Dam Head Livery

07/04/2025

Awesome 🤩

19/03/2025

Blooming through the seasons,
A garden on each page,
Where poetry and artwork
Dance in perfect grace.

A Mother's Day gift to treasure,
Botanical wonders to explore,
My words, Heidi's brushstrokes—
Original to the core.

Find our labour of love
On Amazon's virtual shelf,
A year of floral beauty
For £12.50, ISBN 978-0993148019.
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Hope the poetic opener caught your attention? Perhaps enough to take action! This botanical poetry collection pairs my original verses with Heidi's stunning artwork, creating a perfect Mother's Day gift that celebrates the beauty of flowers throughout the year.

And for my fellow Shibden Valley residents wondering why I've suddenly taken to rhyming verse—what can I say? The rolling hills and blooming gardens of our lovely valley have a way of bringing out the poet in me! If you buy the book, it might do the same for you.

Available now from Amazon or Barnes & Noble:

Amazon
https://amzn.eu/d/dHdYUoh

Barnes & Noble https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/blooming-verses-creag-mcmillan/1147082749

An entirely original work.A rare gem among modern books, filled with newly crafted verse and hand-painted illustrations, each lovingly and uniquely created.Through Garden Paths of Verse We WindThrough garden paths of verse we wind, Where...

20/02/2025

♥️🤣🤣🤣♥️. Lots of fun…

12/02/2025

♥️❤️♥️🐎🐎🐎♥️❤️♥️ lovely

11/02/2025

Hot of the press our sister company Evans Webb publishes third book, first blooming versus, second one blooming art book and now this, then lookout for a fed up dormouse or a pig named oink…

11/02/2025

https://www.instagram.com/stories/creagmcmillan/3565660678381973754?utm_source=ig_story_item_share&igsh=eDJ6aXhsZ2lyYzQz

1,217 Followers, 2,848 Following, 4,109 Posts

10/02/2025

🌹 A Valentine’s Gift That Blooms 🌹

As February fourteenth draws near,
And love’s sweet whispers fill the air,
Let me share a gift divine—
Two treasures that together shine.

“Blooming Verses”—fresh and bright,
A year of flowers, month by month, in rhyme and light.
Twelve gardens wrapped in rhythmic art,
To warm and lift a loved one’s heart.

“The Blooming Art Book” stands beside,
With floral pages to colour inside—
A mindful journey, calm and free,
Where art and nature dance in harmony.

Perhaps they’re born in summer’s glow,
When roses blush and lilies grow,
Or autumn’s gold, when asters gleam—
Their birth-month flower in a poet’s dream.

Here’s peace and joy in paired design:
One book to read, one to refine—
A gift that lingers, never fades,
Like love that deepens, year by year, in nature’s sweet cascade.

🌿 Available now – the perfect gift, just in time for Valentine’s Day! 🌿

📖 Order here: [Blooming Verses: Poetry And Flowers For Every Month (Blooming Poetry) https://amzn.eu/d/iqlfCwM

💝 P.S. For the true romantics…
A book of love poems
is about to bloom,
Coming Wednesday,
by Friday
it could be in your room!

(“Love Poems” – because some feelings need more than a card…)

A rare gem among modern books, filled with newly crafted verse with hand-painted illustrations, each lovingly and uniquely created. Through garden paths of verse we wind, Where twelve months’ flowers dance and shine, With wisdom, wit, and wonder twined, In nature’s rhythm, yours and mine....

08/02/2025

It's Yorkshire - A Snowdrop Day Declaration

It's Yorkshire. Let that truth be known worldwide:
These angels chose our dale-lands for their own,
Where snowdrops spring from soil that's sanctified
By heaven's kiss on weathered earth and stone.

Here, where the mist rolls thick across the hills,
And winter bites with sharp and honest teeth,
These blessed flowers break through frozen sills,
Their angel-touched heads bowing just beneath.

Our ancient walls have watched them, year by year,
Push through the frost when winter holds its sway,
Each pristine bloom a testament sincere
To Yorkshire's claim on this, their holy day.

For those who know, there's never need to doubt -
When angels blessed the snow, they picked Yorkshire out.

Historical Note:
The snowdrop's transformation from heaven-touched snow to earth-blessed flower belongs firmly in Yorkshire tradition. But it is not the work of just one angel—rather, a host of them. As you travel through Yorkshire, you'll find angels everywhere: angels in the snowdrops, those quiet heralds of hope; angels that breathe Yorkshire air, their presence felt in the wind that rolls over the hills and through the valleys. And that air—when you breathe it—fills you with strength, resilience, and a deep energy that feeds the soul. For in Yorkshire, when the snowdrops appear, hope is never distant. The land itself reminds you that winter does not last forever, for the daffodils are on their way, as are the violets and the primroses, each one a whisper that life is good and spring is near.

Well, obviously. Obviously...

16/01/2025

Classic

25/12/2024

Three Flowers for Christmas: A gift of thoughts from me…

Dear Planet Horse Dwellers

These three flowers—white tulips, yellow China Tea roses, and the red poinsettia—bring their gifts to you this Christmas. Like the Wise Men of old, they each carry their own wisdom, but unlike gold, frankincense, and myrrh, these gifts are meant for sharing.

If I’ve sent this to you directly, know it carries my personal wishes for your Christmas joy. If you’ve found it somewhere else, consider it a gift nonetheless—for all gifts of the heart are meant to travel further than we know.

These flowers tell a story of presence, patience, and giving. The white tulips remind us to cherish the moment, the yellow roses teach us endurance, and the red poinsettia guides us, like a star, toward sharing with others.

No return is sought nor needed—like flowers themselves, joy grows best when given freely.

I. A Sonnet to Christmas Tulips

In winter’s heart, where roses seldom bloom,
White tulips grace the hearth with purest hue.
Their petals, soft as snow, dispel the gloom,
A silent dance beneath the morning dew.

With golden spray, their verdant stems are crowned,
They gleam like stars upon a frosted bough.
A whispered promise in their form is found—
To light the dark and heal the weary now.

In Christmas warmth, they find their gentle place,
Amidst the holly’s green and scarlet cheer.
Their chastened beauty lends a quiet grace,
A fleeting peace, profound, yet crystal-clear.

O tulips white, your gift we can’t confine,
A symbol pure, of love and hope divine.

The present moment is a precious gift,
Like petals opening in morning light.
Each moment holds a grace we dare not drift,
A beauty pure that makes the dark grow bright.

II. The China Tea Roses’ Vigil

Behind glass panes where winter claims its sphere,
My China Tea roses, golden, persevere.
Like cups of distant memories from lands,
Their yellow blooms make gestures time understands.

Each petal whispers tales of silk and tea,
Of patience learned when frost claims territory.
They watch the tulips in their indoor grace,
While holding winter’s wisdom in their place.

These blooms that travelled far from Orient seas
Now share their gentle light through winter’s freeze.
Like lanterns glowing on a foreign shore,
They teach us what endurance is meant for.

Between the dark and light they stand and wait,
Patient witnesses to time’s sweet flow.
Teaching us there’s never need to hesitate
In sharing love with those we cherish so.

III. The Poinsettia’s Star

Through winter’s night, a colour burns,
Like flames against December frost.
Each crimson leaf in starlight turns,
Where summer’s warmth was never lost.

From Mexico’s warm ancient ground,
To winter homes where joy is found.
Each perfect point a star takes form—
December’s gift through winter’s storm.

Like faithful hearts that brave the cold,
These blooms declare what light can hold.
Red petals reach toward winter skies—
Nature’s own Christmas sunrise.

Three flowers bring their wisdom here tonight:
White tulips’ grace in present moments clear,
Yellow roses’ patience, burning bright,
Red poinsettia’s star to guide and cheer.

Closing

And so, my friends, whether near or far,
These flowers bring their Christmas blessing true.
Like wise men following their guiding star,
May their gifts of peace and joy reach you.

For in this season, as in all our days,
The present is the greatest gift we hold.
To share it freely in a thousand ways
Makes life more precious than mere frankincense or gold.

As ever, with my love and warmest wishes,

Creag

24/12/2024

My Beautiful Bradford - A Celebration in Poetry and Prose

A Poem for My Beautiful Bradford

I promised to write a poem,
A humble attempt to celebrate
Bradford, a city that shaped my heart,
A place I hold dear, never to part.

I thought, what best honours this land?
Is it the buildings, the streets, the sand?
Perhaps it’s the way Bradford’s name,
Echoes in the world, with pride and fame.

(Refrain)
Their beautiful Bradford, shared with the world,
A tapestry woven, where stories are hurled.
From the heart of its people, to the sky so wide,
Bradford, forever, with nothing to hide.

I looked to those who’ve celebrated its grace,
Luminaries whose names we embrace.
From writers and artists, to minds so grand,
Each one left a mark upon this land.

(Refrain)
Their beautiful Bradford, shared with the world,
A tapestry woven, where stories are hurled.
From the heart of its people, to the sky so wide,
Bradford, forever, with nothing to hide.

J.B. Priestley, a voice of the North,
Wrote tales that still stir, bringing forth
Insight into life, into time and fate,
Bradford’s own son, who opened the gate.

John Braine’s words, from Room at the Top,
Spoke of ambition, of life’s steady hop.
Angry and young, he wrote with might,
Of class and struggle, and day turning night.

(Refrain)
Their beautiful Bradford, shared with the world,
A tapestry woven, where stories are hurled.
From the heart of its people, to the sky so wide,
Bradford, forever, with nothing to hide.

David Hockney’s brush, so vivid, so bright,
Captured the world in colours of light.
From Yorkshire’s fields to California’s shore,
Bradford’s own artist, forever more.

Frederick Delius, whose music soared,
Through fields and pastures, his chords adored.
Bradford’s own son, with music to tell,
Of spring’s first cuckoo, and time’s deep swell.

(Refrain)
Their beautiful Bradford, shared with the world,
A tapestry woven, where stories are hurled.
From the heart of its people, to the sky so wide,
Bradford, forever, with nothing to hide.

Andrea Dunbar, her words so raw,
Portrayed life’s struggles, no facade to draw.
From the estate of Buttershaw she came,
A voice for the people, never to wane.

Barbara Taylor Bradford, stories so grand,
Tales of strong women, from her own hand.
Her books touched millions, her name known wide,
A true Bradford author, with nowhere to hide.

(Refrain)
Their beautiful Bradford, shared with the world,
A tapestry woven, where stories are hurled.
From the heart of its people, to the sky so wide,
Bradford, forever, with nothing to hide.

These luminaries, these voices so true,
Celebrate Bradford in all that they do.
Through their works, the city lives on,
A part of their legacy, forever strong.

(Refrain)
Their beautiful Bradford, shared with the world,
A tapestry woven, where stories are hurled.
From the heart of its people, to the sky so wide,
Bradford, forever, with nothing to hide.

A Personal Connection

While the luminaries celebrated above have shared Bradford’s story with the world through their art, music, and literature, each person who calls Bradford home has their own chapter to add. This is mine.

I was born at St. Luke’s Hospital in Bradford on March 12th, 1960—or so my mother tells me, backed up by some paperwork I’ve seen lying around somewhere. But you know what? The paperwork doesn’t really matter. What matters is how Bradford has shaped me, and how I’ve spent my time in this remarkable city.

Recently, I’ve been following a wonderful social media trend where people share daily photographs of Bradford—both historical and contemporary. It’s been heartwarming to see these images that take us all back through the city’s rich history and evolution, showing the same streets that inspired Priestley’s words and Hockney’s art.

Just the other day, fate gave me an unexpected gift. Due to some cancelled trains, I found myself at the wrong station and had to return to Bradford. Instead of waiting for another train to my intended destination, I had an idea. I slid into a taxi and asked the driver if we could take a tour around town before heading to my destination. He agreed, and what followed was a lovely experience.

During our drive, the cabbie and I had a wonderful chat about life—our different circumstances, neither better nor worse, just different paths we’ve taken. Like Andrea Dunbar, who wrote about life as she saw it in Buttershaw, this conversation helped me understand something my niece often says about “my beautiful Bradford.” Those words resonate deeply with me now.

You see, it bothers me when people speak negatively about places they don’t truly know. Bradford isn’t just where I was born—it’s a part of who I am. Though I don’t live there now, I’m not far away, and each visit fills me with warmth and appreciation. Just as Frederick Delius captured Yorkshire’s essence in his music, I feel the city’s rhythm in my heart.

From this day forward, I’ll always think of it as “my beautiful Bradford,” because that’s exactly what it is. My niece had it right all along. It’s not just a city—it’s a tapestry of memories, connections, and experiences that have shaped my life in the most wonderful ways. Like the luminaries before us who shared their Bradford with the world, I too share my beautiful Bradford, with nothing to hide and everything to celebrate.

A Final Note

I just wanted to take a moment to thank everyone in the group again for sharing their daily photographs of Bradford. It’s been truly inspiring to see the city through your eyes, and your posts sparked something in me. As I wrote the words you’re reading now, I was reminded of how deeply Bradford is woven into my story—and yours too.

I appreciate you all for keeping this spirit of sharing alive. I hope you enjoy what I’ve written here, and thank you again for the inspiration.