Standing Room Only

A Saturday morning,

an American coffee shop,

a normal milling of the usual,

latte, specialty drinks, fritters,

my black coffee,

and people scattered throughout the room

wearing their apple watches, laptops, fit-bits,

along with the regular crowd …

~

An iconic assortment defines who we are

as a society living within each other’s reach,

eye contact, thoughts, ability to dialogue,

all of our bodies sharing an energy far beyond our comprehension.

~

These are the moments when I wish I could

speak directly to the minds of everyone around me

without interrupting, without invading, without discouraging,

a happiness, a need to concentrate, a desire to have fantasy

take them away if just for the sip of their coffee drink,

away from the pain and suffering and confusion that does truly

intrude upon their daily lives.

~

I suppose most of the time when we think of others

we are certainly measuring our own,

so now is when I could acknowledge those fears

to be inside me,

that inner demon that allows me only certain moments

of quiet solace in the crowd.

I end up thinking though that if I am one,

suffice there are probably many.

where I stand to reflect upon my day,

another might bury themselves in their

quest to figure out why they are so consumed.

~

We all stand together separate, engaged, disjointed,

We all prefer standing room only to human interaction.

~

*photo found on rulesforhumans.wordpress.com

© Thom Amundsen 2015

http://thinkingoutloudagain.com

 

💔 hearts of pain’ 💔. – Promote Yourself

As you lay in your bed at night ‘ trying to sleep 💤 ‘ with the heat pouring down your face ‘ you turn over in despair ‘ as the memories comes flooding back ‘ to haunt you ‘ in the most fierce way.

as you try to sleep 💤 at night ‘ you turn your face ‘ to find a cool spot on your pillow ‘ yet there is none.

Your thoughts are flooding your mind ‘ as you try to keep them out ‘ memories which you try to hide ‘ in a moment of grief and despair ‘ you put a hand on your heart ♥ and move forward .

In the mist of the darkness of the night ‘ tears stream down your face ‘ you wonder when will it stop as your heart is being ripped out .

There’s nothing more painful ‘ than seeing the people you love ❤ feeling lost and alone ‘ knowing how life has been ‘ changed beyond belief.

In the mist of madness and despair ‘ you find the strength to carry on ‘ as you are nothing with out the strength you need ‘ as you put your life on hold ‘ and do what’s needs to be done ‘ life goes on ‘ as it must.

Patricia Bourne WordPress 2014

Fields of gold – Promote Yourself

Fields of gold’ shinny and new’ this wondrous land’ is just but a few.

Little children runing around ‘ happy smiling ‘ laughing out loud.

Little voices whispering as they play ‘ hiding in the grass ‘ from little sister may .

Buzzing and twittering all the way round ‘ tiny little insects ‘ laying on the ground.

Up in the distance far ahead ‘ the trees are whispering ‘ its time for bed.

Golden grass ‘ clouds of white ‘ sky of red ‘ is pure of delight.
Flowers of pink ‘ leaves of green ‘ this is nature ‘ best of ever I have seen.

Patricia Bourne WordPress 2014

Just Today

~

Only this moment,

all else matters little,

in your world, that one across

the street,

where the tracks can never meet.

Think about what happens in that world,

know it will happen again,

maybe the same way

or it could really be different again,

depends how far we want to take our

differences.

~

We can look at each other today,

just today,

realize all else matters little,

that’s a point so lost in the rhetoric,

the longing, lacking, little regard in mind,

beyond our own needs.

~

Do you realize just how easy it might be,

to laugh about the same events rather than

keep them safely tucked away in that place,

that shallow grave of repression

that allows no one else to dare cross into.

Perhaps if we let go of yesterday,

we might begin to see that notion of

just today,

just how easily we might move forward

together.

~

Perhaps that’s too easy,

we need that conflict to define ourselves.

Isn’t that what they teach us in the schools.

Or maybe they don’t – I cannot remember.

It is summertime,

when the sunlight is streaming such significance,

we all seem to want to forget about everything else,

just drop a line in the water,

take a hike,

yet remember we are all coming back again,

to that place

that notion

that suggestion.

~

Be ourselves,

so let’s do that. Together if

well, drop all the individuality jargon,

recognize what is real with each other,

just today.

~

© Thom Amundsen

http://thinkingoutloudagain.com 

GOD BELONGS TO EVERYONE – Malcolm Bradshaw

HEAD-HOLE -Promoting yourself

 
Ain’t satire cool? And ain’t it cool to live in a space-time where there is freedom
… of speech? @SenWarren @BernieSanders @HillaryClinton
 
Ain’t satire cool? And, ain’t it cool to live in a space-time where there is freedom,
of religion? @SenWarren @BernieSanders @HillaryClinton
 
On writing to all a la, Emily Dickinson about inexorable change, a la … Ovidius;
@BernieSanders @HillaryClinton @SenWarren for … all of, us.
 
On writing to Jews, Christians, Muslims and too, the rest of us homo sapiens,
(wo)men … ‘wise’. @BernieSanders @HillaryClinton @SenWarren
 
On writing to all about ISIS, the Caliphate and nations; for the rest of us a golden,
opportunity. @SenWarren @BernieSanders @HillaryClinton
 
Need gossip-mongering reactionaries like the Don for POTUS, like holes, in
heads. @realDonaldTrump @SenWarren @BernieSanders @HillaryClinton
 
Head-holes are oft, good things; God-given spaces for senses, but in an election,
no room for … head-holes. @BernieSanders @HillaryClinton
 
And so AN ATLAS, ALGORITHMIC; a blueprint to a yellow brick road, more utopian
… than dystopian. @SenWarren @BernieSanders @HillaryClinton

By Miguel Vera from Puerto Rico 
 

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1186999016/acculturation-via-capitalism-a-neuro-scientific- 

https://www.chachomanopapa.wordpress.com

https://www.facebook.com/chacho.manopapa

@chachomanopapa on Twitter   

Poets Unite Promoting yourself –

Our poetry isn’t always real.
It’s an exaggeration of how we feel.
Some, about things we’re too idiotic to understand;
others as melodic as an orchestra band.
Some we write like lightning on our feet;
others take days or weeks
to breathe and seep
before it’s what we wish to keep.
Leaking out till it reaches our cortex,
then, rushing out like a vortex;
adding on higher to literary towers
‘till we have a cranial empire to call ours.
Outer projections of inner thoughts depending on our mood;
a state of mind that is ours to intrude;
preventing our fears from being trapped in;
being written is better than seeing it happen.
We can type, rhyme, and write.
Others who share this insight:
let us shed some light.
Optimus Rhyme, poets unite.
-Lora McFadden

https://loramcfad.wordpress.com/page/2/

Emotional journey.- Promoting yourself

As I’m sitting here in my minds eye ‘ not knowing what to do ‘ with my hands covering my face ‘ my thoughts are in a turmoil ‘ as I feel lost and alone.

Not knowing who to call ‘ or what to say ‘ wheather I should ask for help in anyway.

I look around and all  I see is confusion ‘ all around me ‘ do I go out or do I stay in ‘ my mind is in a mist of uncertainty’ as to do any thing .

As I feel so alone ‘ who would understand me .

I feel im being judged ‘ as the world around me ‘ becomes a strange place .

My world is in sorrow and pain ‘ im lost in my own despair ‘ never knowing if there is light at the end of the tunnel .

As I sit in silence ‘ through the eyes of pain ‘ I think about my life ‘ how all this became madness .

As a journey I must go though ‘ I must take charge ‘ and follow my path ‘ and see what or who I will become ‘ at the end of tunnel of life.

Patricia Bourne WordPress 2014

The Curious Minions, – Promote Yourself

SAPIENS? – Promote Yourself

 
Have you heard the one about the jew, the Christian and the Muslim in holy Jerusalem?
It’s a riot. @HillaryClinton @BernieSanders @SenWarren
 
“So long as there is peace among nations, Armageddon cannot ever be,” the three in
unison, prayed. @SenWarren @BernieSanders @HillaryClinton
 
The three, in unison prayed on: “If peace comes, then by definition, Armageddon
cannot ever, be.” @SenWarren @BernieSanders @HillaryClinton
 
“Peace has never been but it may be if ever all commune as one unitary, human,
family.” @SenWarren @BernieSanders @HillaryClinton
 
“Peace has ne’er been but yet may be if ever humanity communes at once, in
nets … nonfictional.” @SenWarren @BernieSanders @HillaryClinton
 
“Hindsight’s 20-20; insight’s blind; but peace flows from timely, algorithmic action,
alchemical.” @SenWarren @BernieSanders @HillaryClinton
 
A word to the wise to an auto-denominated twice-wise homo sapiens sapiens;
Wise up @chachomanopapa @SenWarren @BernieSanders @HillaryClinton 

By Miguel Vera from Puerto Rico 

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1186999016/acculturation-via-capitalism-a-neuro-scientific- 

https://www.chachomanopapa.wordpress.com

https://www.facebook.com/chacho.manopapa

@chachomanopapa on Twitter 

Hands – villanelle – Promote Yourself

 

Holding hands with someone special
Such electricity flowing between both
Creating memories that last much longer.

 

We hold hands with many as we grow
There comes a time when we have more
Holding hands with someone special.

 

Thoughts return to bring us even closer
Remember a touch or a smell that excites
Creating memories that last much longer.

 

Feelings grow and we just seem to know
When fingers lace together without thought
Holding hands with someone special.

 

For some it is might last only a day

Occasionally we find someone special
Creating memories that last much longer.

 

A lifetime can seem to be summed up
Looking back at all those moments shared
Holding hands with someone special
Creating memories that last much longer.

 

by Gray Poet

Charles Townsend

OLD FLAME – Promote Yourself

Sitting across a table
From an old flame
Two glasses trying to close
A distance of
Guilt and blame.
His Head looks down at the floor
Instead of her eyes
He is trying to explain how he loved her
Despite all of the lies.
Small replaces pillow
In the conversation they now talk
Nothing there to keep them seated
Hands shake
And off they walk.

Gabriel Denver

PARTIERS-AMERICAN – Promote Yourself

  

                      Partiers-American: Two parties, Grand Ol’ and Democratic, are not the partiers

of our fathers. cc: @HillaryClinton @SenWarren @BernieSanders

No; one is not the party of President Abraham Lincoln, the great emancipator …
of the union. cc: @HillaryClinton @SenWarren @BernieSanders
 
Nor is one the party of President Franklin D. Roosevelt, the great … new-dealer,
president. cc: @HillaryClinton @SenWarren @BernieSanders
 
Nor is one the party of John F. Kennedy, who, once upon a time, as a pipe-dreamer
… dreamt. cc: @HillaryClinton @SenWarren @BernieSanders
 
The planet pines for leaders with wisdom’s vision and dreams’ insights bigger
than a Big-Bang. cc: @HillaryClinton @SenWarren @BernieSanders
 
A globe pines not for shoot-from-the-hip reactionaries like the gossipmonger
@realDonaldTrump. cc: @HillaryClinton @SenWarren @BernieSanders
 
Why not freedom of religion, universally, and a Golden Rule (the only), secular
… commandment? @HillaryClinton @SenWarren @BernieSanders 

By Miguel Vera from Puerto Rico 

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1186999016/acculturation-via-capitalism-a-neuro-scientific- 

https://www.chachomanopapa.wordpress.com

https://www.facebook.com/chacho.manopapa

@chachomanopapa on Twitter  

“This isn’t a poem it’s a rant” – Promote Yourself

 

This is a poem for anyone who’s  been stuck in a rut or has felt helpless in a situation.

This isn’t a poem; it’s a rant.
This is art. It’s the 21st century for Christsakes,
I’ll do whatever I want.
Slant rhymes, eye rhymes, no rhymes, it doesn’t matter,
nothing does.
Besides, I can’t think of anything beautiful
or meaningful to say. Not today anyways.
I quit weed yesterday. Half of my friendships are strained. I’m constantly in fear of getting bad grades or having loved ones die on their way home; before either of us is ready.
It’s been about 50 days since I last got laid but my life still feels like 50 shades of grey
and I don’t just mean the weather,
The date changes but the days  don’t get better.
Life can be like poetry; long and hard to understand.
But on the other hand, why bother to at all? Things rarely turn out as they’re planned. So fuck it, may the plans be damned.
This isn’t a poem; it’s a rant
And I’ll do whatever I want.

• Marcus Medford

Love – By Malcolm Bradshaw

I remember the Battle of Britain

This is a poem written by me, about my memories as a boy of the Battle of Britain.

“I remember when barrow boys hawked through our roads,
Bellowing loudly and selling their loads
Whilst Brewery Shire horses with black stunted tails
Tugged giant wagons piled high with real ales.

The sound of the sirens from far then near places,
Stopping us playing to upturn our faces.
Irregular throbbing from South-Eastern skies raised grubby forearms to shade seeking eyes.

Heinkell’s, Dornier’s and other flying things
Flickered the sunlight with hundreds of wings
As children we scurried from all adults sight,
before they could stop us from watching a fight.

We each heard our mother out calling our name,
and skulked low in silence enjoying our game.
SO we saw some Hurricanes, clawing for height,
just scrambled from Tangmere to join in the fight.

I remember their Merlins, and stuttering guns, when Dowding’s ‘Young Chicks’ started mauling those Huns.

Shelters were filling with folk and their prattle, when everywhere echoed loud sounds of the battle.
And when the conflict came straight overhead
Down toppled shell cases fighters had shed.
An old man then shouted, “Look, Spits are about, they’ll give the Blighters a good hefty clout.”

We next saw a Heinkell with an engine aflame, pursued by a Hurrican with fantastic aim.
The Bomber was sinking we saw it go down, as the Hurrican victor was crossing the town.
It just skimmed the roof tops, thrilling our crowd, before soaring aloft seeking foe above cloud.

But high in the heavens was more for the eye,
long woven contrails divided the sky.
Whirls of dark smoke showed, where fighters had spun, sparkling bright cockpits reflected the sun.

We all heard the warring sounds gradually fade, and gaped at the sky at the sketches they’d made.
It was then that our fighter boys, briskly returned, dispersing the smoke where the fallen still burned.

We waited until sirens declared it all clear, then had to face mother and got a thick ear!

Frederick Norman Burtenshaw

SUNDAY PARK BENCH -Promote Yourself

Alone,

Rumpled newspaper in hand

Sits the old man,

Cold morning air sends a chill

Through a heavy overcoat,

Sunday morning light filtering

Through burnished leaves of autumn

Kindling thoughts of Sundays long gone,

Waking next to his wife,

The sound of children filling the house;

Now children grown – wife gone,

Sunday mornings bring only rumpled papers

On a park bench,

Alone.

Walt Trizna

https://walttriznastories.wordpress.com/

Although I now live in a small town, I have lived in many large cities.  I have witnessed the subject of this poem time and time again.  I’m sure you have too. 

 

This poem was published in Quality American Poetry, 1975-1976, Book III.

The anthology was published by Valley Publications and edited by William Lloyd Griffin.

“Like a Turtle” -Promote Yourself

 

The tempo of time is barely noted

whenever the infinite arcing span

of your soft healing smile beams

within this gracious space we share.

No frantic radius of muted miles exists

and petals stream intently outward

converting a volume of distance into

an elegant concoction of silvery stars.

The sumptuous glide of everything you are

bears itself with a poised exquisiteness

and I find myself folded at your feet.

I could inquire but this bonny point

has already found its precise poignant mark

…like some newly formed dream.

I love you and where have you been?

• Nathan Lindsay