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Monthly Archives: May 2015

Voncloud . – Promote Yourself

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“On The Way. – Promote Yourself

Your Life – Promote Yourself

floor b

 

Squat on the floorboards

And let your life surge out of you

Hot, sticky, and wailing for attention

Red fisted fingers raised with demands

 

Your life wants you undivided

In treeforts and toeshoes

Clarinet howling at the mounting moon

Gyrating disgracefully to an untamed song

 

Be luminous, scraped and scarred

In mud and blood and bright green glitter

She wants shameless love to burn her

Brand her with its valor

 

She will seethe and storm and slam doors

Strand you with your reasons

Forsake your obligations

And fearsome responsibilities

 

Your life would rather be held against a raw heart

With all the ache and passion and mess there

Than sit cross-legged in some therapist’s chair

Wondering why her soul is barren

Why she won’t squat on the floorboards

And bring her life to birth. 

by D. Wallace Peach

Ernest Hemingway – Your Favourite Poem

Born: July 21, 1899 // Died: July 2, 1961

Ernest HemingwayErnest Hemingway was born in Oak Park, Illinois on July 21, 1899. Working in a newspaper office in Kansas City at the age of seventeen, Hemingway started his career as a writer. Before the United States had entered the World War I, he joined a volunteer ambulance unit in the Italian army. Hemingway was wounded while serving at the front, and later decorated by the Italian Government. After his return to the United States, he became a reporter for Canadian and American newspapers. Later he was sent back to Europe to cover such events as the Greek Revolution. During the 1920’s, Hemingway became a member of the group of expatriate Americans in Paris, which he described in his first important work, The Sun Also Rises(1926). A Farewell to Arms (1929), the study of an American ambulance officer’s disillusionment in the war and his role as a deserter, was equally successful. Hemingway used his experiences as a reporter during the civil war in Spain as the background for his most ambitious novel, For Whom the Bell Tolls (1940). Among his later works, The Old Man and the Sea (1952), a short novel about an old fisherman’s journey, his long and lonely struggle with a fish and the sea, and his victory in defeat, was the most outstanding. 

Hemingway’s straightforward prose, spare dialogue, and predilection for understatement are particularly effective in his short stories. Some of his short stories are collected in Men Without Women (1927), The Fifth Column, and The First Forty-Nine Stories (1938). Ernest Miller Hemingway died in Idaho on July 2, 1961.

* From Nobel Lectures, Literature 1901-1967.

 

Along with Youth
A porcupine skin,
Stiff with bad tanning,
It must have ended somewhere.
Stuffed horned owl
Pompous
Yellow eyed;
Chuck-wills-widow on a biassed twig
Sooted with dust.
Piles of old magazines,
Drawers of boy's letters
And the line of love
They must have ended somewhere.
Yesterday's Tribune is gone
Along with youth
And the canoe that went to pieces on the beach
The year of the big storm
When the hotel burned down
At Seney, Michigan.

A STUDENT VOW – Promote Yourself

Rationalised – Compassion – Promote Yourself

conn

Rationalisation of the Safety Net
Joined up thinking
It’s a shame
It’s just the holes

Think outside the box
Blue sky thinking
Done every day
By one young man
Or woman
Or two
Or three
Thousand
And every night
When nowhere left
To sofa surf

Cheryl Bhagwandin
http://www.cheryl62blog.wordpress.com

SON’S AND LOVER’S 100 YEARS OLD – D H Lawrence

 
Sons and Lovers

Sons and Lovers Quotes

Quote 1: Paul continually prays for his mother’s safety: “‘Make him stop drinking’. He prayed every night. ” ‘Lord, let my father die’, he prayed very often. ‘Let him not be killed at pit'”, he prayed when, after tea, the father did not come home from work.” Part 1, Chapter 4, pg. 60

Quote 2: “He was an outsider. He had denied the God in him.” Part 1, Chapter 4, pg. 63

Quote 3: “All day long, as she cleaned the house, she thought of him. He was in London: he would do well. Almost, he was like her knight who wore her favour in the battle.” Part 1, Chapter 4, pg. 79

Quote 4: “Not even the Mediterranean, which pulled at all his young man’s desire to travel, and at his poor man’s wonder at the glamorous south, could take him away when he might come home.” Part 1, Chapter 4, pg. 82

Quote 5: “But still, in her heart of hearts, where the love should have burned, there was a blank. Now, when all her woman’s pity was roused to its full extent, when she would have slaved herself to death to nurse him and to save hum, when she would have taken the pain herself, if she could, somewhere far away inside her, she felt indifferent to him and to his suffering. It hurt her most of all, this failure to love him, even when he roused her strong emotions.” Part 1, Chapter 5, pg. 86

Quote 6: He feels as if he is a “prisoner of industrialism.” Part 1, Chapter 5, pg. 89

Quote 7: “Already his heart went down. He was being taken into bondage. His freedom in the beloved home valley was going now.” Part 1, Chapter 5, pg. 89

Quote 8: “He liked to watch his fellow-clerks at work. The man was the work and the work was the man, one thing, for the time being. It was different with the girls. The real woman never seemed to be there at the task, but as if left out, waiting.” Part 1, Chapter 5, pg. 112

Quote 9: “The trains roared by like projectiles level on the darkness, fuming and burning, making the valley clang with their passage. They were gone, and the lights of the towns and villages glittered in silence.” Part 1, Chapter 5, pg. 112

Quote 10: Mrs. Morel “clung now to Paul.” Part 1, Chapter 6, pg. 114

Quote 11: As Paul says, “But I like the feel of men on things, while they’re alive. There’s a feel of men about trucks, because they’ve been handled with men’s hands, all of them.” Part 1, Chapter 6, pg. 123

Quote 12: All Mrs. Morel can say is, “‘My son.'” Part 1, Chapter 6, pg. 139

Quote 13: When the critical moment arrives, Mrs. Morel cries to Paul, “‘My son.'” Part 1, Chapter 6, pg. 141

Quote 14: “Then he was so ill, and she felt he would be weak. Then she would be stronger than he. Then she could love him. If she could be mistress of him in his weakness, take care of him, if he could depend on her, if she could, as it were, have him in her arms, how she would love him!” Part 2, Chapter 7, pg. 143

Quote 15: “She stimulated him into appreciating things thus, and then they lived for her. She seemed to need things kindling in her imagination or in her soul before she felt she had them. And she was cut off from ordinary life by her religious intensity which made the world for her either a nunnery garden or a paradise, where sin and knowledge were not, or else an ugly, cruel thing.” Part 2, Chapter 7, pg. 149

Quote 16: Paul asks her in frustration and anger, “‘ What do you tremble your soul before it?…You don’t learn algebra with your blessed soul. Can’t you look at it with your clear simple wits?'” Part 2, Chapter 7, pg. 156

Quote 17: “They were going to have a communion together – something that thrilled her, something holy.” Part 2, Chapter 7, pg. 159

Quote 18: Miriam almost worships the flowers, but Paul feels strangely “imprisoned” by the roses and its “white, virgin scent.” Part 2, Chapter 7, pg. 160

Quote 19: Mrs. Morel tells herself that through Paul, “she was to see herself fulfilled.” Part 2, Chapter 8, pg. 183

Quote 20: With his mother, Paul is happy and proud that his mother takes charge of his life; with Miriam, he is filled with “something more wonderful, less human, and tinged to intensity by a pain, as if there were something he could not get to.” Part 2, Chapter 8, pg. 192

Quote 21: Mrs. Morel believes that Miriam is not an “ordinary woman, who can leave me my share in him. She wants to absorb him till there is nothing left of him, even for himself. He will never be a man on his own two feet – she will suck him up.” Part 2, Chapter 8, pg. 193

Quote 22: Disgusted with her behavior, Paul asks, “‘You’re always begging things to love you as if you were a beggar for love. Even the flowers, you have to fawn on them – You don’t want to love – your eternal and abnormal craving is to be loved. You aren’t positive, you’re negative. You absorb, absorb, as if you must fill yourself up with love, because you’ve got a shortage somewhere.'” Part 2, Chapter 9, pg. 218

Quote 23: “Something in the eternal repose of the uplifted cathedral, blue and noble against the sky, was reflected in [his mother], something of the fatality. What was, was. With all his young will he could not alter it. He saw her face, the skin still fresh and pink and downy, but crow’s-feet near her eyes, her eyelids steady, sinking a little, her mouth always closed with disillusion; and there was on her the same eternal look, as if she knew fate at last.” Part 2, Chapter 9, pg. 240

Quote 24: He writes, “I can give you a spirit love, I have given you this long, long time; but not embodied passion. See, you are a nun. I have given you what I would give a holy nun…In all our relations no body enters. I do not talk to you through the senses – rather through the spirit. That is why we cannot love in the common sense.” Part 2, Chapter 9, pg. 251

Quote 25: “At this rate he would not live. He had that poignant carelessness about himself, his own suffering, his own life, which is a form of suicide. It almost broke her heart. With all the passion of her strong nature she hated Miriam for having in this subtle way undermined his joy.” Part 2, Chapter 10, pg. 258

Quote 26: Miriam tells herself, “She would submit, religiously, to the sacrifice. He should have her. And at the thought her whole boy clenched itself involuntarily, hard, as if against something; but Life forced her through this gate of suffering, too, and she would submit. At any rate, it would give him what he wanted, which was her deepest wish.” Part 2, Chapter 11, pg. 284

Quote 27: “She knew she felt in a sort of bondage to him, which she hated because she could not control it. She hated her love for him from the moment it grew too strong for her. And, deep down, she had hated him because she loved him and he dominated her. She had resisted his denomination. She had fought to keep herself free of him in the last issue. And she was free of him, even more than he of her.” Part 2, Chapter 11, pg. 296

Quote 28: Paul says, “‘[Passion is] what one must have, I think – the real, real flame of feeling through another person – once, only once, if it lasts three months. See, my mother looks as if she’d had everything that was necessary for her living and developing. There’s not a tiny bit of feeling of sterility about her.'” Part 2, Chapter 12, pg. 317

Quote 29: She tells herself, “‘If he must go, let him go and have his fill – something big and intense, he called it. At any rate, when he had got it, he would not want it – that he said himself; he would want the other thing that she could give him. He would want to be owned, so that he could work. It seemed to her a bitter thing that he must go, but she could let him go into an inn for a glass of whisky, so she could let him go to Clara, so long as it was something that would satisfy a need in him, and leave him free for herself to possess.'” Part 2, Chapter 12, pg. 318

Quote 30: He feels that “sometimes he hated her, and pulled at her bondage. His life wanted to free itself of her. It was like a circle where life turned back on itself, and got no farther. She bore him, loved him, kept him, and his love turned back into her, so that he could not be free to go forward with his own life, really love another woman.” Part 2, Chapter 13, pg. 345

Quote 31: “She knew how stark and alone he was, and she felt it was great that he came to her; and she took him simply because his need was bigger either than her or him, and her soul was still within her. She did this for him in his need, even if he left her, for she loved him.” Part 2, Chapter 13, pg. 353

Quote 32: As Paul watches Clara swim in the sea, he thinks to himself, “‘She’s lost like a grain of sand in the beach – just a concentrated speck blown along, a tiny white foam-bubble, almost nothing among the morning. Why does she absorb me?'” Part 2, Chapter 13, pg. 358

Quote 33: Not only does he feel “imprisoned” when he is with her, Clara also feels that he yearns to break free from her. Part 2, Chapter 13, pg. 359

Quote 34: “It was almost as if he were a criminal. He wanted her – he had her – and it made her feel as if death itself had her in its grip. She lay in horror. There was no man there loving her.” Part 2, Chapter 14, pg. 387

Quote 35: Paul tells Clara, “‘She’s got such a will, it seems as if she would never go – never!'” Part 2, Chapter 14, pg. 388

Quote 36: “Sometimes they looked in each other’s eyes. Then they almost seemed to make an agreement. It was almost as if he were agreeing to die also. But she did not consent to die; she would not. Her body was wasted to a fragment of ash. Her eyes were dark and full of torture.” Part 2, Chapter 14, pg. 392

Quote 37: “And now he looked paltry and insignificant. There was nothing stable about him. Her husband had more manly dignity. At any rate hedid not waft about with any wind. There was something evanescent about Morel, she thought, something shifting and false. He would never make sure ground for any woman to stand on. She despised him rather for his shrinking together, getting smaller. Her husband at least was manly, and when he was beaten gave in. But this other would never own to being beaten. He would shift round and round, prowl, get smaller.” Part 2, Chapter 14, pg. 407

Quote 38: “She was the only thing that held him up, himself, amid all this. And she was gone, intermingled herself. He wanted her to touch him, have him alongside with her. But no, he would not give in…He would not take that direction, to the darkness, to follow her.” Part 2, Chapter 15, pg. 420

“Embracing Fiery Stars”: – Promote Yourself

 stars

Ode to John Keats – Your Favourite Poem

 

The Spider by the Gwydir;

redback-spider
The Spider by the Gwydir;
By the sluggish river Gwydir
Lived a wicked red-back spider
And he was just as wicked as can be

And the place that he was camped in
Was a rusty Jone’s jam-tin
In a paddock by the showground
Near Moree

Near him lay a shearer snoring
He’d been on beer and boozing
All through the night
And all the previous day.
And the rookin’ of the fookers
And the noise of showtime spruikers
Failed to wake him from the trance in which he lay.

Then a dainty little sheila
Wit a slimy looking spieler
Came along collecting wood to make a fire
Said the spieler, He’s a boozer,
He’s gonna be a looser,
If he isn;t you can christen me a liar.

Hustle round and keep nit honney
While I fan the mug for money
We’ll have some little luxuries for tea
But she said no don;t be silly
Ho home and boil the billy,
You can safely leave the mug to little me.

She circled ever nearer
Closer to that dopey shearer
Who was lying there all fast asleep and snug
But she did not see the spider
Who was ringin’ close beside her
For her mind was on the money and the mug.

The spider sighted dinner
He’d been daily growin’ thinner
He’d been fasting and was hollow as a drum.
As she eyed that bulging pocket
He darted like a rocket
And bit that rookin’ sheila on the bum.

The sheila started squealing,
Her clothes she was unpeelin’
To hear her cries would make you feel forlorn.
One hand the bite was pressin’
The other was undressin’
And she reached the camp the same as she was born.

Then the shearer pale and haggard
Woke and back to town he staggered
Where he caught the train and gave the booze a rest.
But he’ll never know the spider
That was camped beside the Gwydir
Had saved him sixty smakkers of the best.

anonymous

YOUR FAVOURITE POEM  SENT IN BY YOU

WHAT’S YOURS?

Gallilean/The Big Fisherman

Take Care

download green
 
Look right, Look left and right again
Before you start to cross the highway
For if a driver fails to stop
“Ouch” is the last word you may ever say
 
Zebra crossings were not made for animals
But to ensure we can cross in safety
But if a driver fails to obey the code
You could well end up in casualty
 
So look right, left and right again
Even if the green man says you can go
For drivers are not always attentive
Something that by now everyone should know
 
So look right, left and right again
To ensure that you can cross in safety
If there is any doubt don’t take a chance

Make sure you are not in casualty

Ron Martin

Tornado -promote yourself

giphy

Nature’s Mirrors – Promote Yourself


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Puddles on the pavement,
pools of light beneath brooding skies,
reservoirs of captured rain,
unique displays of movement,
as brilliant white swirls through oily black,
and the storm erases memories of the sun.

A flash of colour, of life, as I pass,
there a moment, but gone now, forever,
a puddle has no memory,
and life is brief in nature’s mirrors.

Next, I pause a while, transfixed,
staring into shallow depths,
imagination runs wild, searching,
knowing only tarmac resides,
yet seeing other rippled worlds,
over my distorted gargoyles face,
perhaps a warning, a guardian?
Fantasies, devoid of reality,
removed from my mind, as
only a mind’s eye has power here,
lost in the moment, drawn down,
lured into the murky lagoon,
where incubus and angels do battle.

Lightning flashes now,
breaks the spell, smashes melancholy,
I surface once more,
gasping for stifled air,
haunting images, crystal in clarity.

I am back, yet will I remember that,
which nature’s mirror will not?”

If you like my words, why not check out y travel blog? Twenty First Century Nomad,
Steve.
Twenty First Century Nomad, Novelist & Freelance Writer.
http://www.twentyfirstcenturynomad.com

The Biography Of An Ordinary Man – Promote Yourself

smokingxxxxxxxx

The flame passes over,
It can light a cigarette
and also end a marriage
He smiles at the irony
And inhales
Holds it in for that second too long
Slow suicide some call it
Idiots
We are all dying slowly
Life is a lottery
Only this one your number
Is guaranteed to come up.
He is not usually a morose guy
Just practical
Sees life for what it is
The moment when dreams die
And reality takes over
At that point
When dreams become truth,
Disappointment
Also brings an understanding .
He blows the smoke into the air
And toasts the understanding with life
You ground me down
I’ll give you that
But at least now
You’ll leave me alone.
At least he has this place
Not much
But really what do you need
A bed
A nice shade on the walls
And a record player.
Life has taken my dreams
But not my LP; s
Not even the wife got them
Funny
That’s all I wanted from her
But when I’m gone
Those boxes
Will be placed in a charity shop
No clue to their importance
No way of telling
How many tears
Ran side by side with the needle
That’s life I guess
The biography of an ordinary man.

Gabriel Denver

The Taste of Sleep – Promote Yourself

sleepxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

I awaken with a start from sleep that should be restful; repose and recuperation.

And yet my slumber brings no peace. I admit, no demons stalk the empty corridors of my sleep. No, they are not nocturnal. Every waking hour they roost upon my shoulder, nuzzle at my ear, and whisper torments of nothing and everything.

No monsters lurk in the empty rooms under dusty, unused beds, or in dark cupboards that creak under the weight of childish things. Of memories, of good times.

What pursue me in my dreams are lies. False memories. Reflections of what I fear and love the most, but what simply cannot hurt me now. Abandonment, and constant censure of my failures, mistakes and negligence.

But was this ever so ? I was never thus discouraged, and absence prevents them doing so now. Why then does it hurt ?

Larkin was right. “They f**k you up, your mum and dad, They may not mean to, but they do. They fill you with the faults they had. And add some extra, just for you.”

But knowing “This be the Verse” to be so redolently true, why do I still succumb to somnolent torment? When I close my eyes, to rest my body, soul, my brain, why does a battle rage in my subconscious. The dead and walking wounded loiter on the field to shape and influence my waking hours.

This taste of sleep that lingers like garlic or raw onion sets forth my outlook on the day. A Duvet shrouded, solitary indolence of reading and books. A manic striving to create what is ultimately, pointless and irreverent.

Or simply being a good dad, ignoring those whispers, entertaining the only truly ‘good’ thing I have ever achieved.

“Get out as early as you can, And don’t have any kids yourself” he concludes. But even the after-taste of night terror will never see me acquiesce. Surely I cannot be all bad, what I leave behind will be greater than the sum of my parts.

No, on days like this I rinse away the unpleasant tang and prefer to savour more pleasant dishes. Infused with hope and enriched with the zest of my child, who reminds me, who proves “our almost – instinct almost – true: What will survive of us is love.”

Copyright © John Bullock, 2013. All Rights Reserved

SALVE

Wallpaper-Heart-Broken-Hearts-Bullet-Riddled-Heart-A-Bullet-A-Rainbow-485x728

 

A shriek from the realms of the heart
echoes within the veins
Swiping aside the sweet melody
breathing the saddened symphony….

Bruises unseen felt when touched
respire through the open wounds
The salve to soothen the lesion
Has vanished in the gloom…

Words of comfort ne’er
Calm the ache,
as a sojourn
can ne’er blossom flowers
on a dying barren state…

Soumya

The taxpayer

tax

We all pay council tax

Road tax and VAT

Speeding fines

That affects you and me

We are all subject to parking fines

Speed cameras and CCTV

Road tax and now car parks

That affects you and me

Income tax on pensions

Stamp duty, inheritance to

TV licence and Water rates

Once again affect me and you

Tax on saving in the bank

How do we survive?

Death duty when we die

Tax to the hilt while alive

No wonder the country’s in mess

For we are paying for their mistakes

People who can ill afford it

When will they get their brakes?

I can’t see anything changing

For we don’t have a choice

For decisions are made by other

As taxpayers we have no voice

The attitude of government is simple

We will screw the people to pay

For we can manipulate the people

Lets face it; the taxpayer has no say

Malcolm G Bradshaw

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