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Time will pass People will be born
We will grow old And then we die.
But memories will go on
And we will go on after….
On the long road of life
We meet people.
And they too, will grow old and die.
And the memories will go on.
The footprints we leave behind
The impressions we leave on life
Will help others learn:
Learn to live
Learn to grow
Learn to die.
And that is what we do today
And everyday.
We go through challenges in life;
We may fail,
We may succeed.
Either way we are learning.
And with our knowledge we teach others.
And even though we will die.
Our memories, impressions, and our footprints,
Will help others grow.
Had a bit of clear out today with old papers and came accross this poem  that someone sent me years ago ,
all I know they called themeslves “Megumi”…. its called Teachings… I thought it was worth sharing:
Sent in by Simon Icke



If ever I saw blessing in the air 
I see it now in this still early day 
Where lemon-green the vaporous morning drips 
Wet sunlight on the powder of my eye. 

Blown bubble-film of blue, the sky wraps round 
Weeds of warm light whose every root and rod 
Splutters with soapy green, and all the world 
Sweats with the bead of summer in its bud. 

If ever I heard blessing it is there 
Where birds in trees that shoals and shadows are 
Splash with their hidden wings and drops of sound 
Break on my ears their crests of throbbing air. 

Pure in the haze the emerald sun dilates, 
The lips of sparrows milk the mossy stones, 
While white as water by the lake a girl 
Swims her green hand among the gathered swans. 

Now, as the almond burns its smoking wick, 
Dropping small flames to light the candled grass; 
Now, as my low blood scales its second chance, 
If ever world were blessed, now it is. 

Laurie Lee

No Time To Say Goodbye – Malcolm Bradshaw

We can turn your poetry into a  video just like this one

Send your poems to

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Pincushion Heart -Promote Yourself







Love plump, sat
on the lap of
the seamstress,
a pincushion heart
lies stuck full of needles.

Fattened with
towelling, chastened
with ribbon, the heart
of a woman – the heart
of the seamstress.

Plucked out by
his wit, cast from
his reason, the threads
of her stitching
now lost to love’s leavings.

Raoul Izzard

It’s Started – Promote Yourself






Everyone is leaving their homes today

It’s started

Hordes of zombies marching

Headlamps clatter and devour our destiny

Mechanical monstrosities belching out chemicals






A torrent of atrocity

It’s started

The hordes of zombies are marching

Spliced DNA in an underground lab

Families killing families for bread

They are listening and watching over our every move

Vilification in the headlines

Guns on the street

Knives in our pockets

It’s started

But this is no horror film

or post-apocalyptic vision

This is just another day

Just another man kissing his wife good-bye

and jumping into the family saloon, heading out to work

Just another person in an unknown location,

piloting drones to blow up civilians

Just another politician selling another dirty lie

Just another person turning a blind eye

This is today

This is now

It’s started

©John de Gruyther 2014

Freelance Writer

“THE FORGE” – Promote Yourself







Heat surrounds me as I walk between the Anvil and the Hammer.
I am smelted, molten iron waiting to be formed and reformed,
quenched under cold water, hardened again and again until
firm and strong…
…just a little flexible, ensuring me to become unbreakable.

I turn around, looking, watching, searching
for the Armorer, the Forge-master, the Liberator
The Commander of these flames
(building to higher intensity—higher Stability)

I am shaped again, between the Anvil and the Hammer…
stronger, as this new molten alloy is injected in my veins.
I am liquid glowing steel shaped anew
hammered, beaten, brought to the barrel until the edge is clean and razor sharp…
…Made flexible again…made unbreakable once more
Stronger in this 2nd life, this 2nd cycle…twice-born to learn, to evolve, to lead
and become more than I was and more than I could be

The fire burns higher and hotter, flames tonguing my female flesh,
lapping at my neck and cheeks and lips
entering through my breath and mingling with my Earthly form.

…And I become the Armorer, the Forge-master, the Commander of these fever flames

I am Steel, charged with cold fury, shaped to a seamless edge, power to slice

And here I take my leave and employ my Vengeance.

Blade in Body I stand to fight
Body in Blade I enter battle,
demanding the blood of my enemy, demanding victory
The enemy is on all sides and I am poised, ready
I am
I am my enemy

And the disease in my mind is ready to die.”

Lauryn Jean from U.S.–poet & writer, artist, musician, educator, aspiring herbalist, introvert, from sunny FL

“Craved Disaster” Promote Yourself

pot hole

I am
A pothole
In a freshly paved government paid road
I am stretched for miles
My flesh furrowed in finding what the world deems as fun
My spiritual being is so done –
I’m not of this world, I just inhabit it for now.
Now, I
Struggle with the seducing music of this place
That claws at my body, attempting to tamper with my mind to find
A technique that imparts what I need is not You, but
The pleasure of right now
I’m in this hypocritical land
Where I stand
Is their issue
They encourage to embrace who you are just to push you away
Ostracizing you for not being like them 
For not wanting to live or think like them
I am a telescope
Visualizing the ink blank canvas of a sky 
With the stars that twinkle and shine bright like a…
Entrancing us to idolize them
But Jesus, be my very own moon
Be the North star, that when I look up,
I see You illuminating the utmost
On high, is where I lift your name
No chants and the raising of my hands for these mere luminous points
Chisel me, Stonemason,
To be a ruby, an emerald, a diamond
Amongst these other stones
I am beggar
With Your outstretched arms, drop Your change in me
I don’t want to fiend
Itching on these cracked sidewalks
Boxed into what society says is a necessity
The money, the fame, the cars, the clothes
Yeah, you know
Don’t come to me
Expecting me
To drink your poison
The only way I’ll go hard is if I’m down with Christ
The One who came to pay the ultimate price for my sins, your sins, our sin
Is our struggle
It’s so hard wanting to do right
When all these people are glorified for doing everything wrong
My Hero, come forth
You whirlwind, turn Your creation rightside up
My cyclone, spin me around and around until I’m dizzy with admiration
I’m in sync when I’m with you, out of sync when I’m without you
Placed in this place of confusion
Hurricane levitating me with the abundance of Your love
Click my heels, I
Wish I were home
Dora – thy
Map out my peace in this coalition of evil and insanity
Annihilate me, commander-in-chief –
Jesus, I want to perform my
Call. Of. Duty
Turn my world 360
I’m your controller, steer me to where You want me to go
Simon says,
I. will follow. You
Not the customs of this treacherous globe
Come to my rescue
You are Super, man…
Hide me in your jealous arms, in Your bountiful cape
For I am an old soul in a dying world
And, we all need rescuing
Instill in me the need
To do right
Your angle is and has always been obtuse
Too complex for my mind to grasp
Bar me
From what separates me from our relationship’s blossom
Buttercup, I need Your Power’s
Your grace is so sufficient for me
I am
Your child
Let the river of your merciful blood
Meet the salty tears of my impurities, of my iniquities and make me


Tarah Saint-Elien

 First, let me just say how grateful I am to have a platform to spread my poetry, so thank you so much! Here’s a piece by me. It’s also on YouTube as a spoken word:

FROM THE BOTTOM UP – Promote Yourself







Roots embedded in the ground,
Pulling and pushing in every direction;
Yet even a raging nor’easter cannot
Uplift or tear these tendrils from the soil.

Ridges along the bark rising toward the canopy,
Each a memory: sometimes nicked, sometimes untouched;
Inside, concentric rings reveal the years but not the truth;
Skin rugged when peeled left vulnerable, exposed.

As a sentence map, diagrammed: branches seemingly haphazard,
But each off-shoot shares a purpose to capture the light.
And in turn, the yellow orb provides nourishment,
Through the green-veined leaves.
Nature’s juice which travels a webbed network.

For like the oak tree, you rise from grounded roots,
But bend with the wind.
You are weathered, show signs of punishment;
Still you stand.

Arms; legs round and muscled reach for the sky, gather strength,
As your trunk holds despite setbacks, exposed truths;
Blood surges along labyrinthine veins, feeding your body,
While hardened memories softened by your inner nature,
Are fed by earth-bound senses and love’s light.

Wendy Shreve

Why do we have to Suffer – Promote Yourself


As I drag myself to my
Soft bed after an hectic day
To have a little rest
Before anything set in Motion

All of a sudden
I hear a Certain knock
On my phone
Which felt something sad in its feel

After the Mixture of Sand and Water
It occurred that the Hen has
Lost all her chicken in a
Ghastly accident with the Cock

My Voice dries out
And blood drips from my skin
My Saliva ran to my anus
And My excreta graveled my Mouth

I stutter at every coins I toss
And river could no longer
Find its proper course
For it has been folded deep within

All my little cry could summon
At such tragic loss
Was lost in the desert
Among the heaviness of the Sands

As the call was terminated
I could still hear the rings in my head
The Sobs choke my heart
And My head bend beneath the hurt

As I ponder heavily
Thoughts ramble deep within

And then I ask myself
Under the heavy blow
Why do we have to suffer
Why we do have to loss someone
In such an honorable way
Why do we have to shed
Tears in the Springs

The why seems endless at this point

But then again
My Beliefs in the resurrection
And the redemptive suffering
Kept a little spark of hope
That all may seems lost here on earth
And no explanation may seem
To settle the puzzle
But all is not really lost at the end

As my thoughts lingers away
On how to summon the grieving heart

I ask again

Why do we have to suffer???

Michael Ogundele

Hi! I write from Lagos, Nigeria. I blog at Would be glad if you can pass by. Thanks for this platform.

Where has our silence gone to – Promote Yourself



As I meditate slowly
After a thick day with
Blast from cars and cry from the heavy
Music from loudspeaker
I wonder deep within
In the shade of my room
Whether man can survive a day
Without noise on planet earth
The Flowers I walked with on
My way home testified to the
Huge accommodation of heavy
Volume of Sound that filled our streets
This has begin to creep itself
Even in our places of worship
People now find it hard to sit still and
direct thoughts to flow as an incense
This has crippled the river
To fly with its usual wings
And the bird refuse to flow
In its proper direction
Our gadgets need to be kept
Out of sight for centuries
In the moment of a day to meditate
Deeply on the value of silence
Nature speaks in silence
The beauty of many whisper in silence
Trees give us the fruits we enjoy
In the beauty of silence
And the sun refreshes us in silence
As I ponder heavily on this
Thoughts rumble deep within
On the meaning of silence
And why its hard to find in
The present times we live in
Except in secluded places
Or in the deserts beyond
And I then I ask myself again
Where has our Silence gone to???

Michael Ogundele


Hi! This is Michael Ogundele writing from Lagos, Nigeria. glad for this platform. i blog at thanks again.

PENELOPIAD – Promote Yourself

The Messenger of Poetry – Promote Your self


As I sit meditating softly
In a cold dark night in my room
A light steal through quietly
In the mind lay at rest

A messenger gave me a fine wine
Brewed from the finest vine
To satisfy my love and taste
For Poetry within the humus heart

My mind as a fertile ground
Was given the beans of poetry
To grow within the spaces
For the world to taste its fruits

Immediately I grab my writing tools
Tore some pages and sketch through
In honor of this great messenger
Going about in the sharing of this gifts

I ascribe a name to him amidst
The wonders of the night
Gabriel I refer to him
For the speed at which he permeates

His back I saw as he hurried across
To give fellow minded poet
What to ruminate on for the night
As we pass this gifts to the world

As I peep out through my window
I saw him deliver this great gift
To my wonderful friend next door
Who is fast in his sleep

I thought within myself
The gentleman must be in the
Dream land of an awesome
Night of poetry

As I ponder on heavily
On the beauty of the night
Bestowed on humanity
From the showers from above
I give special gratitude to the
Messenger of this package
And sing praises to the maker himself

And so I ask  you

Did you see the angel of POETRY last night???


Hi! My name is Ogundele Michael, I write from Lagos, Nigeria. I blog at

Thanks for giving me this platform to share a piece of my work. Real glad. Cheers

Who am I?


Who am I

They say I was a local hero

A local businessman Mr P.E.Clay

Presented me to this fair city

On a hot July day

In 1952

So who am I?

I have stood on the same spot

For the last sixty years

People come and look around

They Stand real close

And they mimic my pose,

So who am I?

I am made of Bronze

I stand seven feet tall.

Made of eight little bits

Only half inch thick,

I weigh half a ton

But vandals keep stealing bits Of me

So who am I?

I have taken from the rich

And given to the poor,

I am a local Nottingham hero

Who the people just adore,

So who am I?

Some say I am bad,some say I am good,

So come to Nottingham Castle

Because my name is Robin Hood

20130628_124010 (1)

By Thomas Sims



In the wakefulness of now
Listen and you will hear
Hearts beating
To the sound of original grace
Souls strumming on strings
Of merciful melodies
Faintly tapping out the truth
Orchestrating the score
Of the conductor, the Creator

Heed to this rhapsody of love
Humming softly through the clatter
Drumming gently without fail
Steady as time, resistant to mind
Find harmony within
Where good intentions lie dormant
Under clogged and corrupted arteries
Like a child, improvise
Sing this song of life

Arley S

.Hi Gillian and Thomas, here is a poem from my blog that I thought you could share on your site. Thank you!








ೋღ♥ ღೋ
The sanctuary of my heart
Holds the dichotomies of me.
Here the strengths and the weaknesses,
Dance with the present and memory.
But here, too, in my sanctuary,
A vulnerable little girl;
Embracing butterfly dreams,
Waiting for her wings to unfurl.
Falling tears from plaguing fears
Are brought before the Lord each day.
For He alone has permission
To enter in her room and stay.
The walls are a painted canvas
Muted tones and nightmarish shades.
But He holds a different palette,
Revealing colors for which she prayed.
The sanctuary of my heart
Holds the dichotomies of me.
Released words and rhyme hold our healing
As the Lord’s leading brings back harmony.
ೋღ♥ ღೋ
(c) Skye Alexander, 2014, All Rights Reserved


Thank you for considering showing my poem. I appreciate it very much. Blessings to you all.

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