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Daily Archives: March 14, 2014

Confessions of a Cold Blooded Killer – Promote Yourself

grim reaper

Dear hooded reaper from down the block

Dear disgruntled employee

Dear bank robber

Dear teenage boy with the world on your shoulders

Dear young child wrapped up in a game of cops and robbers


I am not the answer. I am not your friend.


Though my curves fit ever so gracefully in your palm

Cool to the touch
Though I cling for dear life to the elastic in your waistband
I do not belong at your side
My click, bang may sound like music to your ears
But I am the siren that will lure you to destruction 

There is reason for my silence

You have no idea the secrets lurking deep within my chambers
I wish it was safe for me to utter them under my breath
But my whispers are the thunderclaps where there is no storm
The release of my words burn where there is no fire
Potassium nitrate scorches my throat as my secrets leave my lips
It’s never worth it to hold a conversation with me 

I am a lifeless puppet without you

Once brought to life I will only be mother of disaster
With your fury my children come faster
Wanting only to vandalize
Painting bull’s-eyes on the sides of both guilty and innocent lives
Leaving the bravest of men terrified as we look eye to eye
And I rarely ever lose a staring contest


Ever since my creation I was only meant for devastation

My shouts can make bloodbaths sound like celebrations

Fourth of July & New Years have nothing on me

My bullets leave bodies shattered like broken glass

White tees turn to swizz cheese paired with the wine of police sirens


You may think you’re man enough to push me

But are you strong enough to cock back the weight of this loaded dream

I put people to bed

The only lullabies are mothers’ cries as they cradle broken heads


So let me remind you.


I am not the answer, and I most certainly am not your friend.



A Cold Blooded Killer 

Samantha Lovindeer

would she ever forget? – Promote Yourself





Would she ever forget
The music that plays
From the silent hills
In the walk of their search
Would she ever forget
The laugh that came
From the frowning birds
In the walk of their smile
Would she ever forget
The tears that came
From the winter rain
In the walk of their travels
Would she ever forget
The letters that came From the strange
postman In the walk of their writings
Would she ever forget
The taste that spring
From the barren field
In the walk of their drink
Would she ever forget
The wind that blows
From the wild field In the
walk of their catch
Would she ever forget
The ink of art
From the coloured petals
In the walk of their paintings
Would she ever forget
Would she
The taste of love
From the dusty journey
In the walk of their feet

Michael Ogundele Lagos, Nigeria
Kindly join me at




The day I  found God,

I was at  my lowest ebb,

No one to  confide in,

Just a  voice within my head,


The voice  was sweet and gentle,

So calm  and full of love,

These  kind words were spoken,

Sent from  God above.


At times  when you feel lonely,

You feel  you have no friends,

That’s  the time I am with you,

Giving  love that never ends.


This  message of love and comfort,

Filled my  spirit with light,

Gave me  strength to carry on,

Gave  courage for me to fight.


The day I  found God,

I was  accepted in Gods loving care,

God was  the one, who found me,

Lost in  deep despair.


Remember  God is all around you,

So very  easy to find,

Don’t  close your eyes to spirit,

Or you  will end up spiritually blind.


Malcolm G Bradshaw        

The Train – Promote Yourself







No-one looks their neighbour in the eye

On the train.

What fearful things must lurk in the soul        of another human        being, caught with a glance

That we like sightless sentinels avoid all        eye contact

On the train.

We stare at our feet, we stare at the        phone, we stare at        the crappy public service announcement posters,

On the train

‘Next Stop Welshpool.’

Smart phones hypnotize the passengers like        spinning        mandalas

On the train.

They poke out arcane alphabets with their        finger-tips and        thumbs,

On the train.

But smart phones are not smart enough to        teach community,

On the train.

And only the old or sanity-impaired will        talk to you,

On the train.

The pretty girls seem to have some        profound and esoteric        secret that they will never share,

On the train.

We come to the next stop, some of people        get off, a some        get on

On the train.

The doors slide open as on star-trek with        barely a        whistle,

On the train.

And deep within I wish I had the courage        to speak some        overwhelming profundity about this sorry situation,

On the train.

To leave words hanging in judgement over        the hollow        loneliness in a carriage full of people,

On the train.

Jerimiah would have said something,

On the train.

 by Timothy John Parkin


“My candle burns at both ends; – YOUR FAVOURITE POEM




“My candle burns at both ends;

It will not last the night;

But ah, my foes,

and oh, my friends—

It gives a lovely light!”

Edna St. Vincent Millay




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