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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 

Garden Magic

magic garden
This is the garden’s magic,
That through the sunny hours
The gardener who tends it,

Himself outgrows his flowers.

He grows by gift of patience,
Since he who sows must know
That only in the Lord’s good time
Does any seedling grow.

He learns from buds unfolding,
From each tight leaf unfurled,
That his own heart, expanding,
Is one with all the world.

He bares his head to sunshine,
His bending back a sign
Of grace, and ev’ry shower becomes
His sacramental wine.

And when at last his labors
Bring forth the very stuff
And substance of all beauty
This is reward enough.
-MARIE NETTLETON CARROLL

Please send your poetry to:gillianandthomas@yahoo.com

The trip to Jerusalem

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St George came to Nottingham

To meet his old mate Robin Hood

They went for a drink in

The Trip to Jerusalem

An old local pub,

St George always loved the taste of good ale

So when Robin told him a very good tale

The tale of the dragon

That roamed across the land

After a few drinks

They thought of a very cunning plan

To capture the dragon,

That roamed across the land

But Robin had only seen the dragon

Once he’d had a drink

So this of course made St George rethink

He asked himself

Are the dragons all extinct?

The locals say dragons aren’t real

It’s a matter of opinion

How do you feel?

Thomas Sims

My Teddy Bear

 BiggestBearNew

You are my teddy bear
So soft and smooth
With love so strong
We have nothing to lose

You are my teddy bear
As soft as silk
You are my goodness
You are my goodnight milk

You are my teddy bear
My midnight hug
You are my comfort
The one I love

You are my teddy bear
The one I like to cuddle tight
You are my teddy bear
That helps me sleep at night

Gillian Sims

Flowers of love

I thought to tell you the way I feel

But knew I didn’t know how,

So I send these flowers to show instead

I hope they’ll do for now

This flower I send to show my love,

A coral rose to show my desire

Your name is now across my heart,

The only one that I admire

The pink carnations I give to you,

To show I will never forget you

I love you now till the end of time,

I know I will forever be true

To show you this I spend lemon blossom,

So you know to trust in me

For now our hearts are forever entwined,

We will always be

The last flower for you my love,

I send to show your loveliness

The camellia is just for you

From the angels watching above us.

Abbe Cutforth

The Thin looking Ghost

123456789One night I met a ghost.

He was looking for a friendly host. 

I said,’ You are looking very thin,

you had better come on in.’ 

‘Would you like a piece of toast?’ 

He replied, ‘I’d rather have a Sunday roast’ 

So there we sat, trying to get him fat, 

a three hundred-year-old ghost called Nat. 

We had a beer and he came over queer, 

and he quickly began to disappear. 

So that was the end of Nat; 

who never did get fat!

 
 
By Simon Icke, 

Footnote: I don’t believe in ghost but my father once said I bet our Simon will never write a poem about ghosts as he doesn’t believe in them. So after he had gone to bed I wrote this amusing little poem just for my dad. It made him smile when he read it. So this is dedicated to his memory: George R. Icke 1914-2000. Who was born in Salford & lived most of his life in Little Hulton, Salford)

 

“Top 10 Famous, Romantic Love Poems”

LOVEEEEEEEEEEE

As long as there have been poets, there have been love poems. After all, if love cannot inspire, what can? Our minds turn to love on special anniversaries, Valentine’s Day and weddings, but how to express it? We are not all blessed with the gift of poetic words. The list below may include a romantic love poems for him or a love poem for her to serve the occasion but don’t pretend it’s yours. You will look very foolish when you are found out. But love tends to do that to us anyway.

10. ‘Wild Nights’ by Emily Dickinson

Emily-Dickinson-Wild-nights-manuscript

A leading American poet (1830 – 1836), she is one of the most accessible and popular poets. This selection is not typical of her output and is surprisingly passionate for a woman of those times. Dickinson led a secluded life and it’s not certain for whom these lines were intended, ‘might I but moor tonight with thee’. Biographers believe that she may have created a fantasy for herself. But this may also have been a love poem for a man.

Wild nights! Wild nights!
Were I with thee,
Wild nights should be
Our luxury!

Futile the winds
To a heart in port,
Done with the compass,
Done with the chart.

Rowing in Eden!
Ah! the sea!
Might I but moor
To-night in thee!

9. ‘We Are Made One with What We Touch and See’ by Oscar Wilde

We Are Made One with What We Touch and See’ by Oscar Wilde

Of course, it’s well known that Wilde’s romantic exploits got him into trouble, resulting in a two-year sentence for hard labour.  He’s better known for his comedic plays and witty quotes than for his poems. This poem has the joyful line; ‘we draw the spring into our hearts and feel that life is good’. Read the full poem.

We shall be notes in that great Symphony
Whose cadence circles through the rhythmic spheres,
And all the live World’s throbbing heart shall be
One with our heart, the stealthy creeping years
Have lost their terrors now, we shall not die,
The Universe itself shall be our Immortality!


8. ‘Bright Star’ by John Keats

bright star by john keats

A leading figure amongst the English Romantic poets, many of Keats’ poems are melancholic. He was a doomed man, dying of TB at the age of 26 in a house in Rome where he had gone to improve his health. The house, next to the Spanish Steps, is now a museum dedicated to his life and the life of Shelley. He wrote his poetry in a brief five-year period. Sensual love is celebrated in the line, ‘pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast’.

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art–
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors–
No–yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever–or else swoon to death.

7. ‘Another Valentine’ by Wendy Cope

another-valentine-windy-cope

This is from the point of view of a couple that have been together a long time. At first, Cope seems slightly resentful that she is being forced into making a romantic declaration just because a certain date in the calendar demands it, but she gets into the spirit of the occasion and her love for her man shines through. They are sure of each other, as shown by ‘you know I’m yours and I know you are mine’. It is more difficult to find love poems for him, but “Another Valentine” is just that.

Today we are obliged to be romantic
And think of yet another valentine.
We know the rules and we are both pedantic:
Today’s the day we have to be romantic.
Our love is old and sure, not new and frantic.
You know I’m yours and I know you are mine.
And saying that has made me feel romantic,
My dearest love, my darling valentine.

6. ‘A Drinking Song’ by W.B. Yeats

a drinking song by W.B. Yeats

The title does not suggest a love poem and it’s debatable as to how much alcohol consumption is playing a part! Nevertheless, it is a romantic poem. The opening lines are ‘wine comes in at the mouth and love comes in at the eye’ Let’s hope they don’t regret it in the morning.

Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That’s all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.

 

5. ‘Valentine’ by John Fuller

valentine john fuller

Perhaps the least well known poet on the list, he is an English writer, born in 1937, and is the son of the feted poet, Roy Fuller. This is a sensual poem, which celebrates the physical features of his beloved; ‘I like it when you tilt your cheek up’.  It’s a gently teasing poem with fun lines such as ‘I’d like to find you in the shower and chase the soap for half an hour’. Read the full poem.

The things about you I appreciate may seem indelicate:
I’d like to find you in the shower
And chase the soap for half an hour.
I’d like to have you in my power and see your eyes dilate.
I’d like to have your back to scour
And other parts to lubricate.
Sometimes I feel it is my fate
To chase you screaming up a tower or make you cower
By asking you to differentiate Nietzsche from Schopenhauer.
I’d like to successfully guess your weight and win you at a féte.
I’d like to offer you a flower.

4. ‘Love Is’ by Adrian Henri

Love Is by Adrian Henri

The late Henri, along with his fellow Liverpool poets, Roger McGough and Brian Patten, brought poetry to a new generation in their 1967 anthology, ‘The Mersey Sound’. It’s a poem about everyday love between everyday people but is strangely touching. ‘Love is a fan club with only two fans’ and ‘love is what happens when the music stops’.

Love is…
Love is feeling cold in the back of vans
Love is a fanclub with only two fans
Love is walking holding paintstained hands
Love is.
Love is fish and chips on winter nights
Love is blankets full of strange delights
Love is when you don’t put out the light
Love is
Love is the presents in Christmas shops
Love is when you’re feeling Top of the Pops
Love is what happens when the music stops
Love is
Love is white panties lying all forlorn
Love is pink nightdresses still slightly warm
Love is when you have to leave at dawn
Love is
Love is you and love is me
Love is prison and love is free
Love’s what’s there when you are away from me
Love is…

3. ‘How Do I Love Thee’ by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

how do i love thee by elizabeth barrett browning

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Browning had the advantage of a good education, not given to most Victorian women in England. She blossomed as a poet and found love with fellow writer, Robert Browning. They married against her father’s wishes and eloped to Italy. It doesn’t get any more romantic than that. The opening lines to this romantic love poem are often quoted; ‘how do I love thee, let me count the ways’.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, — I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! — and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

2. ‘A Red, Red Rose’ by Robert Burns

a red red rose by Robert Burns

This is both a poem and a song, first published in 1794. Burns is one of the most famous Scotsmen in the world and the anniversary of his birth, January 25th, is celebrated around the world with recitations, whiskey and haggis (for those that can stomach it). Burns Night undoubtedly features this romantic poem and the lines, ‘O, my love is like a red, red, rose, that is newly sprung in June’.

O my Luve’s like a red, red rose,
That’s newly sprung in June:
O my Luve’s like the melodie,
That’s sweetly play’d in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry.

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare-thee-weel, my only Luve!
And fare-thee-weel, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho’ ’twere ten thousand mile!

1. ‘Love Sonnet 130’ by William Shakespeare

love sonnet 130

The most revered playwright in history also found time to compose 154 sonnets, published in 1609. The sonnets are a great source for quotations on the theme of romance, love and passion. He was constantly preoccupied with the relationships between men and women in his writing. Number 130 glories in lines, such as ‘and yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare as any she belied with false compare’.

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask’d, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

The Hag – YOUR FAVOURITE POEM

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The Hag is astride,
    This night for to ride;
The Devill and shee together:
    Through thick, and through thin,
    Now out, and then in,

 Thorn or a Burr
    She takes for a Spurre:
With a lash of a Bramble she rides now,
    Through Brakes and through Bryars,
    O’re Ditches, and Mires,
She followes the Spirit that guides now.

    No Beast, for his food,
    Dares now range the wood;
But husht in his laire he lies lurking:
    While mischiefs, by these,
    On Land and on Seas,
At noone of Night are working,

    The storme will arise,
    And trouble the skies;
This night, and more for the wonder,
    The ghost from the Tomb
    Affrighted shall come,

A Cal’d out by the clap of the Thunder.Though ne’r so foule be the weather.

    

Robert Herrick (1648)

YOUR FAVOURITE POEM SENT IN BY YOU WHAT’S YOURS

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

The Spider by the Gwydir;

redback-spider
The Spider by the Gwydir;
By the sluggish river Gwydir
Lived a wicked red-back spider
And he was just as wicked as can be

And the place that he was camped in
Was a rusty Jone’s jam-tin
In a paddock by the showground
Near Moree

Near him lay a shearer snoring
He’d been on beer and boozing
All through the night
And all the previous day.
And the rookin’ of the fookers
And the noise of showtime spruikers
Failed to wake him from the trance in which he lay.

Then a dainty little sheila
Wit a slimy looking spieler
Came along collecting wood to make a fire
Said the spieler, He’s a boozer,
He’s gonna be a looser,
If he isn;t you can christen me a liar.

Hustle round and keep nit honney
While I fan the mug for money
We’ll have some little luxuries for tea
But she said no don;t be silly
Ho home and boil the billy,
You can safely leave the mug to little me.

She circled ever nearer
Closer to that dopey shearer
Who was lying there all fast asleep and snug
But she did not see the spider
Who was ringin’ close beside her
For her mind was on the money and the mug.

The spider sighted dinner
He’d been daily growin’ thinner
He’d been fasting and was hollow as a drum.
As she eyed that bulging pocket
He darted like a rocket
And bit that rookin’ sheila on the bum.

The sheila started squealing,
Her clothes she was unpeelin’
To hear her cries would make you feel forlorn.
One hand the bite was pressin’
The other was undressin’
And she reached the camp the same as she was born.

Then the shearer pale and haggard
Woke and back to town he staggered
Where he caught the train and gave the booze a rest.
But he’ll never know the spider
That was camped beside the Gwydir
Had saved him sixty smakkers of the best.

anonymous

YOUR FAVOURITE POEM  SENT IN BY YOU

WHAT’S YOURS?

SALVE

Wallpaper-Heart-Broken-Hearts-Bullet-Riddled-Heart-A-Bullet-A-Rainbow-485x728

 

A shriek from the realms of the heart
echoes within the veins
Swiping aside the sweet melody
breathing the saddened symphony….

Bruises unseen felt when touched
respire through the open wounds
The salve to soothen the lesion
Has vanished in the gloom…

Words of comfort ne’er
Calm the ache,
as a sojourn
can ne’er blossom flowers
on a dying barren state…

Soumya

Flowers on a lamppost


Flowers on a lamp-post

A loving display

Tributes to a loved one

Whose life was taken away

Why did it happen?

For it`s tearing me apart

The pain that I am feeling

It`s breaking my heart

I keep on thinking if only

These things are within my head

If only they had been somewhere else

They would still be alive not dead

Oh God where were you?

When your help was needed most

If you had been with them

No flowers would be on the post

————————–

My child of the material

I sense and feel your pain

I have not failed you

For you will see them once again

I was with them when they needed me

I took them by the hand

I surrounded them with love and light

As we moved to the Summerland

Fear not for their safety

For their love for you will remain

For the bond of love is strongest

As they comfort you through your pain

When you look at the tributes

That you placed upon the post

Remember, I was with them

When they needed me the most

Malcolm Bradshaw

“Free” – Promote Yourself

 

free-logo

Waters run still in mind,
rays to cut mirrored glass.
But rage the tempest,
swell to ravage surface.

Breathe deep, slow, strong,
fill up in deathly ease.
Slip below storms,
gracious, graceful, peace.

Fall now into me,
lines that lead to darkest blue.
Welcome in warm surrender,
coast down to ocean’s call.

Thoughts in silence,
drums play deep.
Cradled heart,
slow to calm’s embrace.

In this space,
nothing enters.

No whispers,
tell me I’m alone.

One in one.

In this place,

I am.

© D. A. Yew

Wanderlust of Rain – Promote Yourself

It was wonderful to come across your website and see a community of poetry lovers. I would like to take this opportunity to share one of my recent poetry on Rain. Would be delighted if this gets featured on your website 

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A wait of months,

A struggle of a year,

and I was transformed.

I teared the clouds,

I swayed in the arms of air,

I can see what lies beneath.

I touched the cheeks of trees,

Knocked the windowsill

and kissed the ground.

I am floating, to mix with the sea,

the skies await,

A mingled chain, wanderlust of Rain.

This poetry is also featured on my blog Camera Lore.

Thank You & Regards,

Reema Sathe

George Mackay Brown – Famous Scotish Poet

  • brown
    George Mackay Brown
Born: 1921 in Stromness, Orkney Islands
Died: 1996 in Stromness
First Book: The Storm (Orkney Press, 1954)
Awards: Short-listed for the 1994 Booker Prize for Beside the Ocean of TimeGeorge Mackay Brown is considered to be one of the greatest Scottish poets and authors of the twentieth century. His technical mastery and control of both prose and verse attracted a world-wide readership. Although never reaching bestseller status, his books were published in more than a dozen countries around the world, drawing hundreds of avid fans to his house in Orkney each year.

Born on 17 October 1921 into a poor family living in Stromness in the Orkney Islands, Mackay Brown attended the local Stromness Academy. It was here he discovered a talent for writing, excelling in the weekly compositions set by hisEnglish teacher.

His time at school was brought to a premature end when he contracted tuberculosis and was sent to a sanatorium in Kirkwall. He was troubled by the disease throughout his life and never completely returned to full health. His illness excluded him from service during the Second World War, and made him essentially unemployable on a long-term basis.

However, the extended periods of rest which the disease enforced upon him meant that he was able to read and write extensively, thereby developing his literary talent. By the early 1940s his prolific writings were beginning to emerge publicly with news stories, reviews and a regular column in the Orkney weekly newspaper. This column was a constant feature throughout the rest of his life, with his final piece appearing just two days before his death on 13 April 1996.

After his initial success in the early 1940s he began to drink heavily and only wrote occasional poems and his column for the local newspaper. This lifestyle continued for almost ten years before he received an invitation to become a mature student at an adult education college in Dalkeith in 1951. The college was run by Edwin Muir, a poet and fellow Orkadian whose work Mackay Brown greatly admired. Much of Muir’s work, and especially his 1940 The Story and the Fable (which Mackay Brown read when he went to the University of Edinburgh two years after graduating from the Dalkeith college), interweaved Orkadian life and history with myth and legend, and had a profound effect on the future style and subject-matter of Mackay Brown’s later achievements.

In the summer of 1970, he met – entirely by chance – the composer Peter Maxwell Davies in the remote valley of Rackwick in Orkney. In the subsequent years, the two men forged a fiercely strong friendship and went on to collaborate together to produce many of Maxwell Davies’ Orkney-inspired works.

Following the publication and success of Booker Prize short-listed Beside the Ocean of Time, Mackay Brown wrote two collections of short stories, the second of which was published posthumously. When he died on 13 April 1996, he left a legacy for both Scottish literature and the communities of the Orkney Islands. Able to transcend the common and often mundane perception of Orkadian life and history, Mackay Brown’s writing was ethereal and timeless, filled with strong universal truths that deeply touched his global readership.

A Calendar of Love, Beside the Ocean of Time, Greenvoe, Hawkfall, The Island of the Women, A Time to Keep, Vinland, and Winter Tales are all available from now Polygon. Selected pieces are also published by Polygon in Lament: Scottish Poems for Funerals and Consolation and Scottish War Stories, and an extensive interview with Mackay Brown is featured in Scottish Writers Talking.

The mid morning blues

 

You are sitting at your desk

Time for a well earned rest

To drink coffee or tea,

To look out of the window

Where there is plenty to see,

People rushing by

A man stares back at you

With a glint in his eye,

Then you hear a baby starting to cry

You notice a robin,

Perched by the water’s edge,

Weaving and bobbing to eat his bread

The clock strikes twelve

Your break has come to an end

Your coffee cup is empty

Still you cling to it, like it is your best friend,

The telephone is ringing

Your client awaits

You have redeemed all of your coffee breaks,

Until tomorrow looms

When you will once again

Meet the mid morning blues

By Gillian Sims

DISTANCE

Tranquil Sea

 

Sometimes, the obvious is in front of you! I used a poem in my book above that may be a good addition, please consider:

Her arms waiting, warm inviting water, a floating dream of promise.
Transformed with the years of endless cycles,
Tides in and out, changing surface and angry motion.
You spin and twist, struggling to free yourself from the emotional undertow,
And then you glimpse a tranquil sea.
Other arms reach for you to tame the raging eddy.
Yet her cold tendrils still cling; her acrid, salty taste still coats your heart.
You live entangled.

(Excerpt from character, Lili’s, paranormal book)
From Chapter Twenty-Nine, SHADOWWATER by Wendy Shreve, Copyright March 2013

SHED NO TEARS

butt

 

When I leave this mortal earth,

No tears for me please shed,

For I am very much alive,

Think not of me as dead.

 

Like a butterfly and a chrysalis,

A transformation in form,

For I have moved from this world,

And into another world are born.

 

I will stand by you in sorrow,

I will stand by you in pain,

I will prepare a place for you,

When we are together again.

 

Wish me well on my journey,

And turn your tears to laughter,

For we shall all meet again?

In the spirit world hereafter.

 

Malcolm G Bradshaw

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