RSS Feed

Tag Archives: poetry

Our Brothers; Our Sisters ( Our Veteran’s Day )

veppxxx

While you were away
People continued to want

While you were away
People stressed over latte

While you were away
People blamed the one percent

While you were away
Wall Street didn’t miss a beat

While you were away
Families ignored one another

While you were away
Society forgot to mention

The risk involved
The loss endured
The humanity destroyed

We speak rarely of a certain reality
One the media voice won’t exploit
A truth that evades the common eye

While you were away
People do not understand

Haunted, windows might close
Shadows to follow your mind
Memory, nightmares designed
Tears remain your real lows

While you were away
Brother, sister, friend, foe

We were told about you
Searching the grain of your …
That sheltered your life in
Swathed cocoon like revues

While you were away
People wail their goodbyes

We soar with freedom, a Nation, a society
While eagle’s wings … restore our sanity!

Thom Amundsen
http://thinkingoutloudagain.wordpress.com

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

Forbidden Love

fofbiden love
Hidden secrets
Secret smiles
Smiles hidden
Truth forbidden
Forbidden love
Love secrets
Secret smiles
Smiles hidden
Hidden secrets
Locked tight
Strongest tension
Strangling tight
Tight emotion
Emotion hidden
Secret smiles
Smiles forbidden
No compromise
Given

Gillian Sims

This poem was recently published in the book THE GREAT BRITISH WRITE OFF

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

Scary Mary’s Back

Gathering around the witches cauldron
The ugliest group ever seen
Mary uttering nasty vile spells
Then she let out a blood-curdling scream

The leader of the nasty coven
Was the witch named Scary Mary?
Her face was full of warts
With a moustache and beard all hairy

They danced around the cauldron
Throwing toads and spiders into the brew
Mary was supposed to be experienced
But alas she had not a clue

Her cat Boris was watching
With a smile across his face
To see the witches leaving
At a fast and furious pace

One thing they had forgotten
As they were flying around the floor
They were so high on the brew
They forgot to open the door

Boris by now was in pieces
As they all crashed together in a heap
He was rolling around laughing
As the witches struggled to their feet

Scary Mary was now quite vexed
As she tried to kick start her broom
Boris now was crossing his legs
And was quickly leaving the room

Scary Mary by now was quite dizzy
As she staggered she bumped her head
The last time Boris saw her
She was casting spells in her bed

Malcolm Bradshaw

WHO’S KNOCKING AT YOUR DOOR THIS HALLOWEEN

The Visitor

pumpkinssssssss

A pumpkin knocked at my door
I was shocked, I fell to the floor
The pumpkin had a toothless grin
In the end I asked him to come in
The pumpkin shook my hand
And said I knew you’d understand
I wanted to come to your party
I was all alone
With witches and ghosts
They frightened me
It’s you I’d rather see
Someone warm and bright
On this Halloween night
So what have we got for tea
Trick or treat
It will be a whisky for me
Gillian and Thomas Sims

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.’ […]

Lovely Memories

baking day 

Beautiful fragrances and
Aromas linger and last
Stay in the mind from times long past,
The smallest thing awakens
Them to be recalled
Passing a bakery a child once more,
Aroused by the warm smell
Drifting through the door,
Mothers baking day
varieties of cakes galore
In a queue a fragrance
A delicate sweet smell,
Triggers your nose your senses
There’s your lovely granny with
Her glass bottle of cream,
Rubbing it into her hands
Easing hard work they had seen
Still a wonderful reflection
Of past presents itself
Yet again so real,
The most precious aroma
I forever bring to mind
Is the first time bathing my baby
Such a wonderful fresh smell,
New life clean glowing
Not long from the womb
A memory to last enjoy for my baby,
Will soon grow from this sweet
Smelling bundle, then away
From me far too soon

Sandra Cameron

CALLING ALL POETS – PROMOTE YOURSELF AND DANCE ON OUR STAGE

poetry mmmmmmmmmmmmm

 

 

LET YOUR POEM MINGLE WITH OTHERS

LET YOUR POEM:

DANCE ON OUR STAGE

ANY LENGTH, ANY SUBJECT, ANY TIME

SEND YOUR WRITTEN WORK TO:gillianandthomas@yahoo.com

WE WILL GLADLY POST IT HERE FOR ALL TO SEE ON OUR POETRY PLATFORM!

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

Retirement Rendezvous

old man

Retirement rendezvous
There is a member who is new
Who requires some type of rescue! 
Looking back at life’s preview

He has had his kids
Been wise and stupid
Smoked enough weed
Aging exhibits on both eyelids

Retirement rendezvous
No more young dreams to pursue

A time he was young with hope
Goals matured and developed
But time took away that potential scope

Retirement rendezvous
Old age has at last struck for true

Retirement rendezvous
Today he joins the old pensioners’ crew

Stuck in his fresh basement
He scorns retirement at its commencement 
With continuous utter resentment 
Thinking it is a washed up experiment

Retirement rendezvous
Today, old age seems to be of no value

Retirement rendezvous
A new life and a new official venue

Retirement rendezvous
Some meet at the post office queue
Others meet at the bookies avenue
Leaving only when the night is due

The alarm clock has ceased ringing
The ladies have stopped singing
The bread winner is no longer bringing
To him nothing anymore is inspiring! 

Retirement rendezvous
Why is life such a screw? 

Retirement rendezvous
Is this a new life for true? 

Retirement rendezvous
His thoughts he has to subdue
For him life still continues
Forthwith he looks at life with a new view! 

(2007) 

Sylvia Chidi

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

My Treasure to You

fathersxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Oh!! My child!! I will soon be dead
Leaving you without any crown on the head
Only these few words that you should regard
They are more precious than an emerald
Listen carefully and contemplate every word

You have got a long life ahead
I want you to learn how to have it in hand
It won’t give you what you have pled
Unless you have a good head
And follow what I said

I really want you to understand
Life is not as easy as people pretend
It’s not heaven and neither a feather bed.
Your route is full of prickles that you should forefend
Elbow your way to reach your end

Stroll the ground to earn your bread
Make the acquaintance of all kinds of people even the bad
Be clever and on them never depend
Learn things implicitly without any demand
Take the virtue and leave the fault behind

Neither selfishness nor greed can make you glad
Be to all kinds of human race a friend
Smile at their faces even those who drive you mad
Be in harmony with whatever lives on your land
Always remember that you cannot applaud with one hand

Stand upright and keep your dignity and pride
Be the master of your destiny and never show dependence of any kind
Nothing is more valuable than what you can do for humankind
Persevere to make human life docile and no longer wild
Only your deeds can engrave your name in people’s mind

© Chaouki Mkaddem, 2010

Where Do Babies Come From?

where_do_babies_come_from_by_hotamr-d4m0a0y

Where did you come from, baby dear?
Out of the everywhere into here.

Where did you get your eyes so blue?
Out of the sky as I came through.

What makes the light in them sparkle and spin?
Some of the starry spikes left in.

Where did you get that little tear?
I found it waiting when I got here.

What makes your forehead so smooth and high?
A soft hand stroked it as I went by.

What makes your cheek like a warm white rose?
I saw something better than anyone knows.

Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss?
Three angels gave me at once a kiss.

Where did you get this pearly ear?
God spoke, and it came out to hear.

Where did you get those arms and hands?
Love made itself into hooks and bands.

Feet, whence did you come, you darling things?
From the same box as the cherubs’ wings.

How did they all just come to be you?
God thought about me, and so I grew.

But how did you come to us, you dear?
God thought about you, and so I am here

~George MacDonald

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.
%d bloggers like this: