll find them absurd,
I’ll give it a go,
‘Cause you never know,
Ideas take flight just like birds.

MANNERS

My parents taught me right from wrong,
I’m glad that it did not take long,
If they hadn’t done that,
Then I’d be a spoilt brat,
Though I think I’ve been one all along.

FRIENDS

It’s time for us friends to part ways,
We’ve come to the end of our days,
But let’s not say goodbye,
‘Cause that will make me cry,
We’ll go and leave nothing to say.

START ANEW

Look now into fire’s amber hue,
Let your eyes be stuck as by glue,
Remember the past times,
Absolved now of your crimes,
A man who can now start anew.
Mark Sherriff

WICKED – Promote Yourself

 baxter106
A wicked gale, 1841,
Took all souls, both old and young.
Among the shipwrecks off the Cape,
No sadder story leaves mouths agape.
Seven ships were swept like splintered trees as
Sailors fought the rising seas.
Fifty-seven lads left that cursed day,
From Truro Harbor through Cape Cod Bay.
With farewells to families and prayers of thanks,
To fish for cod along George’s Banks.
Headed nor ‘east at full sail,
The hopefuls met that dreaded gale.
Soundings dropped as winds blew wild,
And fear spread from man to child.
For closer their vessels approached the shoals,
Which cut their hulls with ripping rolls,
Nature took victims without remorse,
And most were lost who’d set the course.
Legend has it that on autumn nights,
Amidst Truro’s moors, below the heights,
Ghosts of sailors mourn their ghastly plight,
With frightful wails across the night.
So if you dare to brace that wicked wind,
You may hear cries of those doomed kin,
Brothers of the sea who dared to go,
Where others still venture and fight the foe.
Wendy Shreve
(In honor of All Hallows’ Eve and those spirits who are still with us)
NOTE: This poem is based in part on real events off Truro, MA in 1841 (Source: Provincetown Banner, June 28, 2009). The legend is fiction.

Urban breakdown

Urban breakdown, society in
turmoil,
we used to live simply, off the working man’s toil.
Communities
stuck together, in good times and bad,
Good family values are what we had.

Then life became too busy, chasing materialistic ideals,
no time
to talk to each other; over family meals.
Greed and selfishness crept in,
and living together was no longer a sin.

Money and false
celebrities became the gods,
and going to church was no longer mod.
People
became indifferent
and good friends distant.

Now we have so many lives
in a muddle,
with so many young mums left to struggle.
What happened to
free love, the 60s dream?
Why did our lives turn out so mean?

How sad
to see so many relationships fail.
No one said the liberal life, would have
such a sting in the tail.
Whether you live in the country the city or town,
we are all paying the price of the urban breakdown.

By Simon Icke

More of my poems can be found on the Tring People websitehttp://www.tringpeople.co.uk/Poetry-group-Tring-People/story-12982944-detail/story.html

Tryst

Butterflies fly in my heart
And the sky smile casting light
When the thoughts take birth

Of you and feel immense mirth….

Dancing water of sea sings
On itself music and melody
And the birds on their wings
As amass make merry at our tryst…

Written by: Narendra Rai
Talhar Badin, Sindh…

 

Under The Greenwood Tree by William Shakespeare – Famous poets

tree2

Under the greenwood tree
     Who loves to lie with me,
     And turn his merry note
     Unto the sweet bird’s throat,
   Come hither, come hither, come hither:
     Here shall he see
     No enemy
   But winter and rough weather.      Who doth ambition shun,
    And loves to live i’ the sun,
    Seeking the food he eats,
    And pleas’d with what he gets,
  Come hither, come hither, come hither:
    Here shall he see
    No enemy
  But winter and rough weather.

  by William Shakespeare 
YOUR  FAVOURITE  POEM SENT IN BY YOU
WHATS YOURS ?
SEND TO  : poetreecreations@yahoo.com

Many Voices



~
I am in this room. A place where

People gather often alone. There are

Separate moments taking place

Everywhere. Yet it all seems close

~

In each interaction a choice is made

To say hello with our eyes or just

Toss our glance back to a computer

Screen …

~

We all have a façade that we

Work really hard to contain

Now if we can let go the negative

Connotation – façade, fake, pretend

~

We might recognize value in each individual

~

Interaction

Table crossing

Physical adjustment

Spilled coffee

Unmuted favorite song

– and now listen –

~

We don’t have to be different

We can all love and laugh

We can avoid the insecure scrutiny

That makes pretend our reality

~

By being present, we do exist

Long enough for the person nearby

To recognize a feature of your identity

So, that isolation might be in vain

~

Unless, of course

If we take a long walk in the forest

Continue going forward over brush and tree root and rocks

Come upon the edge of a cliff after miles of hiking

Without looking back

We then do find ourselves alone without anyone seemingly …

… Watching

~

Nature’s grasp upon our soul

Allows our physicality to interact

As human beings God’s peace exists

What happens when listening walks away?

 

Thom Amundsen 2013

Promote yourself

Hail! Oh Sword of Love – Promote Yourself



I

YOU’VE MET folks, and will still welcome
the mankind, then, now, forthcoming;
you’ve been stabbing them, neither getting
exhausted of it, over, over, and over again.

You’ll leave them bleeding in love, bruised
with ache, vested with solitude, frozen
grief in their faces, remorse within
their vacuous eyes; death within their soul.

II

You’ve met folks incapable of defending their
so-called self, competent of wasting their so-called
life, you’ll be stabbing them with your
sin-sharpened sword; heart pierced with vagueness.

You’ll abandon them like a butt of cigarette smoked
by several lips, a butt of cigarette gradually
engulfing by the vanishing fire, a but of cigarette,
stomped by hundreds of shoes; and they’ll die a little death.

III

Sword of Love what a sovereignty
in your possession’s, don’t you ever get dull?

Sword of Love all of us will encounter your
cold-blooded skin, and when we do, bury us!

Sword of Love you’ll have more than a lifetime,
to witness all the aftermath, entirely all! Everything!

Sword of Love stab me once, by your weapon, with
all your force, with all that’s left; and never retreat –ever.

Oh Sword of Love –

_______

Good day! I’m Andy Dimayuga, from Philippines (:
I just want to share my poem (:

I’m still studying and now in my senior year in college. I’m fond of reading poems and I wonder how writers/poets write such and now I find myself writing poems as well. 

“Infatuation” – Promote Yourself

loveeeeeeeeeeee


 
In rosy hue of sunset light,
And fragrant cool of velvet night, 
Senses outrun sensibility,
As her sweet warm breath melts into mine
 
Her incense lazes about my palate,
For time passed and hours long lost
Wiled in savoured melancholy,
In mind renewed, the joyous ecstasy
 
To harvest and cherish what worthwhile fruits,
Borne by plight of selfsame Psyche
To gamble chagrin, lay one’s pinings bare,
For rich reward, lust drunk in avarice
 
Rapt in young love and cheeks whole blush,
Piteous babes live not amongst others
For their selfish hearts beat blood full rush,
and in one’s kisses, the other smothers.
Thariq Rudy Willoughby

Marital Bliss is on Equal Ground

marriagexxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Tonight our world will ring a new bell
A notion we have intimately embraced
Tonight is the wealth of our predecessors
Everlasting faith and will to believe; to live
~
We are human
We are real
We stand tonight
We are surreal
~
In the lovely arms of equality
Life has been patiently moving forward
Suggesting who we are may be acknowledged
We are progressive in the eyes of the law
~
And you are my partner
And I am your lover
And now ours is forever
And we are together
~
The world will hold court today
We watch hands held together
At the strike of a twilight hour
In that first minute change is real
~
For even in our childhood when love
Seemed only generated by family
As we grew old and shed innocence
There arose a new confidence in love
~
Tested in our every walk of life
Tested by our friends and family
Tested by our will to understand
Tested and passed when love …
~
Watch close, we reference the human condition
Society has challenged itself to be the agent
Creates a new path that everyone in His eyes
Evolve with deeper, heartfelt, delicious love

Thom Amundsen
August 1st, 2013

 

THE MIST

mist

It rolls over the hills,
A mystic splendour to transform,
Like a mantle of gossamer beauty,
As the night gives way to the dawn.

It engulfs the spider’s web,
Glistening in the morning cold,
Jewels of exquisite beauty,
Bedecked with silver and gold.

It creeps along the greenery,
Then freezers in the night,
Jack Frost pays a visit,
To create a carpet of white.

It moves in ghostly silence,
To swallow everything around,
Like a phantom possessed,
I t visits without a sound.

Its one of natures many gifts,
That bedecks this world of ours,
She spins a web of beauty,
That covers the trees and flowers.

It creates a blanket of secrecy,
Of everything it has kissed,
Clings to Mother Nature,
That’s the toil of the mist.

Malcolm G Bradshaw

Answer machines are my only friends


 

I pick up the phone

I dial a number; unimportant

I talk to myself and wait for the tone

No one is ever in

Do I want them to be – I don’t know?

I pray they answer, but they never do

It’s always the same whenever I call

I could be in hospital after a fall

I could be younger with a broken heart

In need of advice from the man at the mini-mart

But I’m not – I’m old

I sit at bus queues and talk of the past

About the cost of today and the life – how fast

I can only afford the single phone

I have no family

The answer machines are my only friends

I’m just old, tired…and mostly alone

By Tom Dearden 

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