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Daily Archives: March 27, 2014

A Springtime Dandelion Daydream – Promote Yourself


dan the man

Dandelion daydreaming:

stretched out in the grass by the pavement,

surrounded by the ones that we love

while the sun goes down and

we’re still hell-bent on finding sunshine smiles

in black-top chalked illustrations and

cleverly phrased turns in neon… and the whole world is paisley!

As the sun falls and the moon rises, we swill cold quarts of ale by the ocean.

I sit by the fire, tiredly strumming my ukulele and singing in time with the ocean 

As it rushes up the beach before it rushes back out to sea as fast as it came in.

These are minimal times— nostalgia greeting reality, with reticent aplomb.

We take aggressive sips of well-appointed ale and

It tastes like hops and hopscotch.

Jared T. Hay



Time and Love – Promote Yourself


If I could use the day light savings

I have seen throughout my lifetime

I would spend each hour with you.

Time and love, juxtaposed eons,

Microseconds measured on the chronometer.

The clock face moves on,

Today, Tomorrow,

Minutes, Months,

The pendulum swings.

Eventually we will see our sunset,

Our moment will end,

Morning becomes noon

Noon Becomes twilight.

Old father time will sing for us


But all my time is yours,

Each synchronised sunrise,

From dawn to dusk.

Because when I revel in your present

Time is not linear,

Its spreads and shortens.

Minutes match hours

Hours hold seconds.

Time delays and dances with truth.

Yet you are my always,

The sands of my soul,

My meridian.

Phen Weston

 My blog is

White Propaganda. – Promote Yourself

What do we tell ourselves…?
When reading between the lines
Absent from our unconscious signs
But displayed across our faces
Revealing blatant microexperessions
Attempting to amuse and satisfy
Our inner brutish critics we secretly glorify
Just to deceive an equally flawed audienceLies.
What do we tell ourselves…?
To cover all of our bases
To reveal only our pleasant social graces
Pacifying inner silent fleshy rules
Our truths never barefaced among
Fettered pieces of our desperation
Collected only to placate cultural disambiguation
Parlaying pieces of tattered bluff

What do we tell ourselves…?
That unawareness already made visible
A view from nowhere newly divisible
A confabulation created by a selected few
To confuse and censor an entire civilization
For an economy stitched together by debt
From wars between factions that pose no threat
A cohesive individual and collective indoctrination


What do we really tell ourselves?

SM Cadman



A rainy night – Promote Yourself


Staring out the window on a rainy night, seeking for a bit of light

But the darkness is thick and heavy

Desperately I turn my head, eyes burning from tears unshed

So many words unsaid, make my mind lost and blurry

I should lay down for a bit, maybe just briefly

Just for a moment, rest my weary head, to feel less empty


Closing my blood-red eyes, over thinking all untold lies

Lies of such unrivalled civil beauty

I want to believe in them, despite of the mayhem

Believing in them, would it set me free?

Take away this vicious anger, depriving the melancholy

Just for a moment, pretending it’s alright, to feel more calmly


Demons scratching at my door, like every night before

I want to cover my ears and scream loudly

They keep returning, creeping and crawling

While they start talking, I lay here silently

Listening to their disgusting thoughts, so damn filthy

Just for a moment, I want to forget,  feel warm and fuzzy


Sighing, aching, I stand up and ignore the whispering

Stumbling through my chamber blindly

Terror is driving me insane, the voices overrule the rain

The voices I have to restrain, am I crazy?

Smiling demons everywhere, their teeth look bloody

Just for a moment, losing my mind, to feel carefree


Staring at the dusty mirror, looking for a glimpse of power

But I only see a hollow face staring back at me

Nothing but an empty vessel, touched by the hands of evil

A fate so incredibly awful as it is inescapable deadly

Dying would be a blessing, I think hazy

Just for a moment, not having to breathe, to feel a bit of mercy


Death is knocking at my door, have to let him in, my savior

Instead I hesitate, fighting to think clearly

The voices sound persuasive, almost obsessive

I am impulsive, so I turn to the door suddenly

Let Death be my hero, set me free

Not for a moment, but forever, and I open the door bravely


– Just Patty –

My blog:

My Facebook page:

MAKING HISTORY – Promote Yourself

Nobody has heard about the man
who came second last at
the last second. Can
you imagine that?
Halfway through the race, a cramp,
Pain searing through a broken bone,
Muscles and tissues, weak and damp,
Turned ambitions into stone.
A touching story. Some guy
who was crippled finished a race
slowly as the rest rushed right by.
He finished. At some snail’s pace
trying to reach some sort of goal.
Mary also had a little lamb
whose fleece was black as coal,
But nobody gives a damn.
He was one who lost the run,
But beat himself, some would say,
As a brave boy – the only won
to ever finish in such a way.
But winning isn’t everything is a lie:
A certificate, of appreciation, is a token
given to all the ones that try;
History is made ‘when records are broken’
and ‘when you try the best you can’,
And if the latter had been spoken,
You would surely remember the man
who ran. And ran.
Shubham Goenka
Shubham Goenka (

{salutations} – Promote Yourself



in Florida knits gullible old ladies
building igloos of orange peel,
art on sweaty woollen bedsides
pastel museums on windowsills,
while propped against walls
left to flatten and choke;
dead men prepare dead minds
for executions;
they cannot hope to survive.


rigor mortis

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