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It will be lonely this Christmas

It will be lonely this Christmas

Because my wife will not be by my side,

6 x 6 foot room

With four grey walls surround me

A prison cell 

That’s why it will be lonely this Christmas

Because last year I got drunk

And knocked A little child  down,

So It will be lonely this Christmas

I deserved what I got,

3 years in prison that’s isn’t a lot

I took child’s life,

So That’s why I can’t see my wife

I will be lonely this Christmas,

That’s what I have to sacrifice

By Thomas Sims

The moral of this poem






CHRISTMAS FOR THE BROKENHEARTED (A Song of Hope) – Promote Yourself



Christmas means many things

To people through out the land

To Christians it’s a celebration of Jesus

Of a birth that God had planned


To non-Christians

It’s just another day

They still worship God

They do it a different way


All other religions are just as important

For they are touched by the divine light

They all have there own celebrations

To praise God is their right


We should thank God for his gifts

For his light of love is in all

He claims not to belong to one movement

He only asks we listen to his call


Enjoy your religion

Be happy in all that you do

For God is your Father and Mother

And he is in all of you

  Malcolm G Bradshaw 

School holidays ( a mothers nightmare) – Promote Yourself

I’m running around here and there ‘

I’m looking for my son if he’s there

‘ he’s hiding away I can’t see ‘ I’m running around vigorously.
I’m looking for where he goes ‘ I’m coming to get him that he knows .
I’m running around getting him in ‘ the door stays locked ‘ and he stays in.
The kids are home that is true’ they argue about everything you do.
They fight and shout ‘ and scream and kick ‘ you wonder how they don’t get sick.
The kids are home that is true’ they drive me nuts what about you.
They fight and argue all day long ‘ you wonder how things went wrong.
The kids are home that is fact’ I don’t know how they going to react.
Silence is golden ‘ peace at last’ the kids are playing ‘ having a blast.

Patricia Bourne WordPress 2014.

My Garden


My garden is a place i love to be

It’s like an island set in a tempestuous sea

Where i can withdraw from the problems of life

From a world torn with trouble and strife

It’s a place where contentment can be found

In appreciating the beauty which is all around

Above the silence there can be heard

The buzzing of the bee or the chirping fo a bird

It’s a place where many colours catch the eye

I can behold the beauty of the butterfly

If one looks closely there can be seen

Signs of where the aphis and slugs have been

Sometimes i get the feeling that i am not on my own

And that other power seeks to make its presence known

The fragrance of the flowers provides the air

And god seems to be speaking to me there

When i contemplate the power of the one in control

Peace and serenity descend upon my soul

I ask myself how did all this come to be?

And without god it must remain a mystery.

Ron Martin

Halloween – Promote Yourself


Orange, red, green, and yellow

Colors of the era

Beautiful for the eye to see 

Hayrides, haunted houses, candy corn, and pumpkins

Scary things, things that creep, things that keep you from sleep

Painted faces, things to make you fearful and weep

Fun times, scaring loved ones

Tricks and treats, yummy to eat

Caramel corn and candy apples

Scary movies, popcorn, and hot chocolate

Gathering with friends for a fright fest or glee

Corn mazes and games for the kids,

or haunted trails for the kid in all of us 

There’s something for everyone this time of year

Be watchful and wary,

but most importantly , HAVE FUN!

Dara Reidyr

The Trees -Philip Larkin -Famous Poet


The trees are coming into leaf 
Like something almost being said; 
The recent buds relax and spread, 
Their greenness is a kind of grief. 

Is it that they are born again 
And we grow old? No, they die too, 
Their yearly trick of looking new 
Is written down in rings of grain. 

Yet still the unresting castles thresh 
In fullgrown thickness every May. 
Last year is dead, they seem to say, 
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.

What's yours?

A Uniform Approach

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

@chachomanopapa on Twitter

Bond – Promote Yourself


On writing to all a la, Emily Dickinson about inexorable change, a la … Ovidius;
cc: @BernieSanders @HillaryClinton @SenWarren for … us.
On writing to all about ISIS The Caliphate … for the rest of us … opportunity. cc:
@BernieSanders @HillaryClinton @SenWarren … timely.
On writing to Jews, Christians, Muslims and too, the rest of us homo sapiens, (wo)men,
‘wise’. cc: @BernieSanders @HillaryClinton @SenWarren
A symbol of hate fluttered this morning finally. Yet still, our work’s cut out for us.
cc: @BernieSanders @HillaryClinton @SenWarren for us.

And so AN ATLAS, ALGORITHMIC, a blueprint to a yellow brick road more utopian,
than dystopian. cc: @BernieSanders @HillaryClinton @SenWarren
Because all violence is domestic violence. It begs for the parties’ separation, in
space-time. cc: @BernieSanders @HillaryClinton @SenWarren
HOMO SAPIENS: In education’s alchemy & neuroscience’s behavior mod, separation
is  … remedy. cc: @BernieSanders @HillaryClinton @SenWarren

By Miguel Vera from Puerto Rico

This Impatient Little Boy – Promote Yourself


This impatient little boy of age ten
With his blue side bag and quirky glasses
It was a fine day with a playful breeze
Tapped his feet and saw the cars pass by,
The Toyota, the Maruti and the Mercedes!
He waited for his mother on the street.
The Crowded road in front of his school. 
Where vehicles and people were aplenty
His father told him it wasn’t so once
for he did go to this very school
Spoke proudly about the time long gone. 
When the road was clean, Spotless!
There weren’t so many cars so many people.
A lot of turf and not a trace of litter.
The boy couldn’t imagine that distant time.
As he waited all he could see.
Was litter and people too busy to care
as the garbage played with the road, a love affair!
Garbage in all of its manifestation.
Cans of mountain dew and wrappers of lays and
Skin of orange riddle the space. 
People too busy to care
Walk without even so much as another glance, 
Caught up in the ways of the world, in a Trance!, 
That was when the boy saw it, 
One man. Just one man! Lifting up the garbage,
In his clean clothes and slip on shoes. 
No one now dared to litter as he 
picked up the can, picked up the wrapper. 
The boy joined him and a miracle happened, 
 People gathered to clean the streets,
That day He went home and told his dad, 
The time that once was has returned, 
The road is clean, spotless! 
All it took was one man and 
an impatient Little Boy. 

Himanshu Goel

From My Heart – Promote Yourself


White feather Indian chief. -Promote Yourself


He’s a Indian chief ‘ is what you are ‘ who looks after his people ‘ no matter how far.

He protects them in every way ‘ that he can ‘ against any man.

He fights against who will come ‘ he stands alone in the sun.

He looks out into the distance ahead ‘ making it safe ‘ before going to bed.

His land is open ‘ and is free ‘ all is welcome ‘ come and see.

He’s wise and humble ‘ that you can tell ‘ he’s a Indian chief ‘ and that’s swell.

He fights for his people ‘ and for his land ‘ he fights to be free ‘ against any man.

He is off the earth ‘ and the sun ‘ he is the chief ‘ for every one.

Patricia Bourne WordPress 2014

Sweeping Corners

you swept my soul clean
digging into the corners
with an old straw broom. 

splintered handle held
in calloused, gentle fingers
moving dust around.
motes travel quickly
swirling faeries in sunlight
each a piece of me.
By Leslie Noyes at
Praying for Eyebrowz

Epiphanies (Chris Zithulele Mann) – Yourfavourite poem




If suffering, its persistence

is a mystery

then so is joy.


Walking at dawn I found its music

drenching me utterly,


and couldn’t convey

more than a trace of it,


a man with headphones, stepping out a subway


leaping with a laugh in the air.



Whoever grew wise without sorrow?


Whoever loved

unless they trusted enough to bleed?


And who understood

till they’d shivered in fright at their ignorance?


Like dew

smoking off the bumpers of parked cars


such epiphanies

from time to momentary time



then evaporate.

Chris Zithulele Mann




The taxpayer


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



I took my children to the county fair,
To sample the delights of simple lives.
The sounds and smells of livestock filled the air,
And merry banter of husbands and wives.

Exhibits passed, munching apples we strolled,
Breathing in the burnt crisp October air,
Chanced upon a friend, who pointed and told
Of a miracle-man just over there.

A miracle-man! The children’s eyes glowed.
I confess that mine began to glisten.
As we approached him, our quickstep it slowed
And ears unfurled and began to listen.

“Come one, come all! Gather round, gather round!
Let me make you richer than you can dream.
Hush now, hush now! Folks, please don’t make a sound!
Allow me to tell you about my scheme.

“Something for nothing’s the name of our game,
We use the latest financial magic.
Just give me the spark and I’ll make the flame,
To miss out on this chance would be tragic.

“You lend us your livestock: cows, pigs and sheep.
We package them on to the street known as Wall.
They’ll earn tidy interest for you as you sleep,
And always remain within easy recall.

The farmers applauded as their eyes brightened.
“We get paid for our herds and we don’t have to feed ’em!”
Miracle-man smiled as my stomach tightened.
“You can always call back your swine when you need ’em!”

My friends and neighbours rushed to fetch their herds
And lead them to the miracle man’s camp.
Too busily straining to exchange a few words
As they pushed their cows and swine up the ramp.

The speaker left, his trucks bulging with meat,
Each hoof and mouth checked for impurity.
The farmers were holding a bright pink receipt,
Left by the miracle-man for security.

The winter rolled in and hoar-frost descended,
Each day farmers strode past empty stable,
Felt a regret at the herds they had lended,
The winter is long with no meat on the table.

At last, spring’s green shoots escaped winter’s cold clutch
‘Tis the time that the farmer loves the most.
This year, not least because of the crutch
Of good news from the miracle-man in the post.

When the envelope came, he snatched it with glee,
And called in his wife, two sons, and his daughter.
Then ripped it open, his jaw dropped to see
The miracle-man had sold his whole herd for the slaughter.

by Macro Man
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