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Mystic904  Oct 2017
'Mystic (V)'
Mystic904 Oct 2017
Dil em tang shuda azi dunya awlay che kunum
Purson maikunum, ini aale now ra che kunum

Naona ika thur nako da chaye janum
Aftiden da chaah, maigin awlay che kunem
_______

Heart's feeling full of this life, what to do?
Asking hence, with the newbies, what to do?

Dip not fully the self, hey dear you shouldn't!
Drowing in the well de despair, crying what to do?

c. Teeri
KiraLili Feb 2017
Near the coast of the Mediterranean
He was still asleep
In there one pole tent near the sea
The kingdom of Jerusalem no more
They waited for ships to Malta
Escaping from the sand of the holy land
She nursed this boy of France
He was beaten and scarred
What little water they had she wetted his cracked lips
Would he take her on the ship
Was this her last time here
She had gotten him this far
His kind blue eyes said he would
He was born poor in the mud Europe
And made his rank here in the land of his saviour
She a high born princess of Persia
War brought them together
Now pushed them to the sea
He stood and donned his cowl
As she hooked her veil
Wearily grabbing the horses bridle
They walked to the approaching sail
Thoughts on how the retreat from the crusades happened and the make up of my ancestors on Malta.
Jack Jenkins  Apr 2016
300
Jack Jenkins Apr 2016
300
Spartan shield wall, impenetrable & fortified
Persian soldiers, dying by the thousand
Spears pointed outward, catching flesh & blood
Persian soldiers, dying by the thousand

Sun blotted out by Persian arrows
Persian archers, killing them all
Spartan soldiers, fight to the last
Persian archers, killing them all

Spartans all fallen, not one left alive
Persian soldiers turn back home
Spartans left immortalized, final stand
Persian soldiers turn back home

Spartans, three hundred strong
Spartans, still standing tall
//On history//
This was my 300th poem, posted at the end of February 2016.
Sam Bowden Mar 2019
She said to me:
“You asked me to dream new dreams.
My sweet love, you are that dream...

Waking up to you is that dream...

Holding you from the back while you brush ur teeth is that dream

Smiling at you, and you smiling back to me is that dream.

You ******* me like you mean it is that dream.

It is a dream to be in love with you; being loved by you is that dream.

You looking at me looking at you
through the windows of our souls
is the dream I never dared to dream.”
Hamed M Dehongi Feb 2019
Oh! Woe to the poor captivated lover
Being trapped in love, but beloved gone

Oh! The moment I'm sitting as tulip alone
In my heart's blood, she is gone as wind

The voice of ax didn't come from Bistoon
Shireen is gone to Farhad's dream tonight

Oh! I will inform you of my painful alas
The day my enormous patience finally gone

Pity lover that flew your grapevine hair
With a hundred hopes come, gone unhappy

I am happy you abandoned all my rivals
Although, you left me as fistful of soil to wind

Mountains and deserts are mournful tonight
Lovers as Majnoon and Farhad gone forever
- Inspiration from a classic Persian poem
- Shireen and Farhad is an ancient Persian love story
- Bistoon is a mountain that Farhad had to finish a tunnel to reach to Shireen but eventually died there
- Leili and Majnoon is an ancient Persian and Arabic love story
Jim Davis Oct 2019
The Moving Finger writes;
and, having writ
Moves on:
nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to
cancel half a line
Nor all thy tears
wash out a word of it.
Apropos for our profession of poetry I believe!  

From Wikipedia:  Omar Khayyam (/kaɪˈjɑːm/; Persian: عمر خیّام‎ [oˈmæɾ xæjˈjɒːm]; 18 May 1048 – 4 December 1131) was a Persian mathematician, astronomer, and poet.[3][4][5] He was born in Nishapur, in northeastern Iran, and spent most of his life near the court of the Karakhanid and Seljuq rulers in the period which witnessed the First Crusade.

The Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics quotes the tradition that the Persian quatrain-form, the ruba'i, originated in the gleeful shouts of a child, overheard and imitated by a passing poet.
Of what to Think, and Thought be Thought-of-Thoughts
Equalling those Clouds no-one tried to reach
And with just a Model-of-the-Board besought
Belated Nations took you to beseech
Parsley that in Sick Reference apply
To One dug-out from Humble Electric
Honour is his beyond the Scythe comply
And carry his Image on so frantic
That is my Code acquired late at War
Knowing the Outcome of this Useless Battle
As that Spartan King drew his Sword at fore
Charged his Army; And the Persian, wrangle.
It's News to me, if I can Speak the Truth
If only I Avoid what seems Un-Couth.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Chris Saitta Jun 2019
Brother, our young summers held us in a long chain like the phalanx of bronzed soldiers forward flung,
And the lion was skinned and hung out to dry like the sunned-fur of the beach at Marathon.
Brother, help me to dream again.

Brother, our yellowed days shook us like serried Hoplites of an atomic age,
Shoulder to shoulder, friction rubbed, all ranks split from the fissioned-flanks.
Brother, help me to dream again.

Storm-footed Titans of heat, dust, and irradiated wind pry from a ruptured Tartarus,
The flanks are an open pulse; the scorch-song thirsts for its sea-cooling to stone.
Brother, the lion lives that wears your skull around its mane.

Brother, dream of me again, of Persian arrows and lances,
And my fallen eyes instead of yours pouring in
With a sea of lavender water and mists
And summers of once-were.
For a slide video of this and other poems, please check out my Instagram page at chrissaitta or my Tumblr page at Chris-Saitta.
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