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Julie Grenness Mar 2017
I set off to myself improve,
Google as mentor, what a groove,
I changed my responses,
To a bully's nonsense,
Adopted a calm demeanour,
Ignored childish misdemeanour,
To be a calm and capable *******,
Even when tolerance flags.
Keep on smiling all the way,
Let's have a totally peaceful day!
Feedback welcome.
rebecca hunter Jan 2017
I get up in the morning, get dressed
Where’s my valet?
Downstairs to my dining room
What’s new at the buffet?

The cutlery gleams, my bacon steams
I love the sound of the coffee machine
I really shouldn’t eat so much
I need to look good when I go to the club.

Well, it’s off to work now
Or should I do tennis first
No, it’s too hot
I’ll suffer too much thirst.

Where’s James with the car? Oh, there you are!
Hurry up, mate – you know I can’t wait.

What shall I watch during the ride?
I really don’t want to look outside -
We have to go past that awful slum
Why do they have to look so glum?


I get up in the morning, it’s so cold -
Just getting dressed makes me feel old.

I look on the shelf for something to eat
I wish I had a way to apply some heat.
I need to eat more – I should look better in this shirt.
I’d love some coffee – I wish my kettle would work.

I must get going - I’ll have to walk.
I used my bus fare to buy power for lights.
I don’t mind the dark – not at all
But I must be able to study at night.

I need to do something to get out of this slum
So I can walk to work not looking so glum.
Nigel Finn Apr 2016
I woke up this morning to the strangest feeling-
I could feel you next to me.
Not your physical presence of course-
That remains unknown to me
Being, as it may well be,
On the other side of an ocean,
Atop a distant mountain,
Or in a different realm entirely,
Filled with mythical creatures,
In a place where poetry is born.

What I mean is I felt your soul,
Reaching out to me
After last night's late night drinking
In the privacy of my own room,
Come to tell me I was not alone,
Whilst at the same time saying;
"This is not you.
Well...Not the you I'm used to, anyway-
What went wrong?"

I hesitated for a moment,
Considering if this was
My own conscience speaking to me,
In which case it would be acceptable to cry,
But I knew such tenderness could not be my own,
And had no wish for such a beautiful being
To watch tears fall from my eyes.

"I don't know" I said,
And hated myself instantly for the lie.
This awe-inspiring soul, who had travelled so far
To share such a wondrous presence with me,
What right had I to feed it such **** untruths?
I felt ashamed and hung my head...
"I hate myself." I said.

For a moment I thought you had left,
Sickened by this display of self-pity,
And my ghastly morning breath.
Then I realised you had enveloped the entire room.
In an attempt to bring me comfort.
You had filled the cracks in the door,
And surrounded each wall
From ceiling to floor,
And waited for me to speak.

I cried fully for five minutes at least,
And there was no beauty in it.
No gentle tears or quiet sniffling.
Just heaving sobs and **** ****** contortions,
Interspersed with heavy breathing,
And snotty tissues.

When it was all over
I felt you on my shoulder
(Not my heart- you accepted, you afterwards said,
That I keep some parts hidden,
Even from myself), and then
We talked, and talked, and talked,
About everything, until I felt
We were only words- nothing more.
Not voices, or sounds, or written letters,
But just words who understood each other perfectly.

Finally, you explained to me
How to reach you, but, being a soul,
Your directions were untranslatable,
And I could not follow them
Despite my burning desire to,
So you went on instead
To reveal the purpose of your visit.

"Your soul is trapped." you told me,
"Within the confines of your body,
And I must travel so very far to see it.
It is the only part left of you
That still loves itself, and if it leaves
It is afraid that you will die."

I had never given a thought, before,
To my own soul, and how
I must have been keeping it,
Trapped under lock and key
Behind my own self-loathing,
While it yearned to be free.

So as you left I promised you this;
That I would learn to love myself,
So that my soul may find eternal bliss,
And find you in good health.

I assure you, beautiful one,
That I am trying...
People need love, espescially when they do not deserve it. This is as true to ourselves as it is to others.
Edward Coles Oct 2015
On A Diet

The country is on a diet,
drinking coke with no sugar,
eating burgers with no bun,
running on the treadmill;
it's powdered protein for lunch.
It's straight tequila in the evening,
a light head and guilty fries at night.

The country is on a diet,
doing yoga over yoghurt pots,
training their minds with sudoku and solitaire,
rubbing salt and condition into their hair.
It's 6 a.m. gym sessions,
it's squats on the living room floor,
the country is on a diet, my friends,
and so we have no time for truth, or war.

The country is on a diet,
avocado in the breadcrumb,
aspirin in the salt-shaker,
food numb on the tongue
and those slim-shakes always failed to deliver.
Thigh gaps and mind-the-gaps,
all these signposts for a cleaner living,
no dust on the shelf,
no bags 'neath your eyes to hide
the lack of sleep
and your ailing mental health.

The country is on a diet,
drinking tea with no milk,
eating carrot sticks with best-value dip,
running on the treadmill,
we never get too far.
It's straight tequila in the evening,
it's "anything goes" in the dark.
You can hear a spoken word version of it here: (4th performance in)
Brent Kincaid Oct 2015
I have a list of stuff
I want badly to fix
But I don’t really mean it.
I have in mind
A perfect world
I’ll know it when I’ve seen it.

It’s going to take
A while for me
To deal with all my issues.
It will be quite
A lot of work
And lots of boxes of tissues.

It’s rather like a
Treadmill thing
That only I can see.
It may not be
So visible but
It looks like work to me.

Sometimes I feel
Like Sisyfus
Pushing boulder up a hill.
It’s never ending
And each time
I think I’ve had my fill.

Then something comes
Along to show
The light shining up ahead
And I remember
Much of what
I’m fighting is in my head.

So, I complain
And ***** inside
But I should never doubt it
Because I know
I’m the only one
Who can do something about it.
ConnectHook Sep 2015
☃  ∴  ☼

Al Bandura, Ph.D,
Drove to town so he could see
if society embraced
guided life-change (science-based).

As he floored it toward the town,
he struck an inefficient clown.
Doctor A. Bandura glowered:
“You’re not funny, nor empowered –

get self-aware”.  Then, talking faster,
he offered attainable steps to mastery.
“You don’t seem too self-efficacious,”
Albert added, now loquacious.

Doctor Al set new objectives:
auto-efficient self-directives;
made that dead clown self-aware,
then auto-directed right out of there.
see the clown funeral HERE:

☃  ∴  ☼
Roman Yanish May 2015
Maybe when I’m twenty-eight
I won’t hesitate to dance with you
Or find something useful to say
After all this contemplation
After all this trendy meditation

Maybe when I’m twenty-eight
I’ll be ready to love you
Or maybe I just won’t feel so lame
Figure out my own medication
Figure out my own dedication

Maybe when I’m twenty-eight
Maybe when I’m twenty-eight
We will reciprocate
But as for today
I’m just trying to find my way
to twenty-eight

I’ll get rid of these bags of sorrow
I’ll walk without crutches made of
Cigarettes, joints, and a pint of whiskey
I’ll just be cool with this roommate
Who shares my brain

I will make myself better
I will make myself better
For you

Maybe when I’m twenty eight
I’ll how to stay on the right track
I’ll know when to shut up
And how to laugh
Maybe when I’m twenty-eight
It won’t be too late
James K Dec 2014
They say,
"You should be happy,
for what you have,
for who you are."
But why not aspire
For, to be
Kylie Rose Sep 2014
She hates that she is spineless:
Starved of strength

She hates that she is passive:
She has two legs
But cannot stand for anything
When faced with a loud voice
And menacing words
That threaten the tranquility of her dream-world;
The dream-world
Where conflict is banned
And people always have the best intentions
Because in essence man is good.

She hates that
When faced with a thousand possibilities
Tensions rise
And gears stick
Metal on metal
As she tries not to succumb to her nature
But in spite of it all
Her head overheats
And she overloads
The perpetual screaming kettle, *** boiling over, and volcanic eruption
All in one

Tiny salted droplets of shame
Race down flushed and swollen cheeks
As her mental fists
Painstakingly punch her essence
Into action
Fueling a transformation with

A transformation
That never sticks:
At least not as well as
Her lack of faith in herself.

— The End —