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life and love

Horse Senses-promote yourself

Lifes dreamer. – Promote Yourself


ou dream of a life ‘ you wish 🌠 you could have ‘ keeping fingers crossed ‘ as can be’ wishful thinking ‘ that’s just me.
Life can be great ‘ give it a chance ‘ take a step ‘ and not a glance.
You dream of a life ‘ you wish 🌠 you could share ‘ with family 👪 and friends every where.
The things you could do ‘ with just a smile 😊 ‘ take a chance’ and go for a mile.
Life could be good ‘ if you give it a try ‘ give it a go ‘ not with a sigh.
You dream of a life ‘ you wish 🌠 you can have ‘ trying new things ‘ that’s not bad.
Life can be good ‘ if you give it a chance ‘ no looking back ‘ or even a glance.
Things can change ‘ that’s a fact ‘ time to take charge’ and not a step back.

Patricia Bourne WordPress 2014

Have A Heart-promote yourself

Race horse Called FRED


but I liked an old nag called Fred, 
he looked sort of eager and flighty,
as the bookmakers odds span around in my head,
and sweet Aphrodite went into the red,
and I wished that I was back home in my bed,
not here with these blokes rich and skitey.

“A hundred to one” said the fellow,
I decided to give it a go,
“Fifty dollars on Fred” was my bellow,
And all of the guys who were well in the know,
Sniggered and said I was doin’ my dough,
“Fred couldn’t outrun a three-legged crow,
On his back is a streak – and it’s yellow!”

And then all the horses flew past,
There was only two furlongs to go,
I stood there watching, aghast!
Fred was the leader, but starting to slow,
Five thousand dollars was there on the go,
And then it was over, and what do you know?
Fred came in motherless last.

My world turned from silver to black,
Aphrodite had killed them, of course,
My money would never come back,
And I slowly drove home from that devilish course,
full of repentance and full of remorse,
And the next time I put all my dough on a horse,
It won’t be a useless old hack!

Unknown Author

The News


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

The beginning of civilisation

The Ice Age, the Iron Age and the Bronze Age,
Have all contributed to the development of man,
But it is still less than six thousand years,
When civilisation as we know it first began.
Up to that time man had hunted, and collected herbs and berries,
What they had to eat really was quite bland,
Then someone realised they could have a better diet,
If only they were prepared to till the land.
They began to live together in small communities,
To live together for the common good,
They worked together to grow crops and feed animals,
Building houses to live in from wattle and of mud.
The first cities were built in Mesopotamia,
About five or six thousand years ago,
On the fertile land between the Rivers Tigris and Euphrates,
A very good place for their crops to grow.
Every city had its own market place,
Where the harvest of the fields could be sold,
The wealth provided allowed them to develop other skills,
Records were kept so we know how people lived in days of old.
Another group of cities were built in the country now known as Pakistan,
By those who farmed on the hills of the valley where the River Indus flows,
Their cities were built to a more orderly pattern,
Laid out with a system of connecting roads.
And so it was that man started to live together,
In walled cities that helped them overcome their fears,
This was the beginning of our civilisation,
The start of a process which had continued down the years.
How far has our civilisation developed?
Is this really the kind of world our forbears desired.
Are we still working together for the common good?
Have we achieved the aims to which our ancestors aspired?
If we look closely then we shall quickly see,
Our world is one which seems to have lost its sense of direction,
Those seeking power have torn the world asunder,
What we see is a world full of imperfection.
We still live together in communities,
And some efforts are made for the common good,
But selfishness is still the order of the day,
Very few people do what they really should.
We really, really should make more effort,
To fulfill the hopes which prevailed when civilisation first began,
When everybody has a common purpose,
And thus to achieve the brotherhood of man.
Ron Martin

The Legend Of Honey Pie – Promote Yourself

‘My upside down inside out girl’

You’re my upside down inside out girl.
Left is right and right is left.
‘It’s toast on cheese and toast on
stop it falling with a peg!
It’s inside when you mean outside
and outside when you mean inside.
So you are out when you you’re in
and in when you’re out!
It’s no wonder I start to doubt.
Go down when you mean up
and up when you mean down.
Such information makes me frown;
especially when we arrive in the wrong
‘Is it left or right?’
‘I don’t know!’
Well it makes life interesting,
wondering which way to go.
‘I know being dyslexic
means you can’t be specific
but I think one of these days,
we’ll end up in the Pacific!’
by Simon Icke
More of Simon’s poetry can be found at

hello Pants” – Promote Yourself


From baby to toddler in the blink of an eye,

The last stage is hard I’m not gonna lie

The nappies need to go, say “hello pants”

Might be too soon but I’ll take the chance.

 A short time naked whilst watching cartoons,

I’ve shown you the potty at the side of the room

I keep on asking “do you need a wee?”

A minute later the floor’s covered in pee.

We try again every day,

But all you want to do is play

I encourage you as much as I can,

Pants with cars, and praise, “come on lil man”.

 So much pride I felt the first time I saw

You did a wee but this time not on the floor,

Such a big boy doing more and more

It won’t be long now, of that I’m sure.

 Months later you want the toilet instead

Still a few accidents as I’d expect,

But then comes the day you manage to stay dry

Even on a trip out with distractions close by.

The best day so far, I pray for many more

Days with no nappies and no wee on the floor,

Now you’re a big boy, my baby has gone

I couldn’t be more proud of how well you have done

Abbe Cutforth

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.

An early start

bird in tree

I woke early in the morning and nothing could be heard

But as I listened carefully I could hear the singing of a bird

It was the early morning chorus bidding welcome to the day

And listening to its singing that bird was heard to say 

Wake up, wake up everybody the sun is on its way

Daylight will soon be breaking, prepare to meet the day

Don’t lie in bed a’sleepnig, when there is so much to do

Rise early in the morning, take the opportunities life gives to you

They won’t last forever, they will quickly pass away

The time is ripe to take them at the beginning of the day

If you miss these opportunities it could bring sadness to your heart

So take example from the birds and make an early start


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It’s all right-angles in the city over Newton’s lock.
Square foot, Square Mile. The joiner, mason, architect
have passed through, each one dangling a plumbline.
Build it once, then rake it back to ash and build again.

Down here the river measures twice, cuts once.
Bring spirit levels, bring your guillotines and gates,
you’ll not cut water
                                  as it halves this place.
Meet it on its own terms, soft and true enough.

Between the builds, a greening, an uncornering.
The rivers make a curve of every angle; gentling a lattice,
licking sharpness from an edge. They gather leaves
and shake out clouds in tunnel mouths.

Welcome them. They change, and wait, and change.
Uncoil a path, a monument to those who go at walking pace
between the cathedrals of speed. A path means hope;
it links new places through an arc of sapling sycamores.

Invite the artist; the unjoiner, cutting out a halved house
on each bank. For Newton, keeper of the unlocked Lea,
you split the cottage like an apple. Water pulses through,
measuring the old familiar drop from hill to estuary.

Bent finger in a London of straight lines, the river
beckons to the city, points out the value of a curve
and floats on. Easy in its channels, unbiddable;
idle under mirrored bridges, waiting for the walls to fall.

By Jo Bell

Spirit level’ is Jo Bell’s specially commissioned response to Newton’s Cottage, at Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park. As part of a series of events this weekend celebrating the cottage, Jo will read this poem alongside more poems that about our waterways. 




We May Never Understand

The beauties of nature are there to be seen
But have you realised that this is evidence
of where God has been
When you walk in the woods and marvel at the trees
Can you hear god speaking to you in the breeze
If you look and listen it will help you to understand
That creation was the work of God’s almighty hand
Sometimes this can be difficult to comprehend
When as the result of natural disasters
many lives come to an end
If god is the creator why is this destruction taking place?
Is god sending messages to a sinful human race?
If this is something that you honestly believe
The concept of god as a god of love is difficult to conceive
Can we believe that this is part of god’s master plan?
And that he uses natural disasters in order to punish man
Some people might think that this is so
But this is something that we might never know
We can ask the question time and time again
Hoping to discover why nature inflicts so much pain
Seeking to discover if this is something that god has planned
Yet, knowing that we never, never understand

Hands of justice. – Promote Yourself


When there is a crime ‘ what do we say ‘ who has done this ‘ and in what way.
Such crimes must be punished ‘ at what length ‘ years in prison ‘ an a long stretch.
No more freedom ‘ you will have ‘ all locked up ‘ and that’s just sad.
You must be punished ‘ by me and you ‘ at what length ‘ its up to you.
Anger and rage ‘ just to be sure’ justice will be done ‘ an there’s more.
No more crimes ‘ you will tell ‘ your going to jail ‘ and locked up in a cell.
Hands of justice ‘ has been done’ now your locked up ‘ and no fun.

Patricia Bourne WordPress 2014.

Testing Times – Promote Yourself

Soul-of-My Guitar – Promote Yourself


Sometimes, when you get the Blues
or The Nana of yours, she’s  jalouse
That, You feel lonely, to night
and in your inside, it tears

I harken to the Soul-of-my guitar,

I hugged that Old-companion, of mine
my Fillet-Mignion, my glass of wine
My-bread-and-butter, my Duchess
My guitar, my gitane, my muse,

Keep your laughter, and your tears,
and your sarcasm, please
if that’s ye amuse

we had, an _á peutprêt, this small talk
T’was two o’clock:am, I suppose

I said to her: “Longtime no-see”
She said: ” I was just  sitting there,
already set, with all my frets
Longing for your fingers,
on my neck to linger

I was all time, Resting on a chair,”
“Just gathering some dust
And you were, always  at a hast,”
You fled for a woman,and her hair
Now, you come back to me, heart-broken, at last

And for my hard strings always to press_
At seventeen, I know L’Amour, ç’a blesse

I’m longing for your caress
Can’t you see it?”
with some reproach in her voice
She said: can You believe it?
I said: ” Ain’t  got no choice”
“mais encore”, she said
“Strike the chords”

I said: “It doesn’t mean a  thing”
She said “Seise the thing, and let it go
Grate the string
just add a touch

some Sol La Si
And Say it low
the words will flow
And put some rhymes.

It works sometimes
Then you get the Blues,
And you’ll be at ease”
I said: “to-night.

” I have to write,
she  said:” it’s will be alright,
just get it right.”
“And you are done with that beautiful mess”

__At wee hour, I felt like having my soul, of a poet, and a troubadour,


In The Dark..?-promote yourself


You are the sun – Promote Yourself


You’re the sun I never shun

Besides you, I cherish none

You’re the prize I’ve ever won

For hard times, joy and fun

You proved to be the one


You’re my source of light

You made my life so bright

I am ravished with delight

Whether here or out of sight

I remain your grateful knight


© Chaouki Mkaddem

June 3rd, 2014


Chaouki M’kaddem
Senior EFL teacher,
Ministry of Education, Tunisia


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