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Daily Archives: September 21, 2014

Fall – Promote Yourself

 hayride

My favorite season

Colors of red, gold, yellow, orange, and rusts

Crisp air that bites and refreshes

Pumpkins, fruits, harvest, corn, and hayrides

Children laughing, old people smiling

 

Animals renew their hope in nature

A cycle in time for a new year

Shedding the old to make way for newness

Beauty of life replaces the long summer heat

Fresh air and clear skies, starry nights, moon bright

 

Fall brings us to the time of starting over

Food, fun, celebration and amends

Let us forever give thanks to nature

For her unending love and change in season

http://daraswriting.wordpress.com/

HARVEST TIME – Promote Yourself

ben smoking

YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE. HARVEST BEGINS AT SUNDOWN.
YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE. HARVEST BEGINS AT SUNDOWN.
YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE . . .

The microspeakers continue whispering their incantation throughout the city. The Harvest alerts play every day at routine intervals: six in the morning, twelve in the afternoon, three in the afternoon and then once more a half hour before sundown, whenever that is during the season. The message is repeated all across the steel continent; in every room, in every building. It is illegal to reside in a property not linked to VoiceComm.

You don’t need to be surface-side too long to catch the gist of Harvest. Every night is the same.
Lock the doors.
Bolt the windows.
Use only one light at any time.
Put in earplugs.
Draw the curtains.
Don’t look outside.

Of course, you peek out the window the first night you’re left unattended. You hear all that commotion start up outside when the sun goes down. It’s like a bustling marketplace starts humming through the walls.
But it’s true what they say – not even once.
All it takes is that first glance. You catch something unfathomable. Something that your mind simply cannot comprehend. There is no way to explain it. You might gaze out through the glass unto the strange hues of light vibrating on impossible spectrums. You may see the reflection of the red moon across a hulk of pulsating black chitin. Large mandibles covered in sores from which monstrous pupils peer out. Which peer back at you through the glass.

The first night, you’ll look away in fear and disgust. But then the next night, there you’ll be, clenching your teeth while you try not to draw the curtain again. While you try to just not eventhink of what’s going on out there. While you fail.
While you peek again. Night after night.
And what you see during the Harvests from your human accommodation room will start to change you. Even though they warn you back home not to play voyeur, not to give in to curiosity, you’re still going to do it. Despite the threat of a revoked PlanetVisa and deportation back to Earth for trial, you still peer through panes of glass, through cracks in the wall. Just to catch a glimpse of something else.

But then you’re doing it every night you’re on the planet. You start forgoing sleep to spy on Harvest, soon you have to watch the Harvests just to feel normal. The alien nights lose their strange lustre. You become familiar with them.
However, you will almost never realise how familiar Harvest has become with you.
Before you know it, you’re not looking away until sunrise. The images of last night’s Harvest burn in your head, keeping you awake until the sun falls once more. Then, you have no choice but to watch the next Harvest lest you go insane – clinging onto the wild hope that somehow tonight’s Harvest will be different, that tonight will be the night you figure it out. You keep your face pressed up against the glass for another whole night until the scenes outside go dim and it hits six o clock and the Harvest alert of a new dawn breaks the silence.

YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE. HARVEST BEGINS AT SUNDOWN . . .
And then, Harvest comes for you.

That’s when it happens. That next night, when you’re too deep now to come back up for air. You haven’t slept in days, you’ve lost an unhealthy amount of weight. You are losing your mind trying to process what happens each night. Trying to figure out what the fuck it all means. And then you see your Mother in your head, heartbroken and disappointed. Her words of caution replaying ad infinitum directly to your conscience:
“Don’t experiment with other planets. It’s not natural.”
And then they knock at the door.
You hear that wet, rustling noise they make when they talk.
Your shaky hand clasps the faux stainless-steel door handle, sweat rolls from your tear ducts, your mouth is dry. Your tongue sandpaper. You open the door and the red moonlight spills in the room. You are no longer behind glass.

Not that I would know any of this, though.
I don’t peek during Harvest.

E-MAIL:  jondvdsn@hotmail.com

 

21 year old student from Australia. Determined to move overseas. Enthusiastic about writing. Will write for enhanced readership, recognition or even money.

Make love not War – Promote Yourself

wob

Brothers & Sisters
A change has come

A change in the way
we look at people and things
a change in the way we feel
are felt
see
and are seen

To feel beautiful we must become beautiful

Loving ourselves more than we love the lie
You know the one you tell yourself
to feel secure

or the one you told,
just the other day to spare his feelings…
yeah that’s it,
(it didn’t have a thing to do with compromising your security)

the one that bought
a nations love
with terror

the one they sold us
to pimp our fear
to fuel tanks
the one that bought and lost your house
and sent your man to jail

To feel beautiful we must become beautiful
as a nation
as a nation within a nation
as family and community
as humans
not given to fight
until we know
and believe in
what we are fighting for
as lovers & friends
we must choose to
make love, not war

war poem – Words are falling on Gaza – David Roberts- Sent in by you.

ward

Israel bombs Gaza (again) 2014  –  The following poem, written in 2009, seems relevant today.

Towards the end of August 2014 over 2000 Palestinians had been killed in the current conflict by Israelis, 65 Israelis had been killed by Palestinians, almost all of the Israelis were soldiers who had invaded Gaza.

“The UN says 8,830 housing units have been totally destroyed in Gaza and 425,000 people displaced.” BBC Website, 18 August.

Words are falling on Gaza
Gaza, 6 January, 2009

The Prime Minister said today
“This is a very dangerous moment.
I think everybody around the world
is expressing grave concern,”
but what use are words?

On Saturday
after days of bombing and shelling
Israeli ground troops moved into Gaza.
Tanks, grenades, machine guns,
helicopter gunships,
bombs from the air
shelling from the sea.

More than 500 Palestinians killed
men, women and children.
Hospitals overwhelmed.

Five Israelis killed.

More than 700 Palestinians killed.
Hospitals are out of supplies.
People are out of food and water.

Nine Israelis have been killed.

The killing goes on.

For six decades
the killing has gone on.

The Israelis want peace.
The Palestinians want peace.
The Israelis are seeking an end
to violence.

Words, words.
What use are words?

The Israelis are only attacking
“militants”.
Have they ever considered
what creates a militant?

What is a “militant” ?
Maybe people who are fighting back?
To stop them fighting back
maybe you shouldn’t attack.

The Israelis say
we are only attacking “militants”.
We are not attacking “civilians”.

Bombs are falling.
Tanks are shelling.
Helicopter gunships are strafing.
But they are not attacking “civilians”.
They are “discriminating”.
Oh yes they are.

Words, words.

They are “discriminating”.
Only attacking human beings,
a university,
a police station,
people leaving prayers outside a mosque,
a United Nations school.
Completely “accidentally”
bombs fall on houses.

Peace?
Civilians?
Militants?
Discriminating?
Accidentally?

Words, words.
What do words mean?

Who needs words?
Forget words.
We are not fooled by words.
There are too many words.

Statesmen
(what is a statesman?)
urge peace talks.
More words.

There have been peace talks for decades.
What use have they been?
Don’t answer.
We don’t need more words.
The Palestinians don’t need words.
They need justice.

Words are camouflage.
If politicians
cannot say something meaningful
let them be quiet.
We would welcome the news:
Today no politician spoke.

Let’s get to the nitty-gritty.

Who pays the Israelis?
Who supplies weapons to the Israelis?
Who trades with the Israelis?
Who could influence the Israelis?

Do we have moral leaders?
Do we have civilised leaders?
Do we have leaders
who understand the meaning
of their own words?
Do we have leaders who really
give a damn?

Could they stop the torture
of the Palestinian people?

Could they stop the persecution
of the Palestinian people?

Could they stop the robbery,
the imprisonment and murder
of the Palestinian people?

We are facing
avoidable human suffering.

The whole world knows
what is going on.

Should we speak out?
Bleat like lambs?
More words?
What can be done?

We can be sure
that leaders will speak out.

More words.

Words are falling on Gaza.
Words words.

David Roberts

YOUR FAVOURITE POEM SENT IN BY YOU WHAT’S YOUR’S ?

When You Are Sleeping – Promote Yourself

girl sleep

When you are sleeping

I love to watch you

To tuck away the few errant strands of hair

on your cheeks behind your ear

and run my hands over on your cheeks and forehead.

 

Now don’t get me wrong

And don’t ask me to say sorry

It’s not that I don’t like you awake

but your being asleep is something special

 

In those quiet moments, I feel blessed and content

You look so peaceful when you are sleeping

that I feel peaceful just by looking at you

 

Perhaps we should show pictures

of you sleeping on the TV

– Our contribution to world peace.

 

I often wonder about your dreams

Your dreams must be fun too

Of small happiness’s and little disappointments perhaps

 

Wish I could climb behind your closed eyelids and watch those dreams with you

like in a cinema hall

Just you and me

 

So again, don’t get me wrong,

And don’t ask me to say sorry

I love you awake

But I love you a wee bit more

When you are sleeping.

 

Rajat Narula

 

 Hi, I am Rajat Narula. I am currently writing my debut novel, The Jasmine Bloom, set in contemporary India, which tells a tale of the fragility of modern family life and the miracle of human resilience in the face of adversity. I absolutely love to read and write poetry. This is a poem that I wrote for my daughter.

At Harvest time

We ploughed the  fields in springtime

We spread the seed upon the ground

Then we hoped for rain and sunshine

Which would let the seeds abound

To produce a wonderful harvest

Which wound satisfy our need

To ensure that our lives could continue

Hopefully without falling to temptation of greed

For when our essential needs are provided

With these we should be satisfied

And remember that to many throughout the world

That these blessings are often denied

And so at harvest time we should be satisfied

And thank god for the bounty we share 

And be prepared to share this with our neighbours

And to show just how much we care.

By Ron Martin

Waving not Drowning Your favourite poem

man drowningxxxxxxxxxxxx
Nobody heard him, the dead man,

But still he lay moaning:

I was much further out than you thought

And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking

And now he’s dead

It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,

They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always

(Still the dead one lay moaning)

I was much too far out all my life

And not waving but drowning

Stevie Smith

YOUR FAVOURITE POEM SENT IN BY YOU WHAT’S YOUR’S?

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