A Poison Tree – William Blake

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I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I watered it in fears
Night and morning with my tears,
And I sunned it with smiles
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright,
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,–

And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning, glad, I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

© Copyright 1794 William Blake.


Dreams of Death – by Jeff Prior


Dreams of death are nothing new,
I’ve had those dreams, you’ve had them too.
Sometimes death doesn’t sound so bad,
It can’t be worse than the day I’ve had.
A stain on my soul and a wound to my pride,
Sometimes I think I’m broken inside.
Troubled dreams and a restless night,
Another day, another pointless fight.

Dreams of death are nothing new,
I’ve had those dreams, I’ve lived them too.
Some days death strikes fear in my soul,
Everything ends, life takes its toll.
A pain in my heart and regrets in my head,
Do we still feel pain after we’re dead?
Troubled thoughts and a twisted dream,
Another day, another torn seam.

Dreams of death are nothing new,
I’ve had those dreams, I’ve denied them too.
Some things can’t be believed,
Some deaths are never grieved.
A lie on my lips and despair in my heart,
Is it too late for another fresh start?
Troubled past and a dark path ahead,
Another day, another toast to the dead.

Dreams of death are nothing new,
I’ve had those dreams, I’ve believed them too.
Some people think they’ll never die,
They live their life believing that lie.
A dream of tomorrow and a nightmare of yesterday,
Is there ever a winner in this game we play?
Troubled soul, and a dark cloud overhead,
Another day, another liar is dead.

© Copyright Jeff Prior. All rights reserved.

Perspective – A Poem by Shivangi Shankar


Every girl that ever lived
Was told that essential tale
Of girls being Goddesses
Despite their looks so frail.

Every girl that ever grew
Was fed, nurtured, taught
Lessons in cooking, sewing, too
To behave as she ought.

Every girl that ever read
Was feared, envied, eyed
With misapprehensions, unease
For she was no longer tied.

Every girl that ever won
Was told that girls were better
Motivated every other day
To be the trend setter.

Every girl that ever worked
Was compelled to manage all-
Work and family and herself
Gave her best, stood tall.

Every girl that ever lived
Was unable to sustain
All that she had dreamt for herself
Seemed to be in vain.

Every girl that ever lived
Was proper, dignified
She would fall short sometimes, though
Yet she always tried.

Every girl that ever lived
Would realise one fine day
That she wasn’t born with ten hands
Whatever the world may say.

Every girl that ever lived
Would have an epiphany bright
That she didn’t want to be a Goddess at all
To err, be human, her right.

© Copyright 2015 Shivangi Shankar. All rights reserved.

An Atheist I Am – a Poem by Deven Singh

What do you mean there is no god
or angels that fly with the wings of a dove
or peacock winged horses and virgins a plenty,
not eighty perhaps but at least more than twenty.

You tell me this book is used as a hook,
to snare and befuddle to make life a muddle.
You think that they’re fake and a man made their shape,
do you ever think that you’ve made a mistake?

How possible can it be that my god’s the greatest,
not Anubis or Zeus or Odin or Hades?
How do I know, I have no reply,
all I can do is look to the sky.

I begin to think, my mind opens up
and I finally lose that dim blank washed look,
do I honestly believe in Eve made from Adam
or a book that portrays man greater than woman?

And finally now my transition complete
no more shall I stare down and look at my feet.
I am proud and enlightened,no more a disciple,
An Atheist am I.

Sell – A Poem by David J. Marriott

David was good enough to allow me to share his beautiful poem. Thank you David.


Sell your soul for a penny

Sell your mind to the dead

Leave your house just to buy things

Prioritise junk over bread

Trust your life to a man with a gun

Buy the gun from the man

Use the gun to hold reason to ransom

Preach of a provident plan

Sell them a lie for a penny

Sell them a jewel for a rag

Leave them no house or possessions

Orchestrate war over flags

Trust your lies to a man with a voice

Buy the voice from the man

Use your words to hold reason to ransom

Everything’s going to plan


Deeper than Knowledge


Great words are unclouded and apt
They need to flow freely and cannot be capped.
Great understanding is determined and rooted
In learning, the path undisputed.

Understanding requires some effort,
The links of perception all severed.
We project meaning past the rim of our world,
Our deepest convictions can never be furled.

Knowledge originates in patience and skill
It is gained by learning and having strong will.
Active understanding, the ability to question
By its very nature illustrates expression.

Understanding is deeper than knowledge
Where perception of meaning pays homage.
Understanding, an instrument of expression
Can quickly become the darkest obsession.