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I just saw a lightening and then I was no more
Do not ask me the price of worship and adore
I am burnt alive and left my ashes to explore
My love is supreme that story is door to door

Love is a burning fire, leaves nothing around
I am neither on the sky nor on the real ground
Beauty, love are in chain excellently confound
But I do admit, declare that I am totally bound

Life is an hearth which keeps on burning ,listen
In your love I have opted to be fire as a fashion
My anxious soul will come to see in love season
Like a lunatic I will follow from station to station

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
 Jan 2017 S Smoothie
phil roberts
Dark again
Darker than
Colourless sounds
From ceiling to walls
Always
Strange doors
Like gaping mouths
Dragging tears
Cracking open
Screams of silence

A day or night
Then comes the light
At long weary last
Ended future
Useless past
Nothing holds
Narrow roads
Damaged junction
There's a time
Comes the light
Follow the light

                          By Phil Roberts
Make of this what you will.
 Jan 2017 S Smoothie
r
Love is a word
like a sword
that has worn
out its scabbard,
a lonely *******,
or a red rose
that opens alone,
a dream that lingers
for too many seasons
and passes in the shadows,
furrows in the dust
on a bannister,
a rock in the garden
of lust,
an empty place
at a table,
a ring on a cobweb
in the rain,
a long hair on your bed,
a nail in a blank wall.
 Jan 2017 S Smoothie
Nat Lipstadt
~
for T.M.R.
~

We find our poems in many different ways.  Of late,
I keep finding inspiration in the public and private messages that many of you send to me, regarding poems I choose to publish here.

So I repeat my disclaimer,
"any message you send, can and will be used as a poem."

~

instant recognition at levels so deep within,
what are the odds, given the enormous differentials,
that the kin in kindred, would blossom across two lives,
where the oppositional factoids are exceptional

as if seeded in the fertile soil of the blank spaces,
between each of our poem's words and verses,
there secreted for each other, but gleaming visible
for all to see and uncover, even join in,
uncovering semi-hidden insertions and assertions of affinity

I confess

she stands behind me ofttimes in my mind, silently,
suggesting, reflecting, critiquing a word choice,
a nuanced pressure upon the hand redirecting,
with infiltrating suggestions imaginary

oh wordy me, four stanzas excised,
abstracted from the memories contained within my fingertips,
this, an accolade to the pleasuring of humanizing mystery connectivity,
when she, in the depth of her stylized brevity,
captures more than I, after hours of exercised trying,
in the succinct excalibur of her comprehension

*"We are an unstated understood"
 Jan 2017 S Smoothie
Traveler
These two old fellas
They knew all that
Scars and scandals
Fragile facts
All the years they go back

Veitnam, Cambodia
Hell they survived
On eastern drugs
So call them crazy
If you must
But these two fellas
 Don't give a ****

This guy did
Over fifteen years
In a constant madhouse
He became aware
Survival isn't easy
In the zoo of men
I held on
Most never can

Tell me about
Your lowest low
Have you ever misplaced
Your soul
Did they ever rip it out
Were you ever really whole
Living in these hells
It changes you you know
...
Traveler Tim
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