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Daily Archives: January 21, 2014

The Starfish Story – Promote Yourself







Dawn comes about and I lay in the sands,
In the wake of a strong coastal storm.
The paper and pen I bring in my hands,
Lay dormant in sun not yet warm.
I see down the beach, some miles from me,
A young woman who moves in a dance,
I stand up and walk, from my pen I am free,
To this girl who had stolen my glance.
Not a dance, in fact; I observe her throwing,
Some starfish to the cool water’s reach.
Her task, like my worry, is gradually growing,
For thousands do lie on this beach.
I ask why she tries, she responds in kind,
“It is dawn and the tide is receding.
I cannot leave these starfish behind,
Or on them, the birds will be feeding.”
“But surely your efforts are futile!” I say,
“Of thousands, you can save only few.
You can’t make a difference, not in one day,
Even with ten girls to help you!”
She listened politely, then picked up one more,
And threw it, just as she had done.
She said, with a grit seen never before,
“Well, it made a difference to that one.”
So here now I stand, on this sunlit shore,
With a starfish in each of my hands,
My pen and my paper, I need them no more,
They lie, untouched, in the sands.
Thank you for reading my poem, and if you think it is any good, please share it.
Ravi Jayanti

The girl on the black bike with white panniers – Promote Yourself

Amid the shell boom and thud of bullet,
biking to meet the morn, a student nurse,
Jaqueline Nöel, rode to the front alone.
What kept her going to the beach front hut
was a red two-piecer, a sister’s gift.
It was the last gift Marie-Denise gave,
dead in an air raid, to her twin sister.
Let past checkpoints for her Red Cross, whistling
squaddies tucked her into their war myth
of a girl on a black bike riding past
at the start of the Normandy landing,
refusing to believe the Germans would
let a civvy so close to the killing.
A nurse, a student nurse who lost a life,
her sister´s life, can’t win it back again,
but she could save the lives of others, lost
to tide and barbed wire, and that is what she did.
Recruited by the landing British troops
whose boats, boats, boats, and planes flown overhead
at Ouistreham beach so amazed her then.
She met her husband tending the wounded.
Jaqueline Thornton née Nöel rode her bike,
an old black thing with white panniers. On
past the bombed ruins of seaside hotels,
machine gun nests, and the sand dune dying,
she rode and found the costume in the hut,
where she had left it out the day before. Now,
it lies in her wardrobe, and she rides on.
Raoul Izzard
My Name is Raoul Izzard, I am a 37-year-old English teacher, dog owner, and plasticine animator living in Barcelona with my wonderful wife, Susana. I have been living here since 2007 when I moved from the UK to do teaching course. I love Spanish food, puppies and Ipad games. 


Snow on snow



Snow on snow
Flakes gently falling
Like leaves from a tree
Asking permission 
Before they land
On the snowflakes underneath
Each one different
Like leaves on a tree
A white carpet
Pure white till soiled
By children’s shoes
They love its touch
Ooo snowball fights
Snow doesn’t hurt
Snow is soft and forgiving
People hurt
They are selfish and cruel
So let it snow
Snow on snow on 

James Hart
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