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Daily Archives: August 22, 2013

Sizing Up – Promote Yourself

gun head

There is laughter there
In-between broken ribs and bent souls
In being alone, in touching your own wounds
Salted funny

I needed to tell you I was crazy; in promise
You would not reject me because
I have an art about forgiving and still losing everything
Telling the preacher himself
So that I don’t feel so lonely
When you sit your sin right beside me

A mass of contradictions
You told me right and taught me wrong
Thinking that all I have to do is tell the truth; be strong
When the rope was dangling there all along
You sleep soundly
Thinking you have killed me, but I loved you
That was always the right choice to me

Painfully
They all want to wreck me
And I want salvation
You want portraits of the condition I am currently in
Still waiting
Seeing the light through your cavernous body
Hoping my spirit clings to the correct things
And not the dampness of your dark

Taking what you give me
Even when it hurts me; you left me
Feigning and sickly; scrawny
From the lack of dreams where you would hold me
Sometimes I feel your fingers foreign
And I lack the self-respect to
Stop them because it’s been so long since
I’ve had someone’s whole palm to lay my cheek in

My tears will never be enough restitution
I could bleed your vanity and still be too thin
To complicated to kiss
Unaware of your efforts
Claiming to have good intentions
But all I feel is shame creep in

Memories of when just your form could make my entire structure unsound
Your smell could make me forget I ever
Saw hell in your eyes
The way they matched perfectly with your voice
That spoke to those words
Making me put a Smith and Wesson to my head

With still no kiss to my temple
The love I feel from you is lethal
But I know I’m more than thankful
Because if I was like you
Selfish acting noble
I would feel even more so unlovable

I have hope and
You don’t; say;
I’m sorry but I wouldn’t either
If the only good part in my entire day
Was watching a beautiful girl decay and slip away

My reality
And still you have the audacity
To say ‘leave me be’

-KS

Hi my name is Kelley Stephens I am from the United States in Oklahoma. I have a degree in nursing and I have been writing for as long as I can remember but I just started really concentrating on my poetry the last year or two. you can find my blog here http://kelleystephens20.wordpress.com. Hope everyone enjoyed!

Kelley M. Stephens

*Blues Queen* – Promote Yourself

BLUESXXXXXXX

She finally made it back to Birdland.
It feels like just yesterday she was here in New York City, spray-painting this bitter, hateful earth with the blues. Now she is on Heaven’s replica stage being backed up by the greatest bluesmen that have ever lived accompanying her commanding voice as respective maestros of the
Sweet sax,
Trumpet,
Drums,
A pair of trombones and a double bass:
What a Difference a Day Made.
Oh she’s still got it. It feels like Radio City here in the clouds…with flashy lights beaming down on the messengers of song. The stage is overflowing with music and taking center stage is the very physical and spiritual representation of the Blues. She stands before the audience oozing blue, it’s wrapped around her skin, and from her soul it pours from her pores…the moment she begins to roar.
She is the Blues.
With clenched fists and an open heart — she Rules the microphone…
Victoria and Elizabeth can have their jurisdiction…
But on this stage there is but only
One Queen.
I present to you:
The Queen of Blues.
All Hail.

Painted by John Penney

©2012. Original Clyde Aidoo. All Rights Reserved.

Question of a poet to a pair of eyes reflecting his – Promote Yourself

eyesxxxxxxxxxx

Love, if I grow fat
For passing the afternoon
Diagnosing the faults of the heart,

Or if my cheeks bear the
Heaviest of dark circles
For burning the evening
Formulating verses,

Or if morning by morning
My spines curves
With sleeplessness
Writing verses of love

Trying to feel
What my predecessors
Have failed to write
Of their lovers,

And if in each hour, in every second,
In the littlest movement of time,
I add a pound for every verse that I write
For you, who’s the everything of me,

And if my whole life
Is spent like that,
in this, writing and rewriting,

Dying in the morning, in the
Afternoon, and in the evening—

By dying I meant having the smell
Of a jackfruit, an existence reduced
To layers of fats comparable to
The rice terraces
And a posture never deserving of
A national monument

Will you, and still, and always,
And only, love me?

pen name: YVVA SVHOVAN
real name: wayne castillo
country: Philippines
living in: Manila

http://yvvasvhovan.wordpress.com/

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