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Daily Archives: March 3, 2015

I. Will. Revolt. – Promote Yourself

revolt

I will be a better person
I will help out where I can
I will commit to listen
I will not demand

I will be attentive
I will not draw the line
I will shelter vulnerable
I will not waste time

I will learn from watching
I will teach by showing
I will be more conscious
I will devote to knowing

I will be compassionate
I will give more than I take
I will be grateful
I will forgive mistakes

I will reserve my judgment
I will share my opinion
I will be respectful
I will not be a minion

I will stand against oppressors
I will fight for no ones war
I will love the neglected
I will recompense more

I will deflect aggression
I will not insult
I will not flee from tyranny
I. Will. Revolt.

By- Mr. Mister

clusey79.wordpress.com

Walls – good and bad – Promote Yourself

walls not good

ones that grow
amid friends
never fall down
friendships drown

low wall not bad
amid two houses
a place for tete-a-tete
builds friendship
as strong as high wall

high wall not good
between neighbours
icy-cold hearts
stony dead silence
such walls develop ears

‘wall-to-wall’ walls not bad
such walls build houses
if hearts build a home
without house no home
hug such wall-to-wall walls

 strong walls of a house
keep inmates warm
and secure, weak walls
of a house soon come down
till the home drowns

shaky walls of an old house
broken and mouldy
such walls weep and such
walls speak, tell sad tales of a
home that once was

Alka Girdhar
Sydney

Past midnight

thin
Shadowy thin man appears
lurking amid car headlights,
he’s obviously had a few beers,
it’s not a pretty sight
a man who sheds tears.
The sky cloaked as a funeral,
held in a dull trance,
has an uneasy reliance
on misplaced Novas; innumerable,
shooting to a macabre dance.
Thin man follows his own star,
Trilby hat over one eye
to some bolted door of a saloon bar,
again he begins to cry,
too late, I fear, for that last jar.
Crescent moon on high illuminates
empty streets, shuttered blinds,
closed doors, sleeping minds,
dreaming of last nights date,
waking suddenly to ruminate.
Only the thin man walks the way
of hopes and stars and dreams,
unsteadily unable to convey,
nor neither equipped to delay,
a morning mist on sunlit streams.
By Stephen Holloway

ASSISI BY NORMAN MACCAIG – Your Favourite poem

I studied this poem for my ‘Higher’ English exam at school in Scotland over 20 years ago and it has always stayed with me.  The first few lines are heartbreakingly descriptive and set the scene beautifully to enable the final verse to bring the message home in some of the most poignant writing I have read 

CHURCHBBBBBBBBBThe dwarf with his hands on backwards
sat, slumped like a half-filled sack
on tiny twisted legs from which
sawdust might run,
outside the three tiers of churches built
in honour of St Francis, brother
of the poor, talker with birds, over whom
he had the advantage
of not being dead yet

A priest explained
how clever it was of Giotto
to make his frescoes tell stories
that would reveal to the illiterate the goodness
of God and the suffering
of His Son. I understood
the explanation and
the cleverness.

A rush of tourists, clucking contentedly,
fluttered after him as he scattered
the grain of the Word. It was they who had passed
the ruined temple outside, whose eyes
wept pus, whose back was higher
than his head, whose lopsided mouth
said Grazie in a voice as sweet
as a child’s when she speaks to her mother
or a bird’s when it spoke
to St Francis.

YOUR FAVOURITE POEM SENT IN BY YOU = http://elizabethfrattaroli.wordpres

 WHAT’S YOUR’S?

Death To Wiggly Red Lines – Promote Yourself

 

langages

There is nothing so oppressive to the spirit
Of the perennial utilizator of nonsense verbology
As the crinkled strip of death objecting
To our syncopating vocabulary.
Not content with voicing harrumphs at these
Gone too, must be academic jargonry
Lest we break the poor computer’s cranium.
And we know truly that the programmar (Of who I am SIC)
of your dictionary must definitely be
American.
For heaven forbid you durst use
French.
Cheese eating francophiles partez!
We have no Word for thee.
Good heavens, do you speak
Like the Queen, or the BBC?
Rather than like they do in the colonies?
The fruits of your labour shall be
Underlined in litres of red ink.

Leastways, it does not presume
To change it by itself – Oh wait
Autocorrect.
Which, interesting to note,
Is itself an “illegal word”
Proving that God
Or at least the programmer
(Who all have God complexes)
Has a sense of Irony.


– Ryan E. Martin

Can be found at http://ryanemartinang.wordpress.com

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