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Monthly Archives: January 2015



The ghosts of Auchwitz are chasing me again

just like they did when I was ten
I sat with in the kitchen with my mom
trying to speak, I was quite dumb

Tried to listen to what she had to say
wished it was just another regular day
and now its midnight and I am drunk
smoked a cigar and smell like a skunk
what is the meaning of life, I try to figure
with the skills of a mathematician and all its rigor

Menke Kalisch, Kopel Reich
those are important figures in my psych
I can feel them fight
with all their might
“Torah is important, everything else is fake”
No! More dough you got to make

Mom would wake up every morning
and sort of go into mourning
Where is her family and Galanta, she tried to shout
Do you know what this is about?

Lisa lies next to me. so innocent
never had to deal with anything indecent
wish I could be like her
and think that life is fair
But I think of my uncle, whom I never met
but can’t seem to be able to forget
and both of my grandparents
and their families
rolling in their grave
whom no one wanted to save

By Izzy Nelken


The rain how it fell; the cadaver smell
My eyes transfixed on that pit of Hell,
Vapid flesh foul, horrendously bland.
But why this carnage, I don’t understand;

Retching, gagging, holding back the bile.
I turn from the evil to rest for a while,
From decomposing mothers, fathers and child;
Satan’s work, merciless, callously wild.

Laid out in graves grotesquely remorse,
Lucifer’s carnage has taken its course
In a dance of death, contorted and thin,
Thousands of bodies, bound together by skin.

Now sixty years passed, will I ever forget.
That day when in person, with Satan I met;
He showed me firsthand his evil, his sin.
Flames of contempt still burn deep within.

Wise men instruct us ‘we must never, forget’,
Upon the memory of them, ‘let the sun never set’;
For six million Jews paid the ultimate cost,
I know, I was there, at the great Holocaust.

Alf Hutchison :
As seen through the eyes of those who witnessed first hand,
and liberated the scenes of the Holocaust

River queen lady of the sea. – Promote Yourself


Open Yourself to Love – Promote Yourself


Sit, be still for a moment and open yourself to love

Ah, that wondrous love!

Do you remember the feel of it? 

Do you remember the touch of it?

Do you remember the caress of it?


Allow yourself to be free from pain and suffering 

You are loved 

You have always been loved

You are never ever alone 


Here we stand

Outside of your door

Patiently awaiting your invitation to enter

And wrap you in our loving embrace.


Celine Koropchak   


Retired medical researcher, blueberry farmer and author of One With All of Thee: Growing Your Spiritual Connection  


FB: One With All of Thee

Twitter: @onetovarysh

The Danube Park in Vienna; – Promote Yourself

 Sweetly, sweetly swirling,
a mass of fluffy seeds,
are drifting through the park
at the whim of windy leads.
Big, thick, black, white tree trunks
seem to walk around
like the legs of zebras
ambling on the ground.
Fountains in the laid out pools
look all so inviting;
I want to dip my feet in them
and swim, it’s quite exciting!
Tulips stand out from the crowd,
they nod to passers by
as smaller flowers blush
rosy red at bare blue sky.
A green stretches youthfully
aside from the path,
waiting for the picnicers,
shining summer’s mirth.
A weeping girl is out of place
on this buzzing day
yet the sadness of the world
is causing her to pray.
The danube tower rises up
at first to our dislike,
but later as a stretched-up ship
floating on a spike,
surveying all that’s down below… 
the park, a bridge, a church.
We board ship and enjoy the view,
for landmarks make our search.
A funny purple train
is off on its tour,
showing off this merry land
we haven’t seen before.
The angels guard us overhead
i trust in their protection,
strolling through this wonderland
a heaven-ward direction.

by Emily Nash

Wolves Howl at the Moon because the Moon Screams Back. – Promote Yourself

To a Mouse – A Poem by Robert Burns -YOUR FAVOURITE POEM


(Written by Burns after he had turned over the nest of a tiny field mouse with his plough. Burns was a farmer and farmers are generally far too busy to be concerned with the health of mice. This poem is another illustration of Robert Burn’s tolerance to all creatures and his innate humanity.)

To a Mouse

Wee, sleekit, cowran, tim’rous beastie,
O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi’ bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee,
Wi’ murd’ring pattle!

I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion
Has broken Nature’s social union,
An’ justifies that ill opinion,
Which makes thee startle,
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
An’ fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen-icker in a thrave ‘S a sma’ request:
I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave,
An’ never miss’t!

Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!
It’s silly wa’s the win’s are strewin!
An’ naething, now, to big a new ane,
O’ foggage green!
An’ bleak December’s winds ensuin,
Baith snell an’ keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ wast,
An’ weary Winter comin fast,
An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro’ thy cell.

That wee-bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble,
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!
Now thou’s turn’d out, for a’ thy trouble,
But house or hald.
To thole the Winter’s sleety dribble,
An’ cranreuch cauld!

But Mousie, thou are no thy-lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men,
Gang aft agley,
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,
For promis’d joy!

Still, thou art blest, compar’d wi’ me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But Och! I backward cast my e’e,
On prospects drear!
An’ forward, tho’ I canna see,
I guess an’ fear!



The long goodbye. – Promote Yourself

Silhouette of two people walking at sunset

I see you standing there as I walked away’ I said goodbye to you’ but I wished you stay.
As I walking away there was a tear in my eye’ I hate the long goodbyes its makes me want to cry.
As I carry on walking 🚶 distance ahead’ I turned around and looked at him ‘ he’s gone in instead.
As my relationship is over is sad but true’ I must get over him’ and that’s what I must do.
Now I’m getting over him’ I know that’s true’ life moves on so must you.

Patricia bourne WordPress 2014.

CAMERA’S EYE – Promote Yourself


Who will take the place of Mary Whitehouse?
Are you the one who is going to volunteer?
Are you concerned with the decline in morality?
Or one of those who do not really care?
How much longer are we prepared to accept this situation?
Who amongst you is prepared to join in the fray?
In the fight to protect the morals of our nation,
Which appears to be deteriorating with each passing day.
We often hear of people of previous good character,
Who now face charges of downloading pornography,
We wonder how they have become so depraved,
We know it indicates a lowering of standards in society.
Is this because we allow the media to broadcast sex and violence?
Is this because we are prepared to bury our heads in the sand?
Knowing the effects that this is having on society,
Blighting the future for everyone in the land.
Young people now accept this as the norm,
This is the model on which their lives are based,
If we as adults and parents appear to accept it,
Is there any wonder that their standards are debased?
Surely there is something that we can do,
To prevent our country sinking into a sea of immorality,
Please, please try to do something about it,
Please, please do not leave it all to me.
Ron Martin

Illuminate – Promote Yourself

cat Behind the darkness An illumination Shadows in the night Made visible by the light Could it be? The dark and light Conspiring against me One I thought Was my friend Turned out to be A friend of the enemy. -Atlanta Karenina I am from the Philippines. You’ll find me in a corner, sipping tea and immersed in fiction Or in the kitchen, trying to perfect the chocolate cake.

Afterthought – Promote Yourself


Three Little Words

 i love

Never be ashamed to say I love you

For one day it might be to late

For one day it will be impossible

So do it now, do not wait


 Without expressing your feeling

Without showing that you care

Your life becomes empty

Into the abyss you will stare


We don’t know what’s around the corner

Whether you will be around for another day

Just three little words “I love you”

That is all you have to say


Then you feel the elation within yourself

For you have opened up your heart

You realise what those three words mean

Expressing your love, making a new start


Don’t take your loved ones for granted

Let them all know in turn

Then you will find they will reciprocate

By giving their love in return


Malcolm Bradshaw

A Butterfly in Church – YOUR FAVOURITE POEM

What dost thou here, thou shining sinless thing,
With many coloured hues and shapely wing?
Why quit the open field and summer air
To flutter here? Thou hast no need of prayer.

‘Tis mete that we who this stone structure built
Should come to be redeemed and washed from guilt,
For we this guilded edifice within
Are come with every kind of human sin.

But thou art free from guilt, as God on high;
Go seek the blooming waste and open sky,
And leave us here our secret woes to bear,
Confessionals, and agonies of prayer.


Sailing, I am… – Promote Yourself



“Watery Grey”: – Promote Yourself



New Moon Poem – Promote Yourself


A tongue of wine curls in slow-motion against the side of a cup.
Aldrin has checked with Armstrong; there is time, time enough
for Communion. He reads from the book of John.
They start to suit up.

“Locks are checked. Blue locks
checked. Lock-locks, red locks, purge locks.”

Oxygen circulates in the tubes of their suits.
There’s silence in a barroom, the flickering screen
a window on a dream. One of six hundred million
Jim holds a cold Bud,
thinks of Nevada desert painted white

as the roof-fan spins and the door of the module swings open.
Diane the waitress rests her chin in her hand
as the snowman climbs onto the ladder.
Wisps of Eagle’s atmosphere rush into the vacuum,
become particles of ice.

Janice and Kris cook up in a spoon.
They’ll come down tomorrow
when it’s done, when rocks and dust
are bagged and tagged.

Kids crayoned rockets are stuck
to classroom walls. Gold-plated visors
reflect unfiltered rays
while Bob is running to a grocery store.
Marie’s says she’s out of diapers
and B.J needs a change.
He buys a pack of Oreos and some Lucky Strikes
as Armstrong bounces on the last rung,
testing to see if he can get back up.

Amphetamine sweat on Nixon’s lip.
In Harpersville a fly is landing
on the back of grandma’s cotton-roughened hand.
Beyond a roll of chicken wire
and a Dodge truck on blocks
a little girl stands on tip-toe
to peer at white ghosts.

One takes off on a slow jog, each stride
launching him into black, suspended on a ballistic arc.
The war is not suspended. Death is not
suspended. GI’s are listening in the jungle.
On death row they listen to the radio.
The little girl’s brother listens in Vietnam

where death is not suspended
as Aldrin hangs mid-stride and lands,
his boot sending a spray of powder
into the Sea of Tranquillity.

by Roy  Marshall

The Weft and Warp of freedom – Promote Yourself


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