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life and love

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CALLING ALL POETS – PROMOTE YOURSELF

HARVESTXXXXXXXXXX

DOES ANYONE HAVE ANY POETRY BASED ON HARVEST FESTIVAL? IF SO WHY NOT SUPPORT THIS THEME AND SEND YOUR WRITTEN WORK TO:poetreecreations@yahoo.com WE WILL GLADLY POST IT HERE FOR ALL TO SEE ON OUR POETRY PLATFORM!

“Imperfection” – Promote Yourself

beauty
Every morning
When I see my reflection
I see chubby and ugly,
I see imperfection.
I need the affection
I have to be pretty
If I don’t look like “this”
They won’t bother with me.
So I get dolled
And caked up
Smothered in make up
Just to have some boy tell me
I need to be easy on the eyes,
To compete with the girls
And impress the guys.
To them I’m a prize
A challenge, a game,
Another pretty face
With a number and name.
And I’ll play along,
Pretending to be okay
Pretending I don’t know about
What they whisper in the hallway.
It’s just another day
I have to get through.
Why couldn’t my reflection
Be beautiful too.
 
 
Hey, it’s Marcus Roi again, hope you enjoyed the poem. This is one of the poems that will be featured in my book “Book of Mars.” You can find more from me at allpoetry.com/Marcus_Roi.

NEW LIFE – Promote Yourself

baby99

My wife is pregnant

and the joy floods in.

Never expecting another life from mine

I stand amazed

and watch you grow

a love within my love.

I’ll tell you things,

I’ll teach you things,

I’ll show you the past

and stand amazed

as the future unfolds.

And I’ll hold you close

when life threatens.

 

Yours truly,

Walt Trizna

 

https://walttriznastories.wordpress.com/

This Impatient Little Boy – Promote Yourself

boyed

This impatient little boy of age ten
With his blue side bag and quirky glasses
It was a fine day with a playful breeze
Tapped his feet and saw the cars pass by,
The Toyota, the Maruti and the Mercedes!
He waited for his mother on the street.
The Crowded road in front of his school. 
Where vehicles and people were plenty
His father told him it wasn’t so once
for he did go to this very school
Spoke proudly about the time long gone. 
When the road was clean, Spotless!
There weren’t so many cars so many people.
A lot of turf and not a trace of litter.
The boy couldn’t imagine that distant time.
As he waited all he could see.
Was litter and people too busy to care
as the garbage played with the road, a love affair!
Garbage in all of its manifestation.
Cans of mountain dew and wrappers of lays and
Skin of orange riddle the space. 
People too busy to care
Walk without even so much as another glance, 
Caught up in the ways of the world, in a Trance!, 
That was when the boy saw it, 
One man. Just one man! Lifting up the garbage,
In his clean clothes and slip on shoes. 
No one now dared to litter as he 
picked up the can, picked up the wrapper. 
The boy joined him and a miracle happened, 
 People gathered to clean the streets,
That day He went home and told his dad, 
The time that once was has returned, 
The road is clean, spotless! 
All it took was one man and 
an impatient Little Boy. 

Himanshu Goel

BROKEN BROLLIES

 

Where are all the broken brollies?

They have all been left in the streets

In Nottingham, all bent and broken

After all the snow,rain and wind has gone

I saw a Council man with a trolley

Picking up all of those broken brollies,

So now I know where they have all gone

The Council man picked up every one

They say in London

The streets are paved with gold,

In Nottingham the streets are filled

With broken brollies

The shops are empty

The brollies have all been sold

Now what will shelter us

From the rain and the cold?

Abbe, Tom, and Gillian

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

She Is Perfect..

spark

Her alluring sculpture of a woman

Her dark hair like a charming legend

Her feminine scent from heaven

Her beady eyes outshining diamond

Her dulcet voice like breeze tones

Her sweet lips as coconut flan

Her sharp wit penetrating stones

Her clear skin wearing no tan

Invaded my gamut of emotions

Inhabited my heart, soul, and mind

Dived into my deepest oceans

And cured my eyes that were blind

© Chaouki M’kaddem

December 25th, 2014

The Birds

sparow

Have you seen the birds in spring?

They are nearly always on the wing

Seeking in the east and west

Materials to build their nest

The eggs are laid and are kept warm

Protected from the wind and storms

Until the sound of breaking shell

Tells the parents that all is well

Then they spend all day in search of food

To satisfy their hungry breed

Chicks which grow stronger every day

Until one day they fly away

Parents then begin their quest

To find a site for a second nest

Another clutch of eggs are laid

And the care of the parents is again displayed

The days grow shorter every day

Until one day they fly away

Then no more can they be seen

They have gone away to pastures green

Where there is warmth and food for all

Ron Martin

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

A New Beginning – Promote Yourself

babiesxxxxxx

The anticipation has come to an end,
It’s almost time to meet our new friend,
It’s 2 in the morning, the pain kicks in,
Here he comes, his life will soon begin,
I am scared stiff, what lies ahead?
Screaming out in the hospital bed,
The pain is so bad just want him here,
I have never felt so much fear,
25 hours later he’s in my arms
Hoping and praying he comes to no harm,
His big blue eyes and cute little face
Look up at me to say,
How did I get to this place?
I promise him right there and then,
I will love him forever, until the end.

Abbe Cutforth

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

A Rose by Charles Townsend

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:poetreecreations@yahoo.com

Fire and Ice

FIREEEEEEEEEEE
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

BY ROBERT FROST

Sent in by you. What’s your favourite poem?

A Diet of Herbs – Promote Yourself

cornflake

They say that we are what we eat

And in many cases this appears to be so

For those folk who enjoy a regular ‘fry up’

Advertise the fact wherever they go

It is said that obesity is a problem

Affecting the health and wealth of our nation

So I have decided that I must do all I can

To ensure that my body does not suffer from inflation

So I asked my sister ROSEMARY for advice

And said I should try a diet of herbs

That SAGE could be beneficial

And it would help to divide the nouns and the verbs

My cousin BASIL said that he agreed

With much of what my sister had to say

He said we should eat more CORIANDER with our salads

And this would keep obesity at bay

At first this appeared to be working

And that it would require more THYME

And if this does not prove affective

At least it will give me time to finish this rhyme.

Ron Martin

Gentle eyes . Promote Yourself

is

As the eyes which I can not see ‘ its the sadness that reaches within me .

My vission is blurred ‘ am I going blind ‘ or do my eyes deceive me ‘ its all in my mind .

My sight I may be losing ‘ its sad but true ‘ I worry about the very thing ‘ and about you .

The pain and suffering ‘ I may have to bare ‘ but not seeing you grow up ‘ its beyond compare.

This is my life now ‘ eyes which I can not see ‘ will I be alone ‘ with only you and me .

The future I had ‘ I must learn to face ‘ the eyes are not needed ‘ its no disgrace .

They say the eyes are the windows of the soul ‘ that you know to be true ‘ but that’s not the only thing ‘ for me and you .

Patricia Bourne WordPress 2014

You are the sun – Promote Yourself

light

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
 

The wall By William Walker

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