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Daily Archives: March 2, 2014

Carnival Of Pain- Promote Yourself


Shades are Grey ..
Shadows are Black !
Visions turned Blur..
I cannot see too far,
Crayons of Desires
Canvas of time hours..
If I wish I could choose colours
I am stopped by the bars..
I feel trapped inside me I feel ,
I’ m living in war..
I don’t  blame the winds when
Silence is killed and smiled is looted
Its the beginning of Carnival
On the ashes of burned soul
Stains of the scars are embossed on the paper
Lets blame the stars, blame the skies..
lets des colours to clot over the lines ..
But I am sure Horizons are not too far if I will keep crawling
I can sail across the time
 I can transit away from these mass..
By Atul Shukla
 I am submitting my poem , on your prestigious blog,
I hope I will get advices ,suggestions from your readers on my writings and a chance to improve it.
thanking you in anticipation.

Rain – Promote Yourself


I can hear you making small holes in the silence.


If I were deaf the pores of my skin would open to you and shut,

And I should know you by the lick of you.

If I were blind the something special smell you make when the sun cakes the ground,

The steady drum roll sound you make when the wind drops,

But if I should not hear, smell or feel or see you,

You would still define me, disperse me,

Wash over me,


~Hone Tuwhare~

Helen Szafer  


Please visit my poetry  blog at 

“Spring Equinox Full Moon”



I breathe to you

love in the south of the many

months of spring

hibiscus in dark hair water

at the source

shadows glistening to hips

thighs slender sunset shining shores


fingers rolled fragrant leaves

presence of deep woods

earth veiled in green drift

that hides running

of small airs

untraceable fine sounds

passing as on a face

feet first drops of rain on a mountain

hands greeting flowers

holden stolen flowers


closed eyes of every creature

sepia and amber days


of tall tree

arms’ glide

voice of rain forests

birds in tree heights

throat of palm


wrist of palm

palm of palm

morsel breasts

melon navel waist of high waterfall

surf laughter face hearing music

body of flight




away from you on a corner of the earth

I want to think for six hours of your hair

which is the invention of singing

daughter of islands

born in the flood of the fish harvest

I see long mornings

lying on your hair

I remember looking for you


— W. S. Merwin


* * *



“A Death in March”

broken branch


Even so the Spring goes forward.

The rind of the trees weepy with sap. No spigot to carry it off.

From here to the other side, ice is motley. The river’s current

expression: a stutter of ice cakes on the shore. Fret of spume.

Some days, though, we waken to snow,

fugacious erasure of mud and broken branches.

We feel the setback. Want the spectacular squalor

of Spring: its colourless smear. There’s no word for that.

For snow falling, fugue slow, through fog. Earth and air

unable to settle what it’s to be. Now is after. Or, ahead?

Interrugnum: Its beauty is brutal. A raw wind through bereft.


— Anne Compton

“Sunny Day in March”

sunny march


Even the weathercock turns with the sun on such a day.

It must be spring. Outside the cellar wall the cat

has found himself shelter. He’s asleep, no doubt,

but his fur is well puffed up and his paws

well tucked under. A fly has been tempted out

from a crack in the warm plank wall — starts

buzzing. Soon stiffens. It’s too cold.


— Olav H. Hauge

translated from the Norwegian by Robin Fulton

March morning unlike others


march morning


Blue haze. Bees hanging in the air at the hive-mouth.

Crawling in prone stupor of sun

On the hive-lip. Snowdrops. Two buzzards,

Still-wings, each

Magnetized to the other,

Float orbits.

Cattle standing warm. Lit, happy stillness.

A raven, under the hill,

Coughing among bare oaks.

Aircraft, elated, splitting blue.

Leisure to stand. The knee-deep mud at the trough

Stiffening. Lambs freed to be foolish.


The earth invalid, dropsied, bruised, wheeled

Out into the sun,

After the frightful operation.

She lies back, wounds undressed to the sun,

To be healed,

Sheltered from the sneapy chill creeping North wind,

Leans back, eyes closed, exhausted, smiling

Into the sun. Perhaps dozing a little.

While we sit, and smile, and wait, and know

She is not going to die.


— Ted Hughes

March Snow” – Promote Yourself


 march snow


There is something hopeful about March,

something benevolent about the light,


and yet wherever I look snow

has fallen or is about to fall, and the cold


is so unexpected, so harsh,

that even the spider lily blooming


on the windowsill seems no more

than another promise, soon to be broken.


It is like a lover who speaks

the passionate language of fidelity, but


when you look for him, there he is

in the arms of winter.


— Linda Pastan




A good seed sent from heaven,

Will find nourishment on earth,

It will be filled with goodness,

Welcomed at its birth.


This seed will then flourish,

For it has settled within the soil,

It will be protected by nature,

To make sure it does not spoil.


The rain will keep it moist,

The sun will keep it warm,

Then the seed will slowly grow,

The leaves will slowly form.


It will struggle through life,

Through thunder storm and shower,

But in the end no wind will bend,

As it blooms a perfect flower.


Not all the seeds are perfect,

As they fall on stony ground,

They grow so very weak,

As no nourishment can be found.


If left alone,

With roots so dry,

The sun will scorch them,

And they will die.


We should learn a lesson,

From the strength of that perfect flower,

To lead our lives and do no harm,

And accept Gods love and power.


So spare a thought for the weak,

Do not cast them away to die,

Nourish them with all your love,

Comfort them when they cry.


That stony ground will become fertile,

The weak will become strong,

Your life will be a little wiser,

Because you have helped someone along.


So remember as you go through life,

Help the weak as they pass by,

Then say to yourself,

There but for the grace of God go I…


Malcolm G Bradshaw  
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