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Daily Archives: May 18, 2014

Jewels – Promote Yourself


I have jewels without price,

they are worthless, I cannot wear them

but they are more valuable than pearls.


Each morning they are new,

sometimes frozen in winter,

they cannot be stolen


These you 

cannot take from me.

If you dig up my garden

and pour concrete over grass,

I will remember.


You cannot steal my memories of

rubies, emeralds, sapphires,

diamonds in the dew.


© Freya Pickard 2014



Freya doesn’t write about imaginary worlds; she writes about imaginative ones. These are worlds that could be real in a parallel universe or another time dimension. She does not promote escapism; instead she takes her readers into a refreshing place so that they return to their normal lives feeling strengthened and refreshed. Freya’s first novel, Dragonscale Leggings, is a parody of the genre she loves best; fantasy. In it, she gently pokes fun at the Arthurian legends, the common concepts of dragon slayers and dragons and how they should (or shouldn’t) behave. She writes poetry to keep her creative flow alive.


Freya blogs regularly at and

BRING BACK OUR GIRLS: – Promote Yourself


My mind goes totally numb
At mention of Bako Haram
A cruel and senseless action
Happening in this newest millennium!

The greed of some White men
String pulling by a kingpin
The 200 coloured thirteen’s…
Kidnapped by a so-called human being!

All will be forgotten soon
All wanting to save their skins
All except the mothers of ones…..All the innocent girls stolen in sin!

If you and me, all the mums
Feel any indignity and shame
If being female causes such pain
Do pain unto others, who are partners in the crime!!!….


Aisha Idris

‘I wrote a poem last night. Woke up and I hate it [For Niall]’.- Promote Yourself

When I say I study English words, 
I get ‘isn’t that the language you learnt first?’ 
But trying to put forth thoughts from my brain 
Is like trying to explain the way light travels in particles 
and waves.
The way it cut through the rain like some god’s rays.
I’d like some way to say I was elevated to elation with little to no explanation,
but it seems such a wasted aspiration.
I’m learning what words are worth and I’m  lost searching for verses.
Abused and overused trying to convey ‘truth’,
it’s so easy for words to sound absurd with everything uttered so easily misconstrued
semantics are what create and what ruin you.
So much lost from synapse to typing,
from trying intangible angles of experiencing in writing.
Don’t relax your syntax,
it’s a flexible lexicon but you’ve  got to know what you’re trying to show
or just live in hope.
Frustrated sitting in time and space wasted, unable to find some words that relate to this random spate of brain activity,
then successive impressions longing to escape expressive oppression.
There’s nothing like reading a piece that leaves a lingering feeling,
something you’d been fleeing but found relief in this peace of mind 
that someone, somewhere is articulating lived sensations with words
you could never seem to find.
I try to right things, when it comes to writing.
It stresses me and tests me trying to express freely,
until I’m convinced I don’t care and never wanted anything from this anyway. 
And then a star fades in
and my panic starts waning
because there’s someone out there to whom it’s relating;
or the friend I never thought was reading 
says it gave them a feeling and 
somehow meaning
was found.
So I think what I’m trying to say is words are worthless but sometimes they work and that’s worth it.

Reality TV – Promote Yourself


If my life were a movie

I think I’d be an extra

I’d be the one you never hear

Just a face in a picture

If life were a play

I’d be that faceless fixture

Shielded by the dais drape

Faded in the backdrop

The awkward kid

Who floats around

She has no niche

To keep her ground

Who am I now?

Just an older version

Of the little girl

With strong aversion

Show me, will you,

the path which I should take.

Tell me where to lead myself,

where to direct my fate.

I want to be a good person,

I want to be a good friend.

I want to be a good daughter,

I’m tired of playing pretend.

I want to learn to like myself,

to learn to like you too.

I want to rid my hateful thoughts,

and those of anxiety too.

Tell me will you, father?

Tell me who I am.

Tell me why I hate myself,

and why I’m so malign.


Molly Golightly 

Original post:



It was seventy years ago on May 16th 1943

That the dams of the Ruhr Valley were destroyed
An attack which took the enemy by surprise
The first and only time a bouncing bomb was employed

The bombs had been designed by Barnes Wallis
From a idea derived from a childhood game
Skimming stones over water and counting the bounces
It evolved into something which brought him lasting fame

The barrel shaped bombs were tested on the waters of herne bay
And at first everything appeared to be going well
The bombs bounced as Barnes Wallis had envisaged
His disappointment came when the impact broke the outer shell

A squadron based at R.AF Scampton had been chosen for the raid
But at that time no-one realised the problems involved
As prototype after prototype failed the test
A different plan for the attack slowly evolved

The pilots had to be trained for low level flying
And this involved a lot of practice over Derwent Waters
It was important that the skills were acquired quickly
As the time for training got even shorter

The height and distance of the drop from the dam walls was crucial
The calculation of these factors had to be exact
Otherwise the bomb could bounce over the dam wall
The bomb had to hit the wall before it exploded
This was necessary to maximise the impact

Nineteen Lancaster’s set off on this special raid
They had to fly low to escape detection
They knew that if the raid was to succeed
That the bomb drop had to be made to perfection

The wing commander Guy Gibson led the attack
Which was met with a barrage of anti-aircraft fire
But one by one the planes pressed home their attack
For the destruction of the dams was their ardent desire

Only eleven of the nineteen Lancaster’s returned
Fifty three brave men lost their lives in this daring raid
No-one knows how much lasting damaged was achieved
But the morale booster foundation stone had been laid

Those brave men who flew on that raid are still remembered
They made a real contribution to our eventual victory
On that day the German war effort received a nasty jolt
The honour of 617 squadron was enshrined in history

Ron Martin


Cover Girl – Promote Yourself

The eyes that she hides have cried
Enough tears to cover a thousand lives
But you would never know it.
Goddess-like features now broken & bruised
Using M.A.C. foundations and makeup hues
Because she could never show it
It makes her weak…..
But no longer with the passion by which lovers speak,
More from a fear of a fervently evil beast
With the ability to command and control the meek,
and so she weeps
It makes her weak….
No longer feeling like the queen of which the stories tell
But like a fallen Angel trapped in the fires of a burning Hell
Hopelessly wishing for a release from her cell,
With visions of returning to the image of her former self.
And so she dreams….
She dreams of being on the island of make-believe,
Streaks of her tears form the waters of the seas
Forcing control of her unsteady hands,
With mascara for the trees and foundation for the sands,
She feels the breeze and for a false moment in reality,
She is at peace.
And in that moment in which her false reality is broken,
With her paradise now lost she is forced again to focus,
On her own eyes…
Those same eyes that makeup now hides,
Eyes that have been forced to cry,
Enough tears to fill the seas of a thousand lives.
James D. Sanders

The Stars Are Lies – Promote Yourself

The Stars are Lies,
Dead Things that Shine,
in the Black Vastness,
of the Eternal Night,
though they are Long Gone.
Put not your Faith,
into Astrology,
for it is False,
the Stars do not Provide,
they are only Memories,
of Light that has Travelled,
across the Gulf of Time.
Burnt out Husks of Radiance,
Empty Embers of Luminance,
it is the Past,
that is Written in the Sky,
not the Future,
even the Sun’s Light,
is Eight Minutes Old.
The Stars were Extinguished,
Millennia ago,
only their Ghosts Remain,
Stagnant and Static,
Distant Glittering Beacons,
Empty Extinct Flares,
Smothered Expired Brands,
Brilliant Unfeeling Residues,
Ancient Cremated Sparks,
Departed of all Life,
Spanning the Far Reaches,
they Mock our Hope,
the Stars are Lies.

Emily Karn

My work can be found at

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