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Monthly Archives: February 2014

Please don’t smoke

 want one so bad I begin to itch

But the more I have the more I get a stitch,

When I have one I feel satisfied

But the more I have the more I might die,

The one after tea is definitely the best

But the more I have,the more pains in my chest,

I used to run,I used to be fit

I need to cut down or definitely quit,

From freshness to blackness I can’t understand

My body was good,but now it is bad

All of them kill,no matter the brand,

You can kick it,yes you can,

Put it out before you choke

Trust me mate, please don’t smoke

By Christopher Wolvet

 

Should I speak or should I smile? – Promote Yourself

 

Should i speak or should i smile?
Its two and two Still i am looking at sky
Whenever i m so fast ,
When m so light..
Its the time which pushes me ..
Drags me aside ,
Under the clouds of heaviness
Sheering among dark floating bouys..
I’m feeling shattered like them Running aimless ,
Raining ups and down , covering the skies.
I know today its darker..
Tomorrow, after sometime morning will smile.
I dont know how to think..
What to decide..?
From where i have to move
From where to make a  start..
Should i speak ? or should i smile ?
Feeling helpless ,
Letting myself drag with lee of the time,
I am just listening to the waves
Which are touching me & moving around ..
I know this well ,
 I have passes been through many troughs before
Clocks makes thing easier ,
hopes burning bright..
Coming Monday will be beautiful and
Course will be fine..
But today; With confused expression
To breathe in suffocation ,
To feel alive I am
Asking this unwished pleasure ,
With bleeding conscience of mine..
Should i speak or should i smile..?

hush a little baby daddy’s sad – promote Yourself

 

 

crying dad

Hush little baby Daddys here

Hush little baby dont you fear

Hush little baby as i hold my tear

Hush little baby dont you hear

Hush little baby daddys son

Hush little baby daddy will see you soon

Hush little baby Daddy did try

Hush little baby dont you sigh

Hush little baby as i start to cry

Hush little baby daddy never got say bye bye

hush little baby mummy took you away

hush a little baby daddy misses you every day

hush little baby will daddy ever see you again.

colin thornton

Song

  
songbirdxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
 
It made me look and stop awhile
 
This song from bellowed breast
 
On high, on branch, a feathered one
 
Without a spring-time nest
 
 
 
Low winter sun escaped the clouds
 
And stroked the preening bird
 
Deep traffic flowed below the elm
 
But still the song was heard
 
 
 
The songbird sang for all things new
 
A voice of fledgling hope
 
Dancing from each ancient branch
 
In fine plumage of bespoke
 
 
 
I took my leave as day departed
 
A song took flight from where it started.
Stephen Hollaway

No Time To Say Goodbye – Malcolm Bradshaw

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In my millionth moment

It is in my millionth  moment

  That I need

To sit beside the calmest sea,

Where I could spot a pirate,

On a desert island

hiding in a huge palm tree,

I could run along

The water’s edge

And feel the softness of the sand,

I could follow the clouds

To the promised land

In my millionth moment

Or I could sit in a sea cave,

And anticipate in isolation,

How far I could stretch my imagination

Across the deepest blue waves,

In my millionth moment

I could imagine a mermaid

Visiting me in my sea cave,

reading my future From old tea leaves,

Telling me stories

Of pirates and thieves,

Who hide in huge palm trees

In my millionth moment

By Gillian Sims

The Red Wheelbarrow by William Carlos Williams – Famous poet

carlos

Born: September 17, 1883
Birthplace: Rutherford, New Jersey
Died: March 4, 1963
William Carlos Williams was a Pulitzer Prize-winning poet and medical doctor.

 “The Red Wheelbarrow” by William Carlos Williams, was untitled when it first appeared as number xxi in his 1923 collection, Spring and All. Titled or untitled, it’s surely one of the most memorable poems ever written. But do we remember it in the way we usually remember poems? If you’re familiar with “The Red Wheelbarrow”, shut your eyes now and see what happens when you try to recall it. The poem probably appears in front of you, more or less intact. It’s the visual memory that it appeals to: once seen, its overall shape and inner patterns, as well as its key images, seem printed on the brain.

The visual arts had a profound effect on Williams’s poetic development, beginning with the new work he encountered in the epochal 1913 Armory Show. The moving spirit behind this exhibition was the photographer Alfred Stieglitz. His avant-garde Gallery 291 became another hub of creative activity for the new American artists, and Williams was a regular visitor.

As his Autobiography reveals, Williams was interested in Cubism, Futurism, photographic art, and the “readymades” of Marcel Duchamp. He talks particularly about the significance of Paul Cézanne and his successors, approving their concept of “sheer paint: a picture a matter of pigments upon a piece of cloth stretched on a frame.”

The four stanzas here are rather like that “piece of cloth, stretched on a frame”. The structural tension gives every word its space and focus. The dominant nouns are like objects painted vividly onto a neutral ground. Williams emphasises the colours rather than the shapes – the shape, after all, appears in our minds as soon as we see a word like “wheelbarrow” or “chickens”.

“The key, the master-key to the age,” Williams said of the modern movement in literature, “was that jump from the feeling to the word itself: that which had been got down, the thing to be judged and valued accordingly.” But we shouldn’t forget that poems are made of line-breaks as well as words, and “so much depends”, in this poem, on the splitting of the two compound words, “wheelbarrow” and “rainwater”. These dissections slow us down, and help the mind’s eye to register more: the individual wheels as well as the body of the barrow, the water that is more than raindrops.

Important for their spatial emphases are the prepositions. “Upon” and “beside” are two little words that the poem magnifies hugely. Their implications float beyond the phrases that contain them. The abstract “so much” depends upon the objects, but the rainwater also depends physically upon the barrow, and the glazing effect depends upon the rainwater. The idea of the barrow being “beside” the chickens is complex: the barrow is stationary (there is no sign of anyone pushing it) while the chickens are likely to be moving about. If they are not specially posed, their aesthetic effect is sheer lucky chance. The effect is snatched after all from the flux of existence.

Had Williams simply set down his imagery as a description, the poem would still have its visual impact, but we would be in an entirely contained pictorial world. But the poem’s opening assertion, “so much depends/upon…”, shows that, perhaps paradoxically, the speaker is not simply content with the thing itself.

A naive reading could take it as a comment about the great usefulness ofwheelbarrows on small-holdings where chickens are kept. Unharmed by the rain which has simply left a sheen on the painted surface, the barrow will shortly be filled with more useful matter. It would be amusing to think that the doctor-poet, so pragmatic and modest in his daily life, meant nothing more than that. But no: the poem has an obviously aesthetic agenda. Its author is a radical innovator, and he is setting out his poetry-barrow, not describing his wheelbarrow. This is his manifesto, surely – a poem quietly declaring how modern poetry works.

“No ideas but in things,” as he famously said. And yet, in this poem, so much depends on how we interpret the statement “so much depends”.

“The Red Wheelbarrow” evades what it seems to invite: a simple, visual interpretation. It seems to be absolutely clear, but, at the same time, it’s a riddle. Whatever you may decide the poem means intellectually, as an art-object it holds on to its own indelible shape and colour. Its images are irrefutable, and no amount of verbal rain will ever wash them from the memory they have entered – nor dull the shiny, spring-like, fresh-paint patina of happiness that this particular wheelbarrow seems to carry.

The Red Wheelbarrow 

so much depends
upon 

a red wheel
barrow 

glazed with rain
water 

beside the white
chickens.

YOUR FAVOURITE POEM SENT IN BY YOU

WHAT’S YOURS

Business as usual

I wish I owned a pie shop, I’d fill it full of meat

Big pies, small pies, pies you’d think were neat

Chicken, ham and mushroom, beef and peas in stew

Golden crisp and savoury, pies for me and you

Lots of sticky gravy, great dollops of mash

Mixing in the chunks with salt a little dash

I’d eat there all day and gain 100 pounds

Eating pies is lovely, to make your belly round

I wish I owned a pie shop with lots of tasty meat

I wish I owned a pie shop, a great place to eat

Dan Fry 9th competition 2011

THE LIGHT – Promote Yourself

lightxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

My darling
My beautiful one
Why did you leave
I was gone only in the physical sense
I’d never leave you
I told you that in those,
my
final hours.
All you had to do was listen to the beat of your heart
and you’d know
I was with you.
I’m always with you.
Why have you travelled to this place
You knew what you were doing
what you were giving up
when you signed that….
register.
Travelled far
Used the last of our bond
to be able to breath into you
once more.
I have nothing left now
the last between us
is dying.
My darling
I felt your pain
I battled as hard as I could to stay
In the end the body gave in
You knew we would be together….
One day,
In a place where time
does not exist
You had to wait though
Now look what you have done
what you have given
to them
In order to try and somehow
ease my pain,
You cannot cross from there.
whatever they promised
It cannot be given
My darling
if there is any chance
of you finding your way back
I breath it to you
in the darkness of
your solitude
I give you
the last few colours
of
my final light……..

Gabriel Denver

EMBITTERED – Promote Yourself

 lost kid

 

 

Like a child lost among many,

Panic has paralyzed your attempts to progress.

Refusing to accept help from any,

Loneliness has led to regress.

 

For the beginning never happened,

Only in your troubled mind.

And the end did happen,

As your love closed and left you blind.

 

Because your feet stay planted in concrete,

Her storm-swept heart has lost its purpose;

And as you run from all that’s sweet,

 Left remains: a leaky skiff; a withered rose.

 

Had you seen the truth, told no lies,

She may have fought to feed your guise;

A rescued stray whom you played,

But she was no child to your dismay.

 

Shatter into pieces your brutal past;

Reclaim that black pearl buried in the beach,

For once removed, your bitter cast,

You will find love within your reach.

Wendy Shreve

The Butterfly Effect – Promote Yourself

 catterpllia

 

I was a gorging caterpillar Consuming everything I could;

It was my nature, I knew no better, To me, it just seemed so good.

Then shame struck me and in searing pain I cocooned myself away from sight;

And in that shell You dealt with me ‘Til I was ready to return to the light.

Now I’m reborn a beloved butterfly Crafted with detail and engaging flair,

Painted with love by Your master hand, Molded with Masterly care.

As I flap my wings Who knows what effect You will impart through me?

Creating simple ripples, Affecting complex lives, Of people I may never see.

All glory to You, Whose perfect plan Finds a way to use unworthy me!

What an amazing God, Loving Father and guide,

Who heard my voiceless plaintive plea.

by @faithunlocked

http://faithunlocked.wordpress.com

Your favourite poem “The Reaper and the Flowers” by Henry wadsworth Longfellow – Famous poet

The-Flower-Reaper-4cc65b9603966

There is a Reaper, whose name is Death,
And, with his sickle keen,
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
And the flowers that grow between.

“Shall I have naught that is fair?” Saith he;
“Having naught but the bearded grain?
Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me,
I will give them all back again,”

He gazed at the flowers with tearful eye,
He kissed their drooping leaves;
It was for the Lord of Paradise
He bound them in his sheaves.

“My Lord has need of these floweretsgay,”
The Reaper said, and smiled:
“Dear tokens of the earth are they,
Where he was once a child.”

“They shall all bloom in fields of light,
Transplanted by my care,
And saints, upon their garments white,
These sacred blossoms wear.”

And the mother gave, in tears and pain,
The flowers she most did love:
She knew she should find them all again
In the fields of light above.

O, not in cruelty, not in wrath,
The Reaper came that day;
‘Twas an angel visited the green earth,
And took the flowers away.

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

YOUR FAVOURITE POEM SENT IN BY YOU

WHAT’S YOURS?

ROCK ‘N RUSH – Promote Yourself

lockxx
Outside, I’m a rock;
Inside, I run like a clock;
Tick, tock, tick tock;
Yet, my heart won’t mock;
The traveler has found her dock,
For my love stands strong, as a rock.

With a rush, I blush;
His black, curly hair I brush;
No, it’s not a crush;
Still, I won’t gush;
I speak with a hush;
And I communicate with touch,
For in love there’s no need to rush.

Wendy Shreve

Mystery of Death

mystery-death
When you lose some one to spirit,
Whether expected or not,
At first everything is in turmoil,
Everything just goes to pot.

The disbelief it’s happened,
The anger and despair,
To be taken away is a mystery,
For the grief is hard to bear.

Turning it over in your mind,
Of the things that were said,
I am living in an unreal world,
Now that you are dead.

If only I could touch you,
To feel the warm of your heart,
It would ease the pain I am feeling,
Now that we are far apart.

If there are answers to these feelings,
Then I would like to know,
Does life end within the grave,
If not, were do our loved ones go.

My child you are feeling,
The pain from the bond of love,
You are experiencing the separation,
To the spirit world above.

You have only lost the material,
The bond of love will remain,
Nothing can separate what you created,
For you will be together again.

It will take time for you to settle,
For the hurt and pain to cease,
Remember I shall always be near you,
To give you everlasting peace.

I am not all that far away,
We are not that far apart,
Look in a different direction,
Send your feeling from within your heart.

All the thoughts you have sent I’ve received,
I will see you through darkness and despair,
I shall watch over you and the family,
And join in the experience that you share.

We shall all have a joyful reunion,
The moment you receive that call,
In the mean time enjoy your life,
As a place I shall prepare for you all,

Malcolm G Bradshaw

Telepathy – Promote Yourself

 

syco

 

 

 

 

Telepathy, now there’s a word that deserves to be written about

As a matter of fact it’s a word that from the roof tops we should shout.

When great minds think alike and one another we can’t see

Just be glad they invented that word called telepathy.

Where you can send a message in the blinking of an eye

And even though there’s no contact made it’s like a bolt of lightening from the sky.

You get the warmest feeling and your body feels a glow

There is a special someone out there that’s all you need to know.

Their thoughts are there with you deep within their mind

You’re thinking of them also to send a message you’re inclined.

So you gather warm thoughts together use your mental energy

Then your glad it was invented that word – telepathy.

C. J. Black. 25/02/14

How to Forget – Promote Yourself

forget 

 
     

For some things it takes a great deal of  remembering

To forget about thinking things you no longer want

To  remember.

The terrible days that stalk you

Will always do so.

They have such  a hold on your heart

It is impossible to let them go.

For those the only  solace Is to bury them beneath a trust in new experiences.

The hurts of  love you thought you would not live through

Have already proved weak each  time you draw a breath.

It is the smaller things, slights, humiliations,  disappointments

That live so close to the heart’s life they can only

Be  forgiven.

They can’t be forgot but grow smaller

Every day you grow into the  person you really are.

But the easiest of things to forget, you never  notice

They are missing from your memory until too late.

They are the  things that will hurt the most because 

They were best parts  of your lives, you never  imagined

You would forget.

 
K. A. Brace–themirrorobscura.com

Spending Time With the Blues

 blues

 
 

 

There is that rhythm

Like a slow breathing woman

Playing with my senses

She knows I’m in love

With the way she moves

The way she grooves

I’m just along for the ride

Hoping she might abide

To my dreams kept tucked away

Those notions that are for her today

~

“This old sweet song keeps Georgia on my mind”

While I dance a little jig in my mind

Waiting until the next rift catches me

Takes me for that ride again

Drifting out the door of this room

To a different place, a lovely place

Where everyone is dancing, and dancing

Where everyone is together

Feeling, laughing, playing

And nothing really matters

‘cept the blues keep rolling by

~

If they let me I might decide to stay

While the music continues to play

I will only need to leave

If the rhythm may lose that hold

On the memory driven songs in my head

Pain and agony just seem so far away

Like a needle in my arm to cloud the day

I will just hold you next to me

And let the heat of our energy

Give me a reason to stay with you today

All that other daily trash just slide away

~

I remember glancing at you from a distance

Sweet your eyes that day gave me 

 
Thom Amundsen 2014

MURDER OF CROWS – Promote Yourself

QV9ZBEF1 

 

 

Underneath the September clouds,

A dash of black is a murder of crows –

Above the river, amidst the crowds,

Upon the bridge. Yet no one knows.

 

Later in the day, the wide wood

would collapse, stealing a child.

Maybe two. Just as it should.

It’d leave a mark, black and wild.

 

And as lives go on, the murder

is slowly but surely, getting larger.

A boy. Struck by a girder.

A woman. Zapped by a charger.

 

So look not at the crows.

A murder was seen somewhere

in Russia. A man froze.

Now do not tread there.

 

On the eleventh, a murder of crows

was settled beside gloomy flowers,

In the wake of encroaching shadows,

Beneath the gaze of identical towers.
 
 
Shubham Goenka
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