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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.

Serenity – Promote Yourself


My heart squeezes against my rib cage
as the memories flow in.
I find myself gasping for air,
trying to get the blood flowing back to my senses.
The rushing beat of “Two Steps from Hell”
thumping against my eardrums,
hover in search of a cove to lay upon.

Allowing the notes to reek with their lasting tunes
of bittersweet recollections.
Drowning breaths
of wondrous beauty,
of serenity,
of strength,
of the kindred spirit that my eyes gobbled for themselves.

The stars remain a permanent reminder of the time
Ursula Major stood for the North Star.
It did not matter for the air and sea lay silently listening
to the timid heartbeats with no judgement to account for.

Now with notes on transformation splayed before me,
I know equanimity lies in here, forging another shape of tranquility.
A concealed case holds thy silent rebel for all time, with a difference.
as the embracing calmness brings promising laughter of current beings.

Tabita Kristel



INVISIBLE ME. – Promote Yourself

.                                                                                                    -mirror-makes-me-invisible_John Leke
- – –  –  –                                                        I stand there look around, I’m in visible not to be found.                                            No one sees me I’m not there, I give up I just don’t care.                                              ~                                                                      I standing in a room full of people, so many faces I don’t know, I’m invisible to so many but does it show.                            No one sees me who I am, I don’t think they understand.                                          ~                                                                      You feel un noticed when your out, some times you want to scream and shout.          Does it matter that I’m not there, do you think they even care.                                    Life can be hard, in so many ways, I just hope and pray for happier days.                    (Patricia bourne ) wordpress 2014 

Leviathan – Promote Yourself


Abstract delineations,
outlining boundaries of imagination.

Closing in on realization,
thoughts in clouds,
changing shapes,
in visual skyscapes.

From the heart,
falling on deaf ears,
no one hears,
the creaking of the rudder,
under the strain
as the helmsman veers.

Towards the horizon,
but the world is flat,
the salt has lost it’s taste.

Sea monsters abound,
to the edge,
compass broken,
set a course,
all hands…
lost at see.


Anthony Gomez/Oneagleswings

Battle Cry


The battle raged all around

Bullets and shrapnel lay strewn on the ground

The sky was grey

I hear solders cry

I feel their pain as a hand rose high

Then a rocket lands close by

Another crater appears before my eyes

For more soldiers to be devoured

And buried them alive

Will these wars ever end

Can we learn from battles won or lost

Will we keep paying the cost

Or will we still hear the battle cry

Can someone please tell me why?

Thomas Sims

Ode to Horace Mann – Promote Yourself


Be ashamed to die until you have won

Some victory for humanity. Horace Mann


Be aware that energy is life, save some for your kids.

Be afraid that our minds are bent by news not books.

Be awed by the healing power of the simple purple cone flower.

Be amazed that after four short years she knows so much.

Be awake before the bombs drop, before the money rules.

Be agile: live in a town that walks and bikes to work and play.

Be amused by ants and birds, goats and potato fields, lilacs and sycamores.

Be angry only long enough to solve the problem, then move on.

Be ashamed to die until you have won some victory for humanity.


By Dong Stuber    2006

J. Douglas Stuber
Visiting Assistant Professor of English
Chonnam National University
English Department

“Secretly Searching.” – Promote Yourself

Secretly Searching

I often wonder why?
And yes…I try
I picture loving
But always shoving, aside
It hurts so, yet it feels so good
If only I could (What shall I do?)

I can imagine the twinkle in my eye
Is it a teardrop from my cry?
Oh – my smile full of gleam
… But it hurts so much…
If only I can touch…

Images closer than mirrors
Scents within souls,
Hearts fluttering,
Moods smothering,
Is the key I hold, so close?

Climbing within the depths of me
Floating the brims among the sea
Sitting around a bushel of love
With a fistful of hope in one hand
The other, my rope

It feels so good
Why can’t I understand?
Love and trust
Comes hand in hand

Jonnay D

-JD (

Today’s poem, titled Secretly Searching, is the third poem from my “mini-series” of poems I promised to share in between normal posts that was written during my college years. My professor had little to say about this one but I felt good about it after writing.

I think this also was a time when I was still hurting from a loss and my mind was filled with questions as to why things had to happen the way they did.  However, one of the things I observed that seem to be common in some of my writings is how I wrote from a place of emotional pain, hurt, resentment seemingly based on a past I couldn’t  let go of. On the other hand, I’m  grateful for the experience.

For the most part, my professor had this to say, “Good idea. The rhyme seems to get in the way here.” I took that with a grain of salt. After all, this was a beginning for me and I thought poetry was about rhyme. Silly me :-). Thanks to him, I learned a lot. Enjoy!

Dear pseudonym… – Promote Yourself


Dear pseudonym…

I remember how you comforted and sheltered my real identity,

When I was too afraid to show my real face or give my real name.

I’ve spoken with many people and they claimed to regard me as “friend,”

But kept at arm’s length to no end.




Seemed like a Divine Spirit gifted sure thing,

Lucid light of day vision to boot!

Frightening at first honestly, baffling and really none of my own doing,

actually railed and rebelled against it with all i could muster,

about as effectively as the last stand of Custer.


Inspired words were like arms wide open with none willing to enter into them.

Not even a poke from a pointed spear to see if i really bled like any other human.

No, I’m not in the “witness protection program”

Not a serial killer…

not yet anyway but anything is possible…who is to say?

Cain walked with God did he not?

As did Moses.


Yes, I really am who I say I am!

No, this is not just pretend.

It has just occurred to me,

In the myriad discussions held with those sheltered in anonymity,

What freedom, what sharing can that truly be?

Why are the most “outspoken”

the first to obscure their faces?

Can names truly be changed to protect the “innocent?”



Are we kidding ourselves’?!


Interchangeable personalities,

how many people can exist in one person?

What has become of sincerity and Truth?

Can it be called these things from behind a mask?


Will first person be third

or third first?

Or second last?

Can Virtual reality’s water quench anyone’s thirst?

Without a solid identity to steal,

Why be so afraid of a thief?

Than can only pilfer,

Nothing real.


Anthony Gomez

Summer In The Square – Promote Yourself


Summer In The Square

I’m wondering with

Eyes itching with hayfever

Why we do all this


Maybe Beryl knows

Ice cold water bottle fun

And the sky shines on


Curious pigeon

Trace sharp tongues of grass to find

Us hugging the sun


A warmth not human

It’s the glow of our childhood

That’s not coming back


It’s everything we

Wish would stay the same, but it

Just shows the difference


Clouds kissing my skin

Cut grass and oily coconut cream

The smile of freedom


Emily Duke

I’ve added one of my poems I’d love for you to feature on your page, looks like you’re always posting a wide range of stuff! 
I’ve been writing poetry for quite a few years now and am currently in my third year of an English Degree in Brighton. I started my blog about six months ago and it’s got off to a really good start, so I’d love for you to add a link to it if you publish my poem too :) 

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