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Tag Archives: mental-health

Retirement Rendezvous

old man

Retirement rendezvous
There is a member who is new
Who requires some type of rescue! 
Looking back at life’s preview

He has had his kids
Been wise and stupid
Smoked enough weed
Aging exhibits on both eyelids

Retirement rendezvous
No more young dreams to pursue

A time he was young with hope
Goals matured and developed
But time took away that potential scope

Retirement rendezvous
Old age has at last struck for true

Retirement rendezvous
Today he joins the old pensioners’ crew

Stuck in his fresh basement
He scorns retirement at its commencement 
With continuous utter resentment 
Thinking it is a washed up experiment

Retirement rendezvous
Today, old age seems to be of no value

Retirement rendezvous
A new life and a new official venue

Retirement rendezvous
Some meet at the post office queue
Others meet at the bookies avenue
Leaving only when the night is due

The alarm clock has ceased ringing
The ladies have stopped singing
The bread winner is no longer bringing
To him nothing anymore is inspiring! 

Retirement rendezvous
Why is life such a screw? 

Retirement rendezvous
Is this a new life for true? 

Retirement rendezvous
His thoughts he has to subdue
For him life still continues
Forthwith he looks at life with a new view! 


Sylvia Chidi

Stomach Tears – Promote Yourself


Your touch deliquescing on my skin

I feel your kiss as a phantom limb

A tea to quiet stomach tears

And warm memory smiles within

Music held familiar


And your voice

A thousand miles away

Arrin Chapman



It is the little things in life which make the difference
When we are greeted by someone with a friendly smile
Who genuinely enquires about our well being
Or offers help in climbing over a stile

A stile is not just something we see in the country
It is any of the problems we meet on life’s way
To know that we have friends who will help us
Is something that brings happiness every day

For there is a lot of truth in the old saying
That a friend in need is a friend indeed
Someone who is willing to help us
And who is not afraid to intercede

Not one who always wants to interfere
Or to tell us things that we already know
Who can recognise the help that we are needing
And who will stay when all the others go

Who will do or say something that is helpful
It might only be a gesture or a friendly smile
But it can soothe or strengthen us for life’s battle
And make everything we do worthwhile

Ron Martin

I still miss you – promote Yourself









There are days,
When I miss you
With a sudden intensity
Which surprises me.

It aches, in a way I didn’t deem possible,
In a heart, I didn’t know I possessed.
And I lie in this room feigning sleep.
Pining away, struggling with my existence.
While I choke from these strange arms enveloping me.

Should I strive, in vain, for you, most divine?
Or should I instead, be miserably content with what’s mine?

– Sreshtha Sen

I’m dreaming. – Promote Yourself

I’m dreaming.
My head knows I am
Lying in my bed
My heart
It believes
I am once again
Living with you.
I thought he took you
From me
He burned you out of my mind
But not my soul
Here you remain.
I came to this place
To escape you.
The pain of breathing alone
They took it away
And I paid my price.
I do not understand
Why are you here
I feel you
Our life
Our plans
Your hope
The touch of your breath
On my skin
It’s so alive
How can that be?
You’re gone
This place is the fortress
That eases the pain.
The dream
It’s almost over
The pain
I can feel it
Building as quickly as
Your image fades.
It scolds
And overflows me
The heart and the brain
Look to each other for reason
At your presence here……………………….

Message in a bottle – Promote Yourself


Trying to cleanse this mess from my mind
by condensing it into this pen’s lifeblood
and wiping away it’s tears along the lines
caressing the clean clear tree
leaving my stain to drip down
makin’ this mess worse
no lesson learned
just stress burnin’
a dress turnin’ in a circle
rising up
til it’s chirpin’ with the birds above the churches
but it will never get the best of me
I’ll be blessin’ thee
consistently taking a rest to see
that this test is cheap
so I’ll keep passin’
like it’s it my quest to keep
sober, makin’ certain my pests are weak
need to be sure of what I’m treasuring
never lettin’ the world express myself for me
I’ll be investing ink into pages that I read
when I’m pressin’ keys
throwin’ my message in a bottle at the sea
to see the world I’ll never be
comfortable with,
the tension starts in my shoulders
ends at the dots in your eyes
I nervously attempt to connect before the bomb goes on and on and on

Sam Quenton

Question of a poet to a pair of eyes reflecting his – Promote Yourself


Love, if I grow fat
For passing the afternoon
Diagnosing the faults of the heart,

Or if my cheeks bear the
Heaviest of dark circles
For burning the evening
Formulating verses,

Or if morning by morning
My spines curves
With sleeplessness
Writing verses of love

Trying to feel
What my predecessors
Have failed to write
Of their lovers,

And if in each hour, in every second,
In the littlest movement of time,
I add a pound for every verse that I write
For you, who’s the everything of me,

And if my whole life
Is spent like that,
in this, writing and rewriting,

Dying in the morning, in the
Afternoon, and in the evening—

By dying I meant having the smell
Of a jackfruit, an existence reduced
To layers of fats comparable to
The rice terraces
And a posture never deserving of
A national monument

Will you, and still, and always,
And only, love me?

pen name: YVVA SVHOVAN
real name: wayne castillo
country: Philippines
living in: Manila

Beauty is Pain – Promote Yourself


There is something comforting in loneliness and something beautiful in pain.
Because when the happiness (the sunsunsun and the lightlightlight and the hopehopehope),
Skips towards me, I can see
My shadow. It looms and pesters and wants after me,
But I say “maybe another day”.
Pricks of blood slip and slide and shimmy across my fingertip;
The glitter falling from the heavens pierces my skin;
Bright burning yellow glares at my eyes from the blue above.
Because today I will be with the happiness and I can look at pain’s beauty,
From a distance. Observe how it changes and morphs and tries to
But we all say “maybe another day”.
And I smile.

Dona Miller

I Stopped to Breathe



Such exhilarating presence,

Seeing the mile marker

And realizing I had made the run

With everyone that joined me

A beautiful moment

And then I looked


To see my arm laying before me

In disbelief

I reached a pinnacle moment

And discovered that my life

Laid helpless on the ground

In a sudden flash



And the chaos ensued

As like a timeless ocean

Of practical emotion

I glanced upon

My detached left arm


As disconnected as my body felt

Running in a zone

In this second I was now

Parted from my own world

My eyes watered as the pain

Moved quickly to shock


I am supposed to be drinking water

Or a protein shake

I ran a marathon this morning

And like hundreds of others

I anticipated this moment

Of silent realization, of recognition


I didn’t ask for this

I wanted to collapse with fatigue

And not with the reality

Of having my body torn

Apart by a C4 explosive

I want to cry


I want to believe that the world

As I might recall my childhood

Exists in my waking day

As much as it may today

Staring in disbelief

My arm has begun to hurt.


I want my — freedom


Thom Amundsen 2013


A Little Poetry to Start the New Year

What is distance to the heart?
No mile, nor hour elapsed,
that ever bore the weight of the departed,
lightened the soul.

For in the gathering time,
pushed down into the womb of the world,
the heavy burden unfurled, grows fat,
gorged upon the marrow and the cost.
The tumid bloated crush of loss.
Bedraggled steps, upon a mountains jagged edge.
The shifting shale of despair,
straining out the seconds into years.
The thousand yard stare,
stretching out the inches into tears.

What does love know of time?
When your heart beat in mine,
did the clock count the ticks, and the tocks of your feet,
as they stepped across the street,
in the steady downbeat of the salty rain.

No… It is the mind that forgets.
Memories purged in a sea of regrets,
awash in a currency of debt.
Mountains, heaped upon the heart, moments passed.
In the quiet space,
a thousand years, and a million miles from grace;

The first twinkle of your soft eyes,
splashed in the luminescence of your smile,
your heart beats within my chest,
and all the mountains,
and the worlds that passed between us,
cannot stop the thundering flood of love.
For you are here again;
Not a second has past,
nor a stray breath, parted from these lips.
All absence, filled in the heartbeat,
of your trembling fingertips.

© Richard Michael Parker 2012

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