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Monthly Archives: March 2014

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

That lion there – Promote Yourself


That lion there,
the one with splotchy, mangy hair
who lies in shade far from his lair
and pants last labored breaths of air —

He once was bold and fierce and strong
and where he walked the weary throng
of meaty prey gave way and long they
watched lest he charge their way.

He once was young, a cub just born
who clung to mother’s teats and wore no
caution nor no wisdom yet —
essentials that would help him get to lionhood.

And if he could, that lion there
would soon return to those times where
his strength and youth were fresh and fair
and he could do whatever he would do.

by L. Stewart Marsden

Copyright © L. Stewart Marsden, 25 March, 2014

More poetry at

Go on – Promote Yourself

                    mending hopes
                     building dreams
                     my life is…
                      yet voidness
                       always drags
                       me down…
                      time is ever
                       on the run
                      better keep pace with..
                       all along my way
                       i’ve realized
                       there’s so much to be done….
                 (by: Sharon Calingasan)

Developing Decay – Promote Yourself



Blighted atrophy corrodes the cities,

Decomposition and degeneration run ripe,

Society deteriorates and disintegrates before our eyes,

Decadence plagues our senses, and we allow it,

The crumbling decline, failing and fading away,

Our downfall disillusioned by depreciation,

Degeneracy is now the human way,

Gangrenous mankind limps on,

Perishing mortification rotting what we could be,

Putrefied and petrified, is all hope abandoned?

Senescence with ruin and rust we waste,

Withering we shiver through our last dying days,

Yet inside we can righteously develop

The growth of new cells to better ways,

Improvement is ours to provocatively create,

Elegantly we can flourish between the stars,

Morality is not dead, we can strengthen, ascend,

Rise, ripen, constructing new ways and new ideals

To increase integrity, plume philosophy,

Worthiness is not just a dream for those eloquent dreamers,

But germination of heart and mind is the key,

The wholeness of the human race is indispensable,

Fundamental to the survival of us all.

Phen Weston


The Bone-Pickers – Promote Yourself

in lazy slow round circles;
their flight like narrowing funnels;
they light on soft-padded claws
Then bob and weave and haw
with eyes on carrion morsels:
the bits and pieces of once-vibrant things,
now nothing but bone and sinew and chunk-white fat
with red-brown meat, drying, lying like that in the sun.

The bone-pickers
ogle and waddle and gobble in order,
positioned by age and weight and strength,
Peck and tear at length till
what remains are bleached and white.

A gust billows, and hot pillows of grainy dust
Swirl and curl aloft – spin brief tornadic dances and die.
The bone-pickers stretch necks, preen feathers and cry to each other,
then wing their weary way back
in lazy slow circles;
shrinking in hot-sunned air
till barely there
until another sole soul
lies down with vacant stare.

by L. Stewart Marsden

You Matter. – Promote Yourself

I see you.
I want you to know, I understand.
You are not forgotten,
Displaced or even misplaced…
You matter in this universe.
You have value. You are beloved.

.You are created exactly the way you are supposed to be.
This wasn’t a mistake, you are critical in the Grand Design.
I understand that you may feel lost.
I will try my very best to be your voice when words fail,

I will feed you when you are hungry,
With all of the resources I have been given;
Spiritually, emotionally, and in a tangible way.
You, Matter.

Even when you feel you have been left behind,
I hear you. I see you. I worry with you.
I know you exist. I know your struggle.
I struggle too. Your struggle is my struggle too.

I refuse to judge what you do or do not do with what
I will, I can, and I am able to provide.
That, is not in my design.

If you have made mistakes, too few or too many, as I have,
Even when you are in a precarious, obsequious position…
I know you matter.
Together, we matter.

SM Cadman

Trips in Her Room – Promote Yourself

“I am everything I hate”, she stares in the mirror and says
before turning around to watch the acid-wash walls 
melt all around her into a puddle of slimy hypocrisy. 
Eyes black and disheveled, she chuckles sarcastically 
and mutters: “looks just like it did in the horror movies”, 
and thinks about watching them on the green couch long ago, 
before everything changed.
She resumes her position, peering into the mirror incessantly, 
as if she could find solace on the other side. 
With no expected response, she asks,
“Where do I go now?” 
There’s something sweet in the emptiness of silence, 
yet something pathetic in the inquiry of unanswerable questions. 
I guess that’s what happens when an unbloomed flower is picked, 
just to sit tightly bound in plastic wrap,
before reaching its final resting place at your friendly local landfill.   

-Victoria Mendicino

Hello friends and fellow poets!

I am an English major at DePaul University in Chicago, and I am totally new to the blogging community. All my creative writing and poetry is done for myself, and I have just recently began trying to get my work out there, without really knowing how to do so; and I am so excited to have found your site! My poems have a personal aspect to them, and I truly express myself through my work.

I am A Kite , I love Skies.. – Promote Yourself



I am a kite , I love skies
Beholden on your strings,
Have flattened my wings,
to cover my empire..
I dance on your wish,
to play my love,
and to romance with westerlies,
I feel your jerks,
to raise myself high..
On the directions of your fingers
by sound of flickering eyes
Giving push to my side ends,
To endorse your desires..
Because …
I am Kite , I love my sky…

soy una cometa , amo el ceilo…”

Atul Shukla

Daughter of Eve – Tribute to Women -Promote Yourself

You are the calm warm breeze
that blew landwards,
from a stormy sea..
the shooting star,
that was Earth bound
that caught fire
for the world to wish upon her.
You are the
shadow of love…
The blazing flame that emerged
from the cold…
The twist in life
that made the fairytale
You mothered the child,
Wived the man
and forgot yourself
in being
what you were born.
You are
a daughter of Eve,
a dazzling beauty –
so wild and true …
one of your kind.
You are the Universe,
in its feminine
the divine
a beautiful mind.
Phushati Kachchayana

NOT ONE OF THOSE – Promote Yourself

poetry mmmmmmmmmmmmm


I’m not one of those who likes

to rhyme, I write in other times;

distinctly cut from another tree,

if you’re looking for rhyme, that’s not me.


Yet, still I like to read of others

their rhyming kind of poems, who 

prefer to let me live alone and have

my tree but speak their minds —


’tis not a burden,you see,

our rhythm is aligned and close 

enough in silent rhymes.



So break the wine and celebrations out

there is nothing for us to whine; ’tis time

for us to sing and shout, time for fun and

games and merry exhilaration.     


 Ronald Joseph Kule 

Free Right

travel mode

We all do want the same things.

We just go about travels differently.

In an auto, train or passage way

whatever the mode of operandi,

we are really all the same

in our efforts to find definition.

There are the people we seem to judge

with interior pillars of marble in their homes.

Hard to climb over such monstrous facades

we choose to simply walk away,

wishing we might sometime find a key

inside their hearts. Or is it surely a travesty

to imagine,

to hope,

to pray,

to one day, some day, any day now

figure out a way?


We all do want the same things.

Imagine a world where resentments

in the term itself, with all of its bitter construct

hate and anger and spoil and envy,

become obsolete in their ability

to linger

in our hearts,

that one place where the ache remains.

At the end of the day

when figuring how long we might run this course



beaten upon by our own fists,

might we then find that eventual passion,

the shattered Albatross

of self-evident triumph!


We all do want the same things.

At the end of the day

no matter the sway

of our thinking, of our Nature,

of our committed course challenged,

there lies in our own lies,

the reality of desire and hope and dreams.

For no matter the brick and mortar,

who cares the fabrics and linens,

ignore the perfumes and makeup,

for they all give sadly new credence

to our ever present reality.

We are a simple lot

to recognize our vehicle we traverse

is in our heart and soul,

well rooted rather

than focused upon the eye’s desire.

© Thom Amundsen 2014

Old and Frail – Promote Yourself

Weakened eyes, graying hair
She sits in the balcony
From her eye, fell a single tear
As she looked at the rising sun
So beautiful, on the horizon

With no one around
She feels so lonely
A remote house, without any sound
Her children left for they were all grown
With a family of their own

They treated her like a burden
Cared little for her wellbeing
They just wanted her money, she knew for certain
To them, she would be useful when dead
Useful, only on her death bed

Still, she somehow carries on
Till the day her life would end
And, she would be gone…
I wish I knew why people fail
To love the “Old and Frail”

You can find original post here on my blog:

Moving On – Promote Yourself

You were my one and only desire
I liked you though never conspired
You were my dream, my ideal soul mate
I wonder why I never asked you out on a date


Those amazing hours of chitchat,
Btw you look beautiful with a hat.
I was dying to hear your heart-filled tone
Little did I know that I got friend-zoned


Days came and went without your call,
I secretly kept wishing to take you to a ball.
After classes we hardly got any chances to meet,
Only after exams did we get time to greet.


There were a million times I thought of telling,
But somehow something kept me from calling.
I wanted a chance to be your guy
But to you I was just another guy!


I waited long enough to give you time to get in groove
It hasn’t happened and I’ve decided to move.

Freundliche Grüße / Best Regards,

Raj Vora

Fish And Chips


Walking down the Hastings promenade

I stand and watch the fishing trawler net cascade

Seagulls following right behind

Swooping, diving, seeing what they can find

Holiday makers eating chips

Seagulls watch with an eagle eye

Looking at their fish and chips

Or any odd food bits

They will dive, and swoop,

Take a sandwich from your hand

Politeness they do not understand

They will come from miles

To pinch your chips

Happily on your head they will sit

If you come to Hastings or St Leonard on sea

Don’t forget seagulls love fish and chips

Just like you and me

Thomas Sims

Uncertainty – Promote Yourself




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Uncertainty clouds me
 clouds me,

it takes away my hopes
i loose my faith
it questions my strength,
i loose my peace .

emptiness engulfs my heart ,
it takes away my defiance 
it makes me aghast,
it takes away my blithe
it makes me pensive 

quiescence mocks me 
it takes away my words 
i loose my meaning
it takes away my heart
and i loose my soul

sanskriti dixit.

i know for sure now how u feel… so here’s a one for you my love . 
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