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Monthly Archives: July 2014

“You” – Promote Yourself


I noticed you
Not only because you were tall
But because you are charming
I had a crush on you
Not only because of your voice
But because you are modest
I liked you
Not only because of your talents
But because you are kind
I like-liked you
Not only because of your smile
But because you made me smile.
And now
I love you
Not only because of the time we spent on talking
But because of all the things that we’ve  been through, together.


There’s something about November,
There’s something about winter.
There’s something about 6am,
And there’s something with
That feeling I could clearly remember.
It could be the whisper of the cold winds,
Or the almost silent and faint air.
Or could it be the midnight morning ambiance,
With the streets so still,
The tired lights,
The dark and calm sky,
The sleeping guards.
I am not able to point my finger on the exact reason.
I could have missed out on some things.
But I’m certain on one thing,
There’s something about November,
There’s something about winter.
There’s something about 6am,
And there’s something with
That feeling I could clearly remember.

“Growing up”

So is this natural?
It is, right?
It’s natural to question a lot of things right?
So many uncleared doubts, mysteries, surprises
Is age really just a concept made by human?
And is the ranking too?
Infant, baby, child, teenager, adult
More like yes
It seems so
I mean, theres a pattern with teenagers
I’m a teenager
Torn in between
A lot to explore
But a lot of restrictions as well
Thats the common issue of teenagehood
So then, I’ll return to the concept of time
If  it wasnt there

If  we had no age

If we had no rank

Would it have been easier?

Hey there! I saw your post about poem database so I thought of sharing some of my lost-but-now-found poems. I hope you like them! Your feedback would really be appreciated. Thank you and have a great day! 🙂

Claire Padilla

The Wayside – Promote Yourself

I saw the moon full and bold
Walking early before it was light
A golden hue it threw off as
Clouds drifted by
I detected their dark against waning night
Was that a face, are you watching?
I couldn’t help but think
The man in the moon’s not a child’s tale
As he turned his head, looking around at me
Perception of the early hours, how interesting, so free
A straggler car to interrupt, but no traffic yet
Snow dotted here and there now gone
Landscaped in greens, sculpted rocks and trees
I look up again, is he watching me still?
But by our favorite witch-dramas we’ve seen
Orangey-autumn sky surrounding him
Lending a film of gold as the sky lightens
Has significance to those who can read it
I can’t recall, was it an omen, trouble coming?
There isn’t  blood viscously
I’ll not worry at all
I look back once more as I walked on by
I thought “hello moon”, then “morning moon”
But for you what’s right, for me I’ve just risen
I should say good night
But the moon doesn’t sleep; it doesn’t care
What’s going on here for that matter where
That expression doesn’t change
Never shows the darkness, always keeps a glow
As phases begin, now waning in space
But the man, he smiled at me!
Well what do you know.
margaret prezioso-frye

Our Lives Mirrored


We all have lives, –

this cannot be argued

no matter the girth or the slight

however, the notoriety or discretion,

each idiosyncratic measure of

who we are

can only be truly defined



But, you knew that already,

that’s why last night downtown with the boys,

you made an ass of yourself,

went up to her and told her you thought,

she was a slut,

because just minutes later

you wagered with your inebriations

that you could score with the rudest commentary.

Why she smiled,

it turned you on,

you glanced back at your problems

hinting a forward motion.

When you looked back in her eyes,

her delight just made you swoon,

forgetting about that initial commentary

now recognizing she really is pure elegance…


Damned if she didn’t give you her number,

even I sitting nearby was disturbed by that.

You walked away smug,

she joined her girlfriend and you physically disappeared in her mind,

even though you could still see she was

maintaining her sort of human condition in the crowd.

The boys, the posse, the conquest moved

to the other tavern

where the sure thing had been told.

you crammed the napkin with her number in your tight jeans,

and forgot about her for the rest of the night,

because along came Jenni, Sarah, Michelle, and anon …


Laundry day,

sorting out pockets

where when unfolding the napkin,

Jill’s name appeared in a scrawl.

It took you a minute or two to recall

who she was.

Who she was.

Who she really was!

Then you dialed the number

to reach a disconnection,

blew her off and called her a ‘bitch’

for giving you the wrong number.


A few days later,

while stepping off the train

to go to work,

your normal morning routine,

there was a delay,

a procession of sorts,

they were all sort of familiar,

each wearing the same veils,

another typical gathering that occurred

nearby your building, in that park,

where families grieved,

never any reason to bear notice.

Though today

you wanted to glance further,

there was a familiar elegance,

that couldn’t really be defined,

some energy, that asked you,

refine your arrogance

just this one time.


Turns out she did give you the wrong number

a purposeful gesture for a woman protecting herself

from the constant barrage of harassment,

yet tonight when she went home,

she couldn’t get the word out of her head,

too mindful of four years earlier in college,

when the hot breath of that stranger

impelled her world forever,

leaving her cold and barren,

she knew tonight with your clarity,

she could never really let go.


Today there appeared so much love in that gathering.


© Thom Amundsen


Crying is Beautiful – Promote Yourself


Cry girl, let it all out for now

It won’t change your life or make it new 

Cry girl, your face will move, unable to hold in the pain, the world will know 

Cry girl, your judges are everywhere but your soul can’t control what hurts it feels

Cry girl, your pain is beautiful, it reminds us you’re human, that life is real

Cry girl, your face is beautiful, tear stained, catharsis of what lies within 

Cry girl, and cry until your voice is heard, you’re not alone, other hearts will hear 

Emily Bird

Lost and Found – Promote Yourself

lost and found







She liked the touch of cold rain
On her pale, hot skin,
She liked the smells of coffee beans
And freshly quashed candle flames

She had culture, the best cult interests,
She drank milk from A Clockwork Orange
And feared the future of 2001,
I sometimes saw her as Mia Wallace

It seemed to me that synthpop,
Rap and alternative rock rushed through her veins
With sad pangs of Amy Winehouse
As she read Sylvia Plath

I would plunge into that darkness
To stumble into love,
Whatever love that is

It just seemed she had something
That no one else had,
That she knew something
Nobody else could understand

I would imagine being with her
In the dreams she beamed,
Becoming mine

Of messy bedrooms and big TVs,
Crackling vinyl and eighties movies,
Creating and reciting poetry
And nothing else would matter

Bass lines would make us shake
As we became lost in dark eyes
And bad dancing
Lost in her, lost in me
But I came to hate her,
She was too far from me,
The profound became meaningless,
To leave my eyes only craving
At her dark hair and eyes and body
In awe.

My name’s  Dylan, I’m eighteen and I’m from Ireland. I’m starting university in September and aspire to be a professional writer.
I post my poems on my blog;


Dylan P. O’Keeffe

Stagnation, the future of the cloned unknown. -Promote Yourself


I try to understand. 
These tainted thoughts
that threaten
To possess my broken, 
But I merely find…
Desire that awakens me,
that will one
fill me with such despair,
That I may,
No longer care.
I thought,
I had
tried so
Hard to keep
You at a far.
But I never did,
I never hid, 
I let you
In to explore,
I wanted more.
Choices, the undeniable
Evolutionary voices. 
It cannot be
To not make the decision ever,
Is an involuntary request
To the universe to
What has been given,
The offering of desire,
Of taste, of chaotic
Frenzied abandonment,
with the indecision
Of a caged mind, bound
By a soulless
Karen A Hayward.

Yes, my girl you are the star,- Promote Yourself

Rise up and rise above what crushed you
 Yes, my girl you are strong, you won’t fail.
 Let the world that despised you, be ashamed!
Aim high and reach heights where others dare not
 Yes, my girl you are able, you won’t fail.
 Let the world that failed you, be ashamed!
Explore the new, where others tread not
 Yes, my girl you are the leader, you won’t fail.
 Let the world that mocked you, be ashamed!
Believe in your dreams and make them true
 Yes, my girl you are the winner, you won’t fail.
 Let the world that denied you, be ashamed!
Show the world what you got, show them you can
 Let the world see the fire that burns in you
 Strong and steady, guiding your way.
 Yes, my girl you are the star, shine forever
 Let the world see what you are worth!
Priya Krishnan

Collection Of Poems – by Jessica Burton – Promote Yourself

Out of every guy I’ve ever met, no one compares to you,
I just want to be near you and do the things you do.
Ever since I laid eyes on you, I noticed you had that spark,
And thousands of new formed butterflies fluttered within my heart.
As care free times are changing and future plans begin,
We find ourselves drawn together and these crazy feelings kick in.
Its written in our starsigns, we’re compatable as can be,
So it is no wonder that we make perfect company.
Whether there’s wind or rain or snow it never feels blue,
As long as you are there with me, I know that we’ll get through.
Wind means kites will fly well, rain creates puddles to splash,
Snow makes it feel like christmas without the need for cash.
In this dramatic world, things change from day to day.
We often fall and make mistakes until we find our way.
Somtimes we annoy each other and take little things too far,
But it’s from these things we learn, it’s just the way we are.
Exam results aren’t everything, they shouldn’d make you stressed,
Even if the world should stop, there’s no need to be depressed.
When we are together and our smiles fade into one,
I know our love’s for real and not just there for fun.
Crossed fingers of luck come from all around as our worries drift away,
And those lil butterflies inside us shine as does our love each day.

by Jessica Burton 
We arrived at the hotel at precisely six fifteen
But to my disgust the entrance was not pristine
The luggage handler stole my bags and took them in the lift
I shook my fists and banged on the door “Those are not a gift”
The receptionist greeted us with a rather unpleasent smirk
Said I “Pack that in you rascal that technique will not work”
“Now I require a double room but with two seperate beds”
“One for me and one for my blasted husband Fred”
Fred scowled at me “‘Tis our anniversary dear”
“I propose we share a bed for the first time in three years”
I picked up my zimoframe and jabbed him in the groin”
“I can’t be sharing with you Fred you’re far too annoying”
The receptionist gawped in horror and handed us the keys
I examined them with my eyeglass and stated “What are these?”
“They are far too dusty they certainly need a clean”
“Get on and polish them then or are you in a dream”
I turned to the porter “Escort me to my room”
“Wait a moment madam i’ll take you there soon”
“Take me now you foolish man don’t allow me to wait”
“I want to see my bedroom i bet it’s in a horrific state”
He led us to the room and my prediction was correct
I scowled at the furnishings it was far from perfect
The first thing i did was to sniff the bed
It was unsuitable for me and even for Fred
Out of the window there lay a ghastley sight
I’d specifically ordered a sea view this was impolite
I glanced into the bathroom and to my horror and disgrace
I noticed that the towels were not in their correct place
Everybody knows towels should be labeled with names
I was sick of this appauling hotel and its silly games
I poked Fred in the stomach “Why did you bring me here?”
“You always ruin our anniversary every single year!”

by Jessica Burton




Do you hear what I hear?

It is the sound of the common sparrow,

It can be heard the world,

Through fields of sweet corn, cauliflower and marrow.



Do you see what I see?

It is the striking feathers of the proud male peacock,

Preening himself upon a sacred rock.



Do you smell what I smell?

It is the scent of the buddleia flower,

Attracting red admirals with all its power.



Do you taste what I taste?

It is the sweet stem of the evening clover,

Which is found in the fields the whole year over.



Do you feel what I feel?

It is the soft fleece of an infant lamb standing for the very first time.

Come on little fellow if I can do it you can!


Now I must go and meditate upon the dew drenched wheat,

Along with the millipedes, that crawl across my feet.

I think about nature and all the joy it brings,

And how one can use their senses to experience these things.


by Jessica Burton

Ballad of the rain – Promote Yourself


I woke up alone; the only sound was the ticking of the raindrops hitting the nearest window
I had numerous dreams about you; why couldn’t I see your face?
There was no hand to hold; there was no shoulder to lie on; there were no kiss to blow
I was alone; I was always all alone; in the crowd I was just a face

I turned the DVD player on; “Monalisa” was playing in the background
I took a seat, and stared at the ACLS manual books spread all over the room
I opened the door; I could smell the scent of the rain and the wet ground
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and I suddenly felt like home

I played with the raindrops; I befriended the cold; I listened to the melodic ticking
The hell with the damp clothes; with you, I would dance in the storm
Hidden in the rain, so many unspoken words; unshed tears; untold feelings
I tried to recall the sound of your voice in my scattered mind, trying to be a little warm

We’re worlds apart, but rain is always the same; is it also raining in your place now?
I let you slipped through my fingers; wait – were you even there, hmm?
And as I was standing there, in the middle of a heavy rain and the hard wind blew
The hell with the broken past; I suddenly felt like home

I let the rain muffle all the unspoken words I never dared to yell
I let the rain hide all the unshed tears I was never able to wipe
I let the rain wash all the untold feelings I could never be able to tell
I shouldn’t have fallen for you; you weren’t even my type

Am I imagining things, or are you smiling while reading this?
There were no memories to remember; we never made any, did we?
Then the cold breeze blew; I closed my eyes and felt a pure bliss
I shivered; and I suddenly felt like home.

I am Sari, and my blog site is
I am a from Indonesia and in my spare time you can find me reading or writing.

I See You – Promote Yourself


Oh, Blue Heron

There in

the reeds.

Pretending not to see me.

I often see you.

Steely Blue,

Peeking through

The lake weeds.

And I wonder if,

like me…

You’re lonely.

A.J. MarieK

Where My Heart Is (or No excuses, the domino effect) – Promote Yourself


Gifts of money
Time and prayer
But chiefly
No pretending there
We need

So giving?


Or with excuses?

Kids at uni
Direct debits
Bills, cars,
food and clothes.

I work hard
I have a right
To spend
A little
On me.

Now and again
Now and again
…and again
…and again
and then … again

Meals out,
KFC and McDonald’s
Do count
…and pizza

And work canteen

And the odd book
And the odd clothing
And shoes
…and again
and coffee
…and again

Five pounds goes
But it’s a lot
When I give it
To Church.
Or charity…
Five pounds…
Two cups of coffee
Easy to fritter

Just thinking,
Lord of the domino effect,
Where my treasure is
Where my heart is
Where my need for
Peace and quiet
Where I want
Where I need
To place
My money heart?


cheryl bhagwandin

The Poet and The Statue – Promote Yourself

If I, as Bird, did fly around your waterfall 
Of silver-shining hair to see your twinkling eyes
And stopped, a-hover there, so much amazed with all
The wrink’less beauty of a splendid lover, oh,
Would I not sing such piercing songs into the skies
That gath’ring clouds would get them fast and far away,
And winds, that moved so dull before, would blow and blow,
And fill with big bloom odors all the wilding air
Until you breathed, and turned, and stretched like bursting May!?
Then awed I’d sit a waving branch and watch you there,
Like ship upon the waters, up and down, in bliss
to sight the isle of happiness for which it’s bound.
And now, with flutt’ring pulse for perfect, twirling ground,
I ‘magine me a bee to buzz your lips and kiss!
Oh, what’s a better power than poet’s power like this?
May you share this with poets everywhere.
Brian Faulkner 


child cryingxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I wake up in the morning to the cries of hurt and anger
I wished I’d wake up to cries of joy and laughter
I wake up every morning hoping it will all be gone
But the fighting the war has only just begun
I’d play out in my mind that I could beg for them to stop just for a while
But no! What do they care I’m just a war child

I’d go to sleep every night with the fear of not being able to last another day
Oh please please help this child many would say
But deep down I know those peoples urgent call
Will be returned with bombs shooting or nothing at all
The shock that they turn to shooting even if you smile
Is abhorrent but what do they care I’m just a war child

I’d hope for a place to truly call home
But how can it be with all the peace and harmony gone
It hurts and pains to know the people doing this have neither regret nor remorse
But instead curfews and more undeserved punishment is what they’ve enforced
Enemies upon us our country reviled
But what do they care I’m just a war child

I’d cry puddles full of tears day to day
Hoping someone my mummy or even my daddy come by say its ok
But no one will ever care I’m just a war child.

© Lamzii



I watched the sun arising
Within the morning sky
A chilly breeze caressed my face
As the shadows of the sun passed by

All was quiet and peaceful
As I felt the warmth upon my face
I was in oar at the reflections
As they danced all over the place

As the sun arose in all its glory
Clouds of fluffy white appeared
Drifting slowly across the sun
Not a sound could be heard

I found all this very relaxing
Because we take nature for granted
We can sometime forget
At the beauty she has planted

It instils the very soul with energy
It opens our very censors to see
With a sense of clear vision
Without nature it just would not be

Malcolm G Bradshaw

Under Shelley’s hat


Shelley wrote his famous sonnet*

In just twenty minutes flat

That’s some going, it’s impressive.

Wish I wore the Shelley hat.

I’d knock sonnets out in dozens

They’d come pouring from my pen.

Poetic industry would flourish:

Wonders, time and time again.

Ballads, odes and the odd haiku,

Watch them dancing on the page.

All my own and all the rage.

But this, alas, is a mere day dream

Imagination all askew.

Random rhyme, no similes,

No metaphors, I ask you!

Poet manqué, you’re a has-been.

Go find something else to do.* Ozymandias.

By Ron Gardner

When You Are Old by William Butler Yeats -YOUR FAVOURITE POEM

William Butler Yeats was the most famous Irish poet of all time, and his poems of unrequited love for the beautiful and dangerous revolutionary Maud Gonne helped make her almost as famous as he was in Ireland. The first poem below is Yeats’ loose translation of a Ronsard poem, in which Yeats imagines the love of his life in her later years, tending a waning fire. The second poem, “The Wild Swans at Coole” is surely one of the most beautiful poems ever written, in any language.

When You Are Old

by William Butler Yeats

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

The Wild Swans at Coole
by William Butler Yeats

The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine and fifty swans.

The nineteenth Autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.

I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All’s changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.

Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold,
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.

But now they drift on the still water
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake’s edge or pool
Delight men’s eyes, when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?





Oh how I long to be touched all my life – Promote Yourself

woman and man

Oh how I long to be touched all my life I have wanted to be the only focus of someone’s only desire

The cool look down the nose the warm touch as if I were the only one in the world you wanted

You would look at me and wonder what I was thinking and really cared and gave me your full attention.

I sit lonely and waiting for you to show , for when you don’t the pain I will know

Lost an hurt the pain begins ,I just want to let love in

But for now the joy Is not to be , for there is no you so there is no we

My heart is yours and it is for you to take, let this dream continue and for me not to wake

My dream is of a love hat has no bounds ,a touch from you makes my heart pound

You touch my hand as to say come to me ,for in my dreams I cannot  see

My needs are not for you to fill I, will continue this fantasy  oh yes I will

For in my dreams I am all yours ,you want me and hold me there are no doors

My heart breaks as the sleep goes away ,I open my eyes to another day

I wake to see that again I do not matter, my dream was just thoughtless patter

I go through my day and cant wait for the night ,for in my dreams all is right

Only in dreams I will be desired ,the rest is all thoughtless mire

Good night ,and let me be, as I look for that love that will forever be.

Sean Warren



They wore their badge in honour when they went out to war
But it is something that soon they no longer can display
The fact that the name of the Sherwood Foresters is to disappear
Has been greeted by Nottinghamshire folk with dismay
How can this proud name and its years of service
In fighting to preserve our country’s liberty
Be sacrificed on the altar of expediency
Pretending this will lead to greater efficiency
We know that the real reason is the economic situation
And that the value of tradition is set at nought
When we realise how taxes are being squandered
It makes us wonder if we value for what they fought
They gave their lives to preserve the English way of life
Our traditions and our pride in our nationality
But one by one they are gradually disappearing
As our lives become surrounded by banality
The time has come for us to make a stand
To fight for the traditions that we should treasure
To show our pride and gratitude for those who died
And to ensure the name of the Sherwood Foresters lives on forever
Ron Martin
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