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Weapons Of Mass Instructions II-promote yourself


Allegations, contras, anti’s, naysayers

He say, she say, don’t hate the “playas”

Verbose, vapid, insipid, delusions

Stepping out of reality chasing after illusions

False heraldic nomenclators…

Trumpeting the arrival of a dragon’s slack jawed allegators

Confusion…led around by pinkies in noses

Can’t be reached

Can’t be taught

Flow stopped by kinks in hoses

Can only blindly consume the stores bought

Strong delusion like a force field impenetrable

Even if you knew…

You wouldn’t know where to start

You bought the farm

Along with the “hardening of Pharoah’s heart”

Drowned like rats in hot pursuit

“Mine Saith The Lord…”

Stay thy hand

Be in the Light

Stand down

This is not a time for “amateur night”

Watch and learn

Listen and yearn

Hear…let it sizzle and sear

Thirst and hunger after “loved us first”

Hunger for the Word

From the peaks of Tibet

To Cucamunga

Can’t sound any sillier than driving ourselves insane

Trying to comprehend, understand, explain

A name that is above all names

It’s a simple as faith in obedience

Following simple commands such as:

“come ye’ hither”


“go ye’ hence”

Not an hourly position nor salaried

But a promise better than gold

Of abundant provisions



Riches untold

“seeing it is a righteous thing with God to recompense tribulation to them that trouble you”

2 Thessalonians 1:6

Poetry Is Dead -Promote Yourself

Magna Carta – Poem


I’ll tell of the Magna Charter
As were signed at the Barons’ command
On Runningmead Island in t’ middle of t’ Thames
By King John, as were known as “Lack Land.”

Some say it were wrong of the Barons
Their will on the King so to thrust,
But you’ll see if you look at both sides of the case
That they had to do something, or bust.

For John, from the moment they crowned him,
Started acting so cunning and sly,
Being King, of course, he couldn’t do wrong,
But, by gum, he’d a proper good try.

He squandered the ratepayers’ money,
All their cattle and corn did he take,
‘Til there wasn’t a morsel of bread in the land,
And folk had to manage on cake.

The way he behaved to young Arthur
Went to show as his feelings was bad;
He tried to get Hubert to poke out his eyes,
Which is no way to treat a young lad.

It were all right him being a tyrant
To vassals and folks of that class,
But he tried on his tricks with the Barons an’ all,
And that’s where he made a ‘faux pas’.

He started bombarding their castles,
And burning them over their head,
‘Til there wasn’t enough castles left to go round,
And they had to sleep six in a bed.

So they went to the King in a body,
And their spokesman, Fitzwalter by name,
He opened the ‘ole in his ‘elmet and said,
Conciliatory like, ” What’s the game?”

The King starts to shilly and shally,
He sits and he haws and he hums,
‘Til the Barons in rage started gnashing their teeth,
And them with no teeth gnashed their gums

Said Fitz, through the ‘ole in his ‘elmet,
“It was you as put us in this plight.”
And the King having nothing to say to this, murmured
“Leave your address and I’ll write”.

This angered the gallant Fitzwalter;
He stamped on the floor with his foot,
And were starting to give John a rare ticking off,
When the ‘ole in his ‘elmet fell shut.

“We’ll get him a Magna Charter,”
Said Fitz when his face he had freed;
Said the Barons “That’s right and if one’s not enough,
Get a couple and happen they’ll breed.”

So they set about making a Charter,
When at finish they’d got it drawn up,
It looked like a paper on cattle disease,
Or the entries for t’ Waterloo Cup.

Next day, King John, all unsuspecting,
And having the afternoon free,
To Runningmead Island had taken a boat,
And were having some shrimps for his tea.

He’d just pulled the ‘ead off a big ‘un,
And were pinching its tail with his thumb,
When up came a barge load of Barons, who said,
“We thought you’d be here so we’ve come”

When they told him they’d brought Magna Charter,
The King seemed to go kind of limp,
But minding his manners he took off his hat
And said ” Thanks very much, have a shrimp.”

” You’d best sign at once,” said Fitzwalter,
” If you don’t, I’ll tell thee for a start
The next coronation will happen quite soon,
And you won’t be there to take part.”

So they spread Charter out on t’ tea table,
And John signed his name like a lamb,
His writing in places was sticky and thick
Through dipping his pen in the jam.

And it’s through that there Magna Charter,
As were signed by the Barons of old,
That in England to-day we can do what we like,
So long as we do what we’re told.

Experiencing nature


Walking through the countryside

On a warm and sunny day

Listening to the sound of nature

It took my breath away

The day was warm and peaceful

Shaded beneath the trees

I sat and pondered about nature

Who created the animals birds and bees?

So many animals scurrying about

Very aware of what’s around

In the distance a babbling stream

Creating an hypnotic sound

A heron majestically flies overhead

With wings stretched out wide

Soaring down to the water’s edge

Aeronautical as it starts to glide

Landing perfectly beside the stream

Wading in for a perfect meal

Concentrating then quick as a flash

With its beak a fish it would steal

The birds filled the air with music

An orchestra upon the wing

Each one with perfect pitch

In the distance you can hear them sing

As the sun finally sets in the west

As the day turns into night

I marvelled at the sunset

A magical and all inspiring sight

By Malcolm Brashaw

Between a rock and a hard place – Promote Yourself


The Awakening


As winter gives way to spring

There is a miracle at hand takes place

For Mother Nature awakes from her sleep

As she casts her spell with haste


Stirring within the ground beneath

A signal for all nature to bloom

Awaiting in anticipation for her beauty

That we all should be experiencing soon


A kaleidoscope of exhilarating colour

That will carpet the fertile earth

It’s a signal that Mother Nature

Has returned to create new birth



The warmth of the sun returns

All creatures start scurrying by

The sound of bird’s melodious music

As a rainbow appears in the sky


All these gifts of nature

Have been given for all to see

For Mother Nature is very generous

That gift to all of us is given free

Malcolm Bradshaw

Unrequited.- Promote Yourself





I can’t compete


With wealth own,


I must retreat,


Live life alone.


He’s with you,

I am not.

Hope fell through,

Another dream shot. 


Won’t hold hands,

Share a heart.

Won’t make plans,

Grow old apart.


Reached the end,

Wish for more.

Hard to pretend,

I still adore.


Must not lament

Over my scar;

Must be content,


Love from afar.

John Northcutt Young

Pencils – Promote Yourself


I wore a brooch
Two little pencils
In parallel with
Each other
I wore it on my jacket
A visual aid
To strike a spark
To bring to life
A child’s

I wear it now to work
My hair hiding
And revealing
Two minds
Parallel and opposite
Freedom of expression
Freedom to insult
Freedom to expect
The left cheek after right.

Cheryl Bhagwandin

Restive Spirit – Promote Yourself


To settle down and doubts
To take in
And take on
To become part
Of One

Restive spirit
In me
And of God

Remind me how I love
To have those still calm points
About which
All turns
How the calm
In the middle
Of the storm
Sees what to do
Where to go

Sees what is next
The still waters
But still
Getting ready
To go
To wait some more
To see
To see what really needs
To be done
To see what needs
Are really there
To see
With the heart and mind
And spirit
Of you

Cheryl Bhagwandin

This is an Advent poem about getting ready at any time of the year or life, when we are not quite sure what we are getting ready for.  But waiting and getting
ready anyway.  I liked the idea of restlessness, resting and festiveness all rolled into one and that priorities and needs and “the reason for the season” had
to be recognised without getting overwhelmed by the season’s busy-ness.

The Human Factor – Promote Yourself

It’s not good to judge,
But judgments have to be made.
Some will hold a grudge,
Sometimes it never fades.

Some will hate your success,
But celebrate your destruction.
They strive to be the best,
But hate instruction.

It is that human factor,
We are not perfect.
A sinner or a pastor,
We can be incorrect.

I love everyone,
But I hate the devil in them.
Still I will help anyone,
Whether enemy or friend.

Copyright (c) Kerione Bryan 2014

Mohammad Ali’s poem to Johnny Cash.


Did you know Mohammad Ali wrote a poem for Johnny Cash which Cash later recorded as a song called“What Is Truth?”

I always liked how Johnny Cash always wore black on stage. He was a very single-minded man. Cash recounts the story in his autobiography. He met Ali on a flight when Ali crashed first class to see who had taken up all the seats forcing him to fly economy. It turned out to be JC and his entourage. Ali then sent him this poem which Johnny kept locked in a vault until the right opportunity arose to record it.

Here are the words of the poem Ali, another single-minded man, wrote to Cash. Mohammad Ali, boxer and poet!!!

The old man turned off the radio
Said, “Where did all of the old songs go
Kids sure play funny music these days
They play it in the strangest ways”
Said, “it looks to me like they’ve all gone wild
It was peaceful back when I was a child”
Well, man, could it be that the girls and boys
Are trying to be heard above your noise?
And the lonely voice of youth cries “What is truth?”

A little boy of three sittin’ on the floor
Looks up and says, “Daddy, what is war?”
“son, that’s when people fight and die”
The little boy of three says “Daddy, why?”
A young man of seventeen in Sunday school
Being taught the golden rule
And by the time another year has gone around
It may be his turn to lay his life down
Can you blame the voice of youth for asking
“What is truth?”

A young man sittin’ on the witness stand
The man with the book says “Raise your hand”
“Repeat after me, I solemnly swear”
The man looked down at his long hair
And although the young man solemnly swore
Nobody seems to hear anymore
And it didn’t really matter if the truth was there
It was the cut of his clothes and the length of his hair
And the lonely voice of youth cries
“What is truth?”

The young girl dancing to the latest beat
Has found new ways to move her feet
The young man speaking in the city square
Is trying to tell somebody that he cares
Yeah, the ones that you’re calling wild
Are going to be the leaders in a little while
This old world’s wakin’ to a new born day
And I solemnly swear that it’ll be their way
You better help the voice of youth find
“What is truth”

Writer -Promote Yourself


Now he writes
Lathering papyrus canvasses with delicate ink
Expressing nothing but a gallery of words
For those who lend an eye, an ear and a mind
Those passing by and those who wish to return
The guilty bystanders
Here and there

He lavishes and emotes his ideal ejaculations from within
And oh that harlot and dear
With she he shares
For now she writes
they lay naked and nude
Laying waste to each page
Real and unreal
Sureal in hyperreality
In the unending intoxication that is the creative process

They are unshackled and bound and anew with boundless chains
That create more stains upon each line
Their stage is found
Never a bloxk in mind and if it were to be a block it would no block at all

For if there were no lines and are unbound once more as they cross another boundary
All blocks are but a bit of blank slate for what is to come
For the harlot like a harbinger will leave her nest and soar
For truly she shall never be bound certainly in her utmost uncertainty
She’ll return his
And return to hers
For that is her nest
She’ll bring unrest to the restless
So in that deep sleep they may dream again.


Bio: I am an undergraduate student at the University of Pretoria. I am majoring in Psychology and Philosophy. I have plans to do work in all art forms but without being a jack of all trades I am primarily a writer from poetry, novels, screenplays, short stories and various other forms. A Surreal Romanticist Absurdist Existentialist Meta-Artistry and Post Modernism.

Location: South Africa

shredded – Promote Yourself

Squashed in the middle
Of iron bars
Nanas knitting more

Victim of my own success
What am I supposed to do?

And people all reasonable
Calm and objectionable
I mean objective

What is it that you want to do
What is it that we can do
To reduce the stressful situation
Given the lines and targets
We have to meet?

And I swallow
And breathe
And agree
And am calm
And objectionable
I mean objective
And nod and don’t disagree

And let’s put in place
A meeting
And we’ll meet again
In two weeks time
To see how it is going.
You probably
Just need a rest.

A rest…

Well goodness me…
(Or words to that effect…)
I never thought of that…

cheryl bhagwandin
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