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Truth – Promote Yourself

It is hard to look in the mirror
when I see an unpainted face
full of imperfections.
I am not beautiful enough.
When I sing, I compare myself to others
who amaze people with their gift,
who are not afraid to share it with the world.
God does not want my praise.
I look at my body and think,
“I will never get to where I want to be,”
pushing myself to be better,
but always feeling like I am not thin enough.
Working hard at school
I still lack confidence despite the results,
thinking I will never be like them,
that I cannot make a difference.
One lie after another finds a corner in my mind
until the light of Christ permeates the darkness.
The Father asks, “Do you not know that I have made you?
That I created you with a purpose?”
My purpose is not about me,
but about Him.
The world says I need to look and sound a certain way,
but God’s kingdom is not of this world.
Jesus came to declare truth to all men,
to be a sacrifice of love and forgiveness.
He did not care about the outside of a person
but the heart.
A Christian concerns herself with God,
not the praises of men.
She stands against heresies
and proclaims the gospel.
When I look in the mirror, what do I see?
When I sing to the Lord, what do I sing?
When I work hard, what is my goal?
When I clothe myself, what do I wear?
Lauren Heiligenthal




We go our separate ways
We make our own choices
We see good and bad days
We get past them

Somehow we beat everything
In our way, at times
Sometimes we lose everything
And, we try disguise

We make mistakes
We don’t take caution
We ignore the stakes
We learn the lesson the hard way

We leave, we come back
We grow, we learn
We’re all on different tracks
In pursuit of different things

But, we all end up
At the same place
The same bloodstained earth
Just drowning in darkness

If you like my poetry, do follow my blog:

Link of this poem on my blog:

The Devil’s Advocate – Promote Yourself


Brother, why do you awake in terror and despair?

As I count my final moments, I overflow with desolation

I sense not a breeze from the Garden of Eden

For me the gates lead to a much darker destination

The path I chose offers no trial, no redemption.

You underestimate His mercy and love for mankind, brother.

Passage through purgatory wouldn’t rescue my soul

A glance at my own reflection, I can bear no more

Death’s cold breath creeps along the back of my neck

Hums a haunting intonation

Sent to collect a soul bound for eternal damnation

A fate befitting for a fool such as I

Who did the devil’s bidding on earth while alive.

About me: I am a business student, freelance writer, blogger and art hobbyist from Pakistan.
Best Regards,
Maria Saif
I have been following “poetreecreations” on WordPress, and I love to read all the different submissions. It will be a delight for me if you chose to publish my work on your site as well.

Searching… – Promote Yourself



There was nothing i could do but pray so i did.

i prayed first for what to pray for,

when i thought i knew

i then prayed to know how to pray for it and the words to say it.

Then there came a silence and a peace as i searched.

In the search i found prayers,

But they were not mine,

They were not things i would pray about.

i found myself in a great sea,

And my words were lost to my hearing,

My breathing was deep and purposeful.

My heart was steadied and i stood in the center of my every prayer,

walked among them in disbelief of things i’d said as if i ever had a clue?

And the faces of every prayer i’d ever heard by others for as long as i could recall,

Were as whispers telepathic, universal, projected into air

Rising…condensing, forming clouds, moving and raining down elsewhere.

And a great stillness arrested the sea,

Ripples from raindrops reaching out to touch one another.


A wave began to form…

And gain momentum.




There was nothing to do,

But pray.


i began by praying in the dark,


no more.

But being…


Hours passed as if only seconds.

when i was done, i opened my eyes,

and the Sun had arisen once more,

and i saw light.


by Whom i’d been searching for.

And Thank you,

was all i could barely find the strength to utter.

God Bless,

anthony gomez


The Jazz Cat – Promote Yourself



Golden fur sleekly slinks, yeah, through smoke and haze
Green eyes catch the light as she moves
Twistin’ through tunes and rhythm,
Happenin’ to the snare and sax
The Jazz Cat prowls the session.

Silky tail twitches time, yeah, keeping beats and bars
Ruffled ears flick in the twilight club tunes
Slidin’ through jams and melodies
Groovin’ to the bass and brass
The Jazz Cat prowls the session.

Padding claws tap tunes, yeah, playing notes and staves
Gleaming fangs glint in the stage lights
Purrin’ through sets and chords
Movin’ to the strings and sounds
The Jazz Cat prowls the session.


Thank you!

Jason Andreas

My name is Jason and I’m a 33 year old Scot who is currently trying to enhance and develop his writing, along with studying an English Literature degree with a creative writing element to it. I’ve always liked writing, but never had the time or the discipline to do it properly – however I’m trying to make myself write something every single day on my blog, whether it’s poetry, short fiction or just random snippets. It’s hard going at times, and there’s not a lot of evidence anyone’s even looking at it, but it’s a good way to make myself keep writing and keep thinking about writing. My blog is if anyone feels like having a look. Any feedback or criticism is always welcome!

Dark Side – Promote Yourself


She has a great heart
And, a wonderful spirit
But she is afraid
Of the demons inside;
Of her dark side

She is different
Unpredictable and broken
Too angry, and too scared
To face the pain deep down
In despair, she chooses to drown

Every so often, all the pain would surface
Leaving her broken and vulnerable
It is too much; she can’t ignore it
She is fighting a losing battle
A score that can never settle

Grace Linton

If you like my poetry, do follow my blog:
Link of this poem on my blog:

Here is Uselessness – Promote Yourself


Life is a short and perilous journey, filled with so many ups and downs.  This poem is about taking the down times and hopefully bettering others through their example of uselessness…… They were definitely used,  but noone would purchase a one of them, even off the clearance rack if they were for sale. 


 I’m theebloominid, D. Arthur Wargo.   Retired State Trooper, writing from a Christian perspective…….. Living just north of Pittsburgh, PA.

David Wargo

Look at the Anger – Promote Yourself

Look at the anger
It was so
Boiled hard
Gall stone
Blood stone
Head stone

Not knowing it existed
Or hurt

I read back
And wondered
How scared I had been

And now..

am relieved..

I float in amazement
Can hardly reveal
What I meant
What I felt
A dream and unreal

That what was inside me
Screwed up and
Re lent
And re lent
And re lent
Nothing at all
Black hole space
Angry and full
But no satiation
Relentlessly full.

But now face it gently
In a numb kind of shock
A dizzy tin-nitus
A modern dilemma
For once
And for all
I let it go gently
Gently let go
It’s over and done with.

For now.

Cheryl Bhagwandin

Bypass it – Promote Yourself

The boy hits another boy because he is different.
The man phones his wife from a bar and tells her
he will be half an hour late home from work.
The wife rolls over the bed and tells
her lover they have an extra half an hour.
The teacher films his students in the changing rooms
and uploads the footage to the internet.
The bank manager attends a meeting with his
superiors and is informed he needs to lay
off some employees to save money.
The supermarket assistant sells a rifle to a
The policeman radios headquarters
and informs them of a triple murder.
The Prime Minister phones his Minister of Defence
and orders bombing raids for national security.
The pilot radios in and confirms he has successfully
hit his targets.
The news reporter announces seven children were
killed in last nights raids.
The astronaut radios Huston to tell them
about large strange objects hovering near their station.
The strange objects look over
the world with confusion, and transmit
a message to the other strange objects
about bypassing the human
Anthony Keers
My name is Anthony Keers and I live in the city of Manchester, England. Although writing has been a hobby since an early age, I haven’t been able to partake in creating writing for a while due to exams and high education. However, I do like to manage my short story and poetry blog called ‘Urban Life’, which can be found here:

Fear – Promote Yourself

I sit alone
in a place undiscovered
where the depths of my heart
have yet to be released.
I am bound by fear:
fear of failure
fear of becoming someone I am not
fear that I cannot fulfill the task.
Yet You still cry out to me from the depths of my soul:
“Love Me,
Serve Me,
Follow Me,
Trust Me
for My perfect love casts out all fear.”
How do I forget Your love?
I underestimate its power
as it wraps around every sin
and squeezes it out of my life.
I forget that Your love then pours
healing waters over my wounds,
restoring me from
Father, help me to discover myself
by knowing Your love,
and more importantly,
 by giving it.
Lauren Heiligenthal

“Monroe Has Nothing On You…” – Promote Yourself

Ponytail, bobby socks,
and high dungarees,
augmenting suggestive curves
gliding through
grocery aisles on
a lewd Saturday evening.
A persevering
casual air splitting
the seams before you.
Heel-toe express
carried by
black loafers
accentuating your dense,
deep black hoodie.
A near perfect scene
swimming along
with frozen fish
with purposely static
calculating brow.
The checkout stand
became a hero’s
center stage
saving you from
a round trip ticket.
Enduringly stunning
in every market…
I still stare. 
Thank you very much posting my writing on your blog. It’s helped quite a bit with my self-confidence and doubt in my abilities.

Nathan Lindsay

I gave us to The Collector – Promote Yourself


The Collector comes knocking 

rustling through bin bags for time, 

memories and broken promises

and I hide us in defiance

locking the doors, stopping Him 

from sensing what we are

(what we have broken) 

like a child, I hide the rubbish treasures

of glued-back promises, wrap the careless hurt between my sheets

(but darling, the cracks never do go away) 

and I have grasped these broke pieces so tightly 

the jagged edges of uncaring words and shattered hopes

have sliced straight up my arm 

so tonight, I succumb to His demands, 

I dig out the saved kisses from my jacket pocket,

and remove the flowers that lined my collarbones 

I put all of us into a bin bag, 

leave the remnants of our love 


and wait with bated breath for His appearance 

I gave us to The Collector, 

our love a sacrifice, turned to ash

darling, we were in ruins 

(now, I fear we are naught)


Nicole Ooi


my wordpress is, I’d rather not leave my name. but I’m a mixed (asian) student who is currently in boarding school in the UK! :) 

SANDCASTLE – Promote Yourself


He lost his mind a time ago.
Some say it was his heart.
Some say it was his soul.
Some didn’t know what to call it, but they knew that it was something.

He was eternal once.
He was clear
And his eyes shone like dazzling stars.
Eventually, they stopped taking his rubbish,
And left it for him to dispose of.

Years piled,
And so did his collection of collections -
In his mind,
In his closet,
In his pockets, he stored them all.

By the time he realized, he was too late.

The lights were too bright for him to see the way.
The noise was too great to find the source.
The pile was too high to see beyond.

He was trapped.

There was too much to lose. Too much had been built.
Too much had been gained.

If he just let it go it would all come crashing down,
And he would be left to face the sky,
Naked and shameful.

He was safe in his cage,
He knew.
He built it well.

Already he had lost too many things.
He didn’t want to lose more.
He couldn’t risk it.

His final demise came, of course,
When he realized he could save face if he just stayed in the cage,
And never mention the sky.

No one would ever know.

By John Thursday

While asleep at the wheel (short version) – Promote Yourself






Couldn’t recall how I got here.

Trying to find my way out of the woods unsure of who I am.

This rude awakening, enleadens me, weary and ashamed by past behaviours, realizing I’d been misjudged and slandered by presumptions. Memories recovered and no denying I was covered in mud and reeking of a cesspool.

In the distance, I can hear cars passing by and I know I’m on the right track but I sense that time is short.

High pitched buzzing, pinging sounds all around me, impacting the ground.

Dirt and leaves explode upwards, then gently float down  exquisitely on a ray of sunlight. Captured like a shutter in the blink of an eye, imagery committed to memory for such a time when a “peek of radiance” may be just enough to get through another day.

I walk a minefield oblivious to the danger. I continue on this somnus ambulare (sleepwalk),urged on if heeding a call.

I come to rest under the shade of a tree that seems to bear “strange fruit”.

Hungry and tired, I shake the tree and seem surprised…to not be surprised, when snipers come tumbling out.

Angry, injured, bewildered, bitter and dismayed to see me still standing. They limp away, a curse on their lips, hatred in their hearts, pierced by their own arrows, blood on both edges of their swords.

Bleeding, blood and honey, I scratch my head, shrug my shoulders and continue on, mind reeling, unknowingly mimicking a drunkard’s stammer.

Leaning contrary to the wind of every repressed memory, buffeted by a stinging rain that makes me wince, nerves twitch, shoulders stoop, keeping my head bowed and forging forward.

Any benefit of doubt compromised by the illness that overtook me from not dealing with the abuses I‘d suffered. Taken advantage of  by the unscrupulous, who preyed on the vulnerabilities, gullibilities of my compromised awareness. “Are you my Mommy? “, said the lost baby duck to the she-wolf  (succubus). The weight of who I’ve been, the things I’ve done…and those done to me, making my knees want to buckle and just give up. Deceived into entertaining the false belief that giving myself up to my enemies or those I’ve affected by the sins before me, by actions or inactions, would make any difference. That perhaps peace and rest could be attained by allowing them to tear me to pieces to satisfy their bloodlust for vengeance, by a mob I was completely unaware of. Talking in circles to me under the guise of friendship seeking to entrap me. Making no accusations that I may defend myself against. Aware more than I of my dormant illness, hoping it will emerge to convict me in any generic way to satisfy their hidden agendas. “If you’re capable of one thing it stands to reason, why not the other ?” (Matthew 7:2 ) “For in the way you judge, you will be judged; and by your standard of measure, it will be measured to you.


The hunters released the dogs to flush out their prey,

Wounded it, but it got away.

Served a purpose most profound,

Flew away,

hear aflutter but eventually,

a lit upon solid ground.

The sleeper has awakened.

Denial, repression so sickeningly deep, churning inside me…unconscious of the beast I’d given free reign to in my despair and weakness.

By Grace, the beast is gagged and bound.

By Mercy, what was lost is found.

The debt paid in full by the blood of the “Most Holy”.

The voices of assassins, fade off in the distance. Doubts fill my head for I am just a man with the stone dislodged from his heart and stones embedded in his skin for so long that the flesh began to grow over it. I am tempted to turn and run to them and say “here I am, do as you will”. As if “the debt” be owed to them.

Another voice…not literally a voice but an awareness, a gentle whisper like thunder comes to the fore and I am open to receive anew. It says:

“C’mon…just keep coming…don’t look back, pay them no heed. Follow me…don’t be deceived again, C’mon home Son…Supper’s on the table”.

This is “The voice”, in my heart that I know beyond a doubt is the voice of my Creator !

For so long, drowned out by all the noise in my mind whispered in my ears by demons loosed upon me at the age of six, at the hands of those entrusted with stewardship over me and the insanity of subsequent years of dysfunction.

I had shut my eyes so tightly from the pain, held my breath for so long, I could not break free from the vicelike grip. Conditioned to trust authority, trust my elders but betrayed and deceived ! When I shut down, I shut you out completely ,dismissed as crazy for so long I believed them.

But I hear you now and that‘s all that matters ! Forgive me Father, forgive them Father and Bless my family my ancestors my sins against the “Body” and my enemies “70 times, seventy times”.

I humbly pray thee…break this curse if it be thy will and set us all free from restless spirits, deflected now by the full armour of God, but who continue to wander the earth nonetheless seeking the ruin of those souls caught unaware. 

 anthony gomez


( My Mother told me about a recurring  dream she’d have, in it I was a child and my Father had his hands over his eyes counting out loud…and I was scurrying about searching for a hiding place. She said we seemed really happy…“hide-n-seek“. )

Wildfire – Promote Yourself


Spreading swiftly
the hungry fire roars
blazing beasts
running its course.
When daylight shines
new seeds sprout
the young trees thrive
and life comes out.

Hayli Cox

Hum Drumming – Promote Yourself


The Tardis Principle for friends and family

Down this street
Across that road
Past those shops
And down that slope

might well be
Tardis like
1000 miles
when fallen out.

But paradox box
(whether you like it or not!)
Wherever you are
You’re closer inside
Than out.

(If you don’t know what a Tardis is….you obviously have a life! )

Cheryl Bhagwandin


Women owe a lot to Mrs. Emily Pankhurst,
Who was the first militant suffragette,
She suffered many trials and tribulations,
Which those who have followed should not forget.
She founded the Woman’s Social and Political Union,
This was in Manchester in the year nineteen hundred and three,
She was supported by her two daughters Christabel and Sylvia,
With votes for women as their first priority.
They moved to London to lobby the Liberal Government,
And set about heckling leading politicians of the day,
They performed attention seeking stunts at processions,
Anything to allow women to have their say.
At first their actions were quite peaceful,
But in Nineteen twelve they became more militant,
They were directed by Christabel from Paris,
To where she had fled, but where she became more dominant.
Mrs. Pankhurst spent several spells in prison,
She went on hunger strike and was subject to force feeding,
She was so intent on getting votes for women,
Nothing could diminish her enthusiasm for the campaign she was leading.
When the First World War started she called off her campaign,
Realising that there were more important things to do,
She concentrated her efforts organising National Service,
But about votes for women she never changed her point of view.
When the war ended the politicians modified their opinions,
They had been influenced by the Campaign for Women’s Suffrage,
But Mrs. Pankhurst’s ambitions were only partly satisfied,
When votes were only given to married women over thirty years of age.
So Mrs. Pankhurst continued with her campaign,
And eventually her aspirations were satisfied,
All women over twenty one were given the vote
In nineteen twenty eight, a few weeks before Mrs. Pankhurst died.
Mrs. Pankhurst’s campaign lasted five and twenty years,
Her name is now part of our country’s history,
What she did will never be forgotten,
For she has left women a valuable legacy.
Ron Martin

Love Hurts – Promote Yourself

 love hurts
Love Hurts
I met a person
Who said to me
My love for you
Will last infinitely
He came and took
My love from me
And now he wants
To set me free
He met another woman
Who was to be
His one and only
Till eternity
I stayed up all night
Wondering and crying
Was it not that
I was trying
Hard enough to do
All of the things he wanted me to
As I try to forget
And hide my pain
It only reminds me
Of how I’ll hurt again
So as you can see
I’m not the same anymore
Because of a man
I truly adored
I’m sharing a poem titled Love Hurts from my “mini-series” of poems I promised in between normal posts that was written during my college years. And based on the expression of words that filled my thoughts, it looks like it was during a time I was broken and going through some type of pain or heartbreak.
Surprisingly, I actually loved the professor’s critique on this one but wasn’t sure at the time what he meant by his question at the end given I wasn’t a poetry writer or so I thought. :-) He wrote: “I sense the honesty and passion here. Good end-rhyme. How about some images?” Me: Hmm… One day I’ll get that.

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