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Daily Archives: March 26, 2014

DIVERSITY – Promote Yourself


exhausting questions
exhilarating answers
progressive failures
humble success
blank pages
well rehearsed lines
bright moonlight
breezy sunshine
all in one and,
all for one
we stand under the same sun
we are all the same
yet different is each one
Seize the day !
’cause you live only once .
Sanskriti Dixit

God’s Economy – Promote Yourself

food bank
Scandalous bankers –
Spend thousands on expenses,
Cash in on downturn
Morally bankrupt –
Gambling with people’s lives,
Short term gains that cost
The man on the street
Who can’t feed his family –
Relies on food banks
Shamed economy –
Which humbles working people,
While the rich walk by
God’s economy
Invests in life, flows with love –
Never running out
Never in the red –
Our debts paid by Jesus’ blood,
Freely shed for all
by @faithunlocked

The Wrong Hand – Promote Yourself


One day he got out of bed

He went to the bathroom mirror

The wallpaper above the window was always peeling,

away the layers within his perception

As he washed his face it dawned on him

For 15 years he’d worn his wedding ring on the wrong hand

15 Years!!

If he had missed this simple fact, what else had he missed

He glanced at the bed

Was she even his wife

Were the neighbours government spies

Were those really lines beneath his eyes

Could he be certain he had ever met his kids

15 years and the band was on the wrong finger

He couldn’t allow the thought to linger

On the precipice of his own fragility

What else had gone un-observed, in the run of the mill

It’s not as if he couldn’t tell the left from the right

Why hadn’t she said,

a stranger in his own bed

He’d always fastened up his tie, polished his boots and driven through traffic with nothing on his mind,

for years blissfully unaware his wedding ring on the wrong finger

But now he knew

He smiled grimly, it all made sense

He looked in the mirror again, he could see the cogs of the terrible machinery, hear the metallic click, click, click of his pre-designed destiny

Spiders crawling behind the walls

The old clock on the dresser, sang its familiar tune, tick-tock, tick-tock

The howling wind outside, whispered to him,

“The Wrong Hand”

Scratching in the floor boards, sounding like dark voices, haunting him with the same refrain,

“The Wrong Hand”

Appalling malignant laughter, cajoling him with three terrible words,

“The Wrong Hand”

He glanced at the bed again, why hadn’t she said,

why hadn’t SHE noticed

It all made sense, he knew what he had to do

He left the bathroom, and as he approached his sleeping wife, picked up the old wooden clock from the dresser,

it was heavy,

very heavy,

just heavy enough,

he clutched it tightly

He smiled – the knowledge was freeing

He knew what to do



©John de Gruyther 2014

John de Gruyther

Freelance Writer

Thanks and keep up the great work, I am loving reading the range of different poems everyday.

The Snow-Storm Ralph Waldo Emerson your favourite poem



Ralph Waldo Emerson was an American essayist, lecturer, and poet, who led the Transcendentalist movement of the mid-19th century
Born: May 25, 1803, Boston
Died: April 27, 1882, Concord
Full name: Ralph Waldo Emerson

The Snow- Storm

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o’er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven,
And veils the farm-house at the garden’s end.
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier’s feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.
Come see the north wind’s masonry.
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
Curves his white bastions with projected roof
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work
So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he
For number or proportion. Mockingly,
On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths;
A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn;
Fills up the farmer’s lane from wall to wall,
Maugre the farmer’s sighs; and, at the gate,
A tapering turret overtops the work.
And when his hours are numbered, and the world
Is all his own, retiring, as he were not,
Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art
To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone,
Built in an age, the mad wind’s night-work,
The frolic architecture of the snow.

A little Poem – Promote Yourself

words 100


All the words tumble together

Spinning dancing, sewing , singing

Can’t help but move to the beautiful tune,

Feel the excitement sparking and bursting.

And the words rise up and demand to be heard

If only there were to be a way, for them to flood to the page

Unhindered, images to hands to screen to eyes to share.

A beautiful song will cause bursts of inspiration,

But send me spiralling

Come back down, capture the moment

That excitement, and pin its wings to the paper.

That glittering butterfly of thought and energy.

I love the words, but therein lies our craft, taming beauty to share it again.

The proof of devotion, over and over again.

I always thought that was a silly way to love, anyway


My wordpress is:

Fibi x


Sweet Smiles


Sweet smiles

Of a child

Sweet innocence

Radiant skin

Beautiful within

Hours spent

Playing, laughing

Loving life

Sweet smiles

Of a child

Turning to giggles

Radiant skin

Beautiful within

Laughter contagious

Demanding love

Embracing the moment

Just the two of us

Gillian Sims

Photograph copyright Poetree Creations 2013

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