RSS Feed

Daily Archives: July 19, 2014

Thank you that I forgot – Promote Yourself

Thank you that I forgot
My mobile phone.
Peace and quiet.
I couldn’t do
All the things I thought I’d do.Thank you that I forgot
My wedding ring.
Instead I have
Our two engagement rings
The wedding ring so missed
Reminding me
Of being cherished.Thank you that I forgot
So that I relaxed.

Thank you that I forgot
And could spend some time instead
With you.

cheryl bhagwandin

Disappointment – Promote Yourself


Disappointment, it’s true

Is such a waste.

Of time and energy

But mostly of space.


The space in your head

That positivity should reside

But disappointment takes over

And happily hides


In each corner and crevice

In every empty cell it can find

Being displayed on your face

And consuming your mind


You should be happy and

Having a great day

But disappointment has robbed you

And it’s here to stay


No one reads your writing

No one seems to care

They’re all too busy

And that’s about fair


We all have our own lives

We all have to contend

But disappointment has hold

I cannot pretend


My feelings are hurt

My ego is bruised

We’re only 5 days away

I feel like I’m being used


A place to stay

A roof over your head

Food in your belly

And a nice warm bed.


I pour my heart out through verse

After verse, and this is your choice

To ignore all my messages

And hear only my voice.


It’s too much to read

Maybe I’m too complex

For a mind such as yours

Maybe I’ll be then next


To abandon this ship

That we set sail long ago

I don’t know what tomorrow holds

Or today, I just don’t know


What I do know is this

My home is in writing

Where you find solace

In constantly fighting


The nature of life and how things

Should just be

We should talk more

But this you don’t see


You’re too busy trying

To prove that you’re right

You never back down

It’s just in you to fight


Well, I cannot fight

It’s not who I am

I want peace in my home

When my pen is in hand


But now I’m a mess

Disappointed the most

In your reaction to me

And the problems I host


A mere minute or two

Is all that I wanted

But you insisted on snapping

So now I am haunted


By our words as we parted

On what should have been nice

Was destroyed by your ego

And it’s desire to be right


So have a good day

Where ever you are

Know that I’m miserable

And feeling quite far


Away from the person I believed

Was my friend

This is too much

Perhaps maybe the end


Of a closeness I thought

That would never exist

Until I found you

And was met with pure bliss


Your mood changes more than

The colors of the sky

Catching you happy

This I cannot deny


Is an impossible feat

One caught on a whim

I’m too weighted down

To keep climbing this limb


One day it will snap

Reality will set in

I’m noting more than

A thorn in your skin.


I can see this much

And you know it’s true

What’s the point in denying

The obvious clue


The late night text

The disinterest in bed

Is it all over reaction

And just in my head?


I think it’s much deeper

Than you may believe

But your mouth says something

Your eyes deceive


I’ve been down this road

Many times through the years

I’ve had my heart-broken

And possessed only my tears


This road has been closed

I won’t travel it again, ever

I’ve thrown out the map

And all ties I did sever


If this is the road you choose to take

Please be safe and enjoy your journey

Don’t say you weren’t warned well in advance

It was you who refused to hear me.


Rain Music by Joseph S. Cotter, Jr. – YOUR FAVOURITE POEM


On the dusty earth-drum
Beats the falling rain;
Now a whispered murmur,
Now a louder strain.

Slender, silvery drumsticks,
On an ancient drum,
Beat the mellow music
Bidding life to come.

Chords of earth awakened,
Notes of greening spring,
Rise and fall triumphant
Over every thing.

Slender, silvery drumsticks
Beat the long tattoo–
God, the Great Musician,
Calling life anew.

Joseph S. Cotter, Jr.



Halved Strawberries – promote yourself



I slip my lip.

He writes “Your lips taste like strawberries”

to tell me that he has no tongue.

I scrape the kisses from his neck

and mold them like clay

into a berry

and bury it in my garden,

wondering if puckered lips grow on trees.

He writes “Your garden sprouts like leaves”

to tell me that he has no eyes.

I press the infant fruit to his neck,

where kisses shrivel into my hands.

He writes “Your berries chill like ice”

to tell me that he has no nerves.

He bites the engorged strawberry –



– as I whisper the recipe for jam past his ear.

He writes “Your recipes soothe like lullabies”

to tell me that he has no ears.

A mound of freshly picked strawberries

rests in a large, round bowl on my table.

Months or weeks pass before

I dip his hands in the strawberry vinegar,

the seeds repelled in a slow wave to meet

a white ceramic rim.

He draws his hand toward a pad of paper,

and lays an outstretched palm in the center of the page.

He does not write,

and he does not taste,

and he does not see,

and he does not feel,

and he does not hear,

and the smell of strawberry wine lingers like an urchin on his skin.

Zane Johnson



%d bloggers like this: