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Monthly Archives: May 2014

Motherhood – Promote Yourself

mum

There is only one first, unbelieving but certain
The future will change, draw back the curtain
Unto a whole new world, filled with raw emotion
Crashing in from all sides, pushing and pulling at devotion
Unrelenting ‘til the end, turn the corner, a new stage
Pick up the bits and pieces, begin a fresh page
There is no going back, no inkling of desire
Heart strings pull you along, further into the fire
The raging inferno, of dancing bright lights
Sneaks into the soul, elevating to dizzying heights
Eyes clouded with emotion, soul full of passion
Arms open wide, an overwhelming attraction
Giving in to the pleasure, giving in to the pain
The weeping and the laughing, and the spiritual gain
Soul squishing moments, the shouting, the whispering
The heart wrenching unknown, is all part of the mystery
Tiresome yet invigorating, aggravating yet tranquil
A wondrous experience, of which to be thankful
A truly inspirational gift, the complexity unknown
Filled with extremes, most important, you’re not alone
In discovering the enchanting, the dreamy, cozy kind
The purest, strongest love, of even the most imaginative mind.

moonlight pitter-patter – Promote Yourself


 

Moon_in_dark_night_sky_full_of_stars

in the lush moonlight

under scattered blinking stars

on cobblestones under cherry blossoms

late-nighters’ feet pitter-patter over the pond

intermittent with lil woofs and miaoos

and lil boys and lil girls are asleep

or are supposed to except

the naughty ones

Shaddie

https://scrbwly.wordpress.com/

I don’t just want to belong to your hands – Promote Yourself

 

lips

I don’t want to just belong to your hands.

Or the parts of you aching of lust and desire.

I want my face to prance around the margins of your mind,

And my words to soothe the fragile parts of your soul.

I want to be on you,

All up on you

But you’ll soon forget the warmth of my touch

And the taste of my lips.

There’ll come a day when

I won’t be the subject of your dreams.

Your groins won’t long for me

When that time comes,

I hope they find me in your heart.

Flowing through your blood

And giving you life.

…I want to belong to your heart.

—Omayeli Arenyeka.

 

If I died Today. – Promote Yourself

grave

If I died today

People would talk.

They’d talk about my potential and how good I could have been,

If the cruel hands of death hadn’t taken me away.

They’d say it was a shame and how “oh she could have been.”

She could have been a writer her mind flowed with ideas

She could have been a teacher her wisdom exceeded her years.

She could have been billionaire…an African woman on Forbes

She could have been a mother, a wife and so much more.

She could have done so much and been good at it too.

Cause in high school she shone so bright, she was one of the few.

She was the one to watch. The one to emulate.

She was the one to be successful the one to be great.

Yes, they’ll all gather around my grave and in the midst of the tears and mourning

They’ll say she could have been the one as the funeral’s adjourning

They wouldn’t be able to imagine that the mighty could’ve fallen

That the world could have got the better of me and no I wouldn’t be balling’

No they’d say “She could have been anything cause the world was her oyster”

They’d say all that cause no one wants to imagine that a dead person would have faltered.

And that’s why I would rather die for fear of the unknown –

That I could be leading a country or out selling smoke.

If I live I could falter and then the talk would turn bad

From oh she how could have been great to oh she was so sad.

It’s ironic how after I die the talk about me would all be good.

They’ll say I was beautiful and never bad, just misunderstood.

So let me just die now. Stay in the ground to rot,

Cause I’d rather my story end with a “She could have been” than with a “She was not.”

Omayeli Arenyeka

 

I Travel These Roads (with apologies to Robert Frost)

cool~

Awaken upon cool summer morning

relax in tune in the sweet breeze delight.

Today’s grace gives solace to evening,

hours later our lives become the night.

Yet right now listen, the sun stream amber

We wish wildly worlds will welcome ahead

the nurture of Nature in Her lovely candour.

Pure soul belittles the needs of our head,

sky streaking surreal moments we crave

while battle begins to forge walls behind.

Breathless our weightless lives suspend a wave.

Man, tireless drawn toward slow human bind.

Stretch out your limbs in the hot heat of day

Soon tomorrow recall what is today

~

© Thom Amundsen

http://thinkingoutloudagain.wordpress.com

 

Thank you for the beauty by Malcolm Bradshaw

 

WHY NOT TURN YOUR POETRY INTO A VIDEO LIKE THIS ONE

Frowned – Promote Yourself

 

train

My drink bottle leaked in my bag today

I got angry. Again.

and I almost missed my train

– twice

My mother yelled at me for the same reason she did last week

and I got no sleep

as per usual.

There was this man on the train

he looked and me and

frowned.

I don’t know what to make of that.

And I guess I wrote another poem

maybe another three

but I can never get them quite right.  

And I’m afraid I never will.

Tonight I will think of that man on the train

what was he frowning at?

Klara Cole

karlscole.wordpress.com

 

We Are Not Alone

lovesssssssss
We are not alone
Although we might feel we are
Even in the midst of darkness
We all are observed from afar

For in that distance land of beauty
Where our spirit friends reside
Times when we feel vulnerable
When we have sat down and cried

For we all have a link of love
That is placed within each heart
It’s energy within our spirit
Knowing that we are never apart

Take from that energy of love
Where ever you may roam
Feel the love it contains
Knowing that you are not alone

Malcolm Bradshaw

Hidden agenda -Promote Yourself


hidden

Beauty will be ruined by the dismantlement of self

Flaws, defects, disfiguring our actual appearances

Ridding our mind of peace and filling our hearts with sorrows.

The reflection we now look at become muddled

water not realizing our purification mode had been set to idle.

Features change and we become foreign to ourselves

unable to recognize who everybody claims you to be

Because YOU will not see it..

not that you won’t ever; but the mirror has now gained condensation

Now unaware of what was once there.

Draw your image once more

because it’s who you hid yourself to be.

A self proclaimed nothing 

but an entombed sense of self.

Anticipating that moment where 

its impervious to reside again.

Tammy Jackson

The Whipping by Robert Hayden – Your Favourite poem

robert
The old woman across the way
is whipping the boy again
and shouting to the neighbourhood
her goodness and his wrongs.

Wildly he crashes through elephant ears,
pleads in dusty zinnias,
while she in spite of crippling fat
pursues and corners him.

She strikes and strikes the shrilly circling
boy till the stick breaks
in her hand. His tears are rainy weather
to woundlike memories:

My head gripped in bony vise
of knees, the writhing struggle
to wrench free, the blows, the fear
worse than blows that hateful

Words could bring, the face that I
no longer knew or loved . . .
Well, it is over now, it is over,
and the boy sobs in his room,

And the woman leans muttering against
a tree, exhausted, purged–
avenged in part for lifelong hidings
she has had to bear.

YOUR FAVOURITE POEM SENT IN BY YOU WHAT’S YOURS

poetry: cot kiss – Promote Yourself


amos_cassioli_paolo_e_francesca_1870

I

her arms rest lush

from the warm rush

to her face and lips

to savor his lips

II

he holds her thin

feathery on crown and chin

his lips working softly o’er

gently but firm on hers

 Shaddie  Sant

[  painting is by Amos Cassioli (1831-1891) ]Here’s a poem for promotion of my blog: http://scrbwly.wordpress.com/

Gambling


gam
 
England is said to be a good place to be
Where everyone can escape from the chains of poverty
By claiming the available means tested benefits
Or being fortunate enough to win the National Lottery
 
All they have to do is pick six lucky numbers
And riches beyond their wildest dreams will be theirs
An opportunity given twice a week to everyone
To allow them to join the evergrowing band of millionaires
 
Unfortunately the chances of winning are very slim
And the result is that there are many losers in the game
This means that the poor become even poorer
And there is less advantage from the benefits they claim
 
Is the lottery a symptom of the nation’s greed?
It is a sad reflection if this is true
Are the proposed new casinos to satisfy a real need
Or is it just another means of raising revenue?
 
The lottery and casinos are means of taking money from the punters
There are some winners, but more losers I am sad to say
The same applies to betting on the horses
In the long run many gamblers will rue the day 
Ron Martin

Midnight Thoughts – Promote Yourself

shimmering-multistars  
 
 
It is time for everyone to be asleep,
But I could not help but to write to keep,
I look outside my window as I weep,
For my thoughts are becoming really deep.
 
Twinkling stars are up in the sky,
A bright light appears to be floating nigh,
As the wafting wind tries to make me fly,
I feel refreshed so with relief I sigh.
 
I can stare at the heavens for the sun isn’t out,
My eyes will not get hurt beyond any doubt,
The shade of blue that is entirely throughout-
Made me realize what happiness is all about.
 
And now I confess that I never saw such view,
It was my mind that made up all things untrue,
If you just knew that the reason was you,
Then I would not have written this-
 
For there would be someone I can speak to.
Shevaun Lemieux

My Car Screamed, I Heard It -Promote Yourself

speed

Day dreaming at 60 miles an hour

My old engine rolling under the moon

Soft acoustic blanket swimming out from the radio

Warming me up like the coffee

Sitting there in its holder

Still and calm

And then the velvet notes

Ended

Replaced by tires screeching on asphalt

Shrill like a shriek

Headlights blinding the mirrors

Metal in tons colliding into each other

Jerking my neck forward

Can’t see

Too bright

Too hot

Coffee everywhere

I stumble out

 Shaky legs

He emerged from his car

Smashed in like an accordion

Are you hurt

No, I’m okay

He kept apologizing

I wasn’t mad

Not at all

I was okay

He was okay

Accidents happen

But he kept talking to me

With tears on his face

The wetness shimmering in the roaring lights

Whizzing by like rockets

So loud I couldn’t hear him

He didn’t wipe them away

They just stayed there

On his face

Wet and shimmering

MARTHA QUINONEZ

My name is Martha Q
I am twenty years old
Born and raised in California, U.S.A
I was adopted at the age of four from Foster Care
I have a lot to figure out about myself
Here is a poem I wrote with a link to my poetry wordpress blog.

Dead man’s hand

BUFFALO  BILL

1846 – 1917

A game of poker a deck of cards

52 cards lay upon a table

The cards are dealt

A pair of eights and a pair of aces

The last card lay face down upon the table

A dead man’s hand had just been dealt

A saloon a drink a game of cards,

A pair of eights a pair of aces

A fifth card lay unseen,

Buffalo Bill a legend

A gun fighter and a gambler

His cards lay upon the table

Never to be read,

All you could see was

A pair of eights and a pair of aces,

And the rest is a mystery

And a legend lays dead

So always remember the dead man’s hand

A pair of eights and a pair of aces

And the fifth card face down

Upon the card table

guns3

Thomas Sims

The First Song~ Promote Yourself

light 

Behold

Wandering minds

Driven always to seek

Never to find

We stood in that soft field of green

At the beginning of the world

Brothers and sisters

Beholden only to the celestial beauty

Unfolding before us

Bodies of light

Intertwined

But as the stars fell

We started to worry

Then a question arose

And with that question

Our hands fell away from one another

Our innocence was lost

No longer perfectly bound to the perfect moment

The pathless journey commenced

The journey that would lead us

Farther from ourselves

Than we dared to imagine

For if we did

Our flickering bodies

Might turn to stone

Starlight dancing in our eyes

The wise wind whispering

Come Back

We were already too far gone

Standing there together

Alone for the first time

Lost in mind

Our thoughts drowned out

The sound of the nightingale

Singing the first song

©2014 Julian Brook Ruszel

Falling Up – Promote Yourself

site

I.

We watched with curious eyes

as the space next to our apartment

building was cleared for the construction

zone. A barren flat square amidst the towers

of cold steel in the humming metropolis.

 

Soon the square would be filled with large

skinny cranes, pipes and men with bright

white hardhats scattered everywhere,

tiny moving dots from our window.

 

The boisterous pitter-patter of hammers

filled my head day after day but you praised it,

the sound of progress, you would say, a dawn

of hope in the midst of this damned recession.

 

II.

I fall into the stained, tan recliner–

the last relic of our union– and close

my eyes to listen to the sound of the

silence I have been craving.

When you were here, your shrill voice filled

my head, trapping me and pushing

me to the edge, where there’s no escape

but by your perilous touch.

We never could know how

things would fall apart, how

you would turn to me as I would

turn away, how as the buildings

came up, you and I would come

tumbling down, lost in the remnants

of what we thought could stand


Meagan Schrock
My name is Meagan Schrock and I’m a junior at Elon University. I just took a creative writing class this semester and have really found a passion for poetry. 

No Regrets – Promote Yourself

 

Rain that washes o’er my soul
And hides the tears
Rolling down my cheeks
Each time I think of you
And the way things were
Before I knew you.

Are you still the same person
I met, and loved, and married?
Do you still think of me
With longing?
Is there still a place for me
In your heart?

I see you there,
I watch and stare.
Do you still see me?
Do you gaze at what is?
Or at what was
When love was new?

Life moves on
And we move with it.
Changes no man
Could foresee
Turning hair grey
And muscles to jelly.

All those years
Fighting back tears.
And why?
Did it make a difference
To the way we felt;
To the way we feel?

Would life have been so different
If love had not smiled upon us?
Would there be regrets
That could not be assuaged?
Would love have hidden
All our faults and failings?

Then came the children.
Fun and laughter,
Tears and sorrow,
Pain and pleasure
Mixed in tiny packages
That needed love and comfort.

No time for us.
No time to sit and talk.
Tiredness
Takes over our lives
As we suppressed our needs
In favour of those who needed us more.

And so it goes.
Time’s relentless journey
Marches on.
The children grow
And meet their own loves
And leave an empty nest.

What is there left to say?
Is it time for reflection?
Time to sit and wallow in our past?
Time to grieve what once was ours
But which no longer stirs emotions?
Is this our time?

Oh no. Not us.
Our interests have developed
In different directions.
What, now, do we have
In common with the way we were?
What is there left to talk about?

We’ve changed,
You and I.
We’re not the same;
Not the same people
Who met, and loved,
And married.

We’ve grown and learned
So many different things.
Money-making.
Home-making.
Do we long for that which used to be?
Oh no. Not you and I.

So now I sit
As raindrops wash my soul
And hide the tears
Rolling down my cheeks,
Washing away
The memories.

And you sit with me.
Still here, still faithful
To each other.
Oh how we’ve changed
For the better
Since first we met.

I see it in your eyes that you remember
The boy you met, and loved and married;
The boy who stole your heart
And gave you his in return.
And I remember you the way you were.
And all that came to test our love.

Unbreakable love
That stands the test of time.
I reach for your hand and there we sit,
Raindrops washing over our souls,
Hiding the tears
Of love and joy with no regrets.

Michael Jenkins


Dear Poetree Creations,

Please find, below, a copy of my poem, No Regrets, for potential inclusion on your website.

Where do I live? Wales, UK

Who am I? I blog at Harcourt51.co.uk, where I post articles and poems with the intention of encouraging people to think.

I am a 50-something man who was made redundant, last year. As there are limited opportunities for people of my age, I am hoping to create an alternative income stream from my writing. I enjoy photography and I have recently self-published an anthology of my poems, together with linked photos, on Amazon. The book is entitled, Grandpa’s Poetic Way. The poem, below, concludes the book.

I hope that it is suitable for inclusion on your website and look forward to hearing from you.

Kind regards,

Michael

 

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