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Safana Mar 30
Our guest has arrived.
He is about to end his visit.
We began to say farewell before disappearing.
We trust Allah (The Almighty)
has prepared us for another encounter.
To see your appearance again.
Until another day, our friend.
Until another day, our brother.
We bid farewell to our Ramadan.
9 days to end his visit (RAMADAN)
George Krokos Nov 2023
The ascending angel of light
rises from the dark in the night
displaying colors that are bright
and is seen by awakened sight.

None may ever see its glory
unless proven to be worthy
and in their daily life's story
win at God's Grace a priori.
The above poem was written to go with an original graphic art piece posted on another website many years ago. If anyone would like to see the art piece just use the link address below by copying it in your browser to view.
Savio Fonseca Aug 2023
I'm all yours,
till the Stars lose their glory.
I'm all yours,
till the Birds fail to sing.
I'm all yours,
till the end of Life's story.
Darling this My Pledge,
to U I bring.
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2023
did you ever write poetry?(1)

once. but everything of earthly substance,
destined to fade into the ignominy of forgotten
vaults, where time takes it time and erodes all
into dust. here,

every word preserved. there is no time
in the dominion of creators, and you friend
are numbered in their midst, enshrined in many
hearts and eyes, and

with every
each reimagination,
you are a reincarnated being
excerpted, & reformatted from a poem by lmnsinner
with author’s permission!

Kushal Jun 2023
It’s a return to form,
Breaking the norm.
Jumping all up in this *****--
Break the calm.

The only limits are the ones I set.
So, you better get ready cause I'm not done yet.
I've been chilling in my own space,
Living at a quarter pace
Now I’m about to switch the gears,
Couch potato pulling up in the race.

Catch this smoke
While I blast off,
See the words flow,  
Take it as a crash course.
Got the last word,
Don’t argue.
I already stepped up with the virtue.
Got the vision and dreams,
Plotting the schemes,
While I head for the top,
You're still sipping on lean,
So, when you see me prevail,
Don’t fall apart the seams.

My brethren.
This is heaven.
Turn it up to eleven.
Till now you’ve had the discount,
I've been sitting down at a 7.

Now I’m like a 2 for 1 with the double barrel.
Locked and loaded, with the bass and treble,
While you kickback with the recoil.
I step forward
Like a Beast
Hype yourself up.
You've got to.
You're worth the Hype.
Carlo C Gomez Jan 2023
Trust the sun (she says)
her first rays when creation was young
and God's window opened outward
as a place of worship
born to be breathtaken
daylight imploring for companionship
and bleeding into itself
as it bleeds into the worshipper.

She notices that her own taste
in repeating patterns doesn’t mesh
with the apparently similar
patterns in Drakensberg
they obey a different logic, and the friction
between them generates
a fascinatingly ambiguous color.

Tinctured cathedral of time passing
on its first layer of stairs...
In homage of The Great Escarpment, a major topographical feature in Africa that consists of steep slopes from the high central Southern African plateau.
M Vogel Jan 2023

A fine mist filled the room
  the moment she began singing

Covering my presence;
concealing  all that is congenital
     in me

--and the years and years and years
of my family-laid, dysfunction..

      Of the harm, inherent  in me

Of the damage to her Beautiful-Everything
      I can do..  
     (Things are not OK
     when my war-torn D N A
     comes into play.) .....

              I open the door and walk into the room.
              Small fingers  slowly sliding off of keys
                   as her  glowing face  falls,
                   now  turns  ashen

An instant,  Ichabod-like undoing
   turning Steam, into stone..

              And  still I reach for her;
              the thin fabric  of her dress
              the only barrier  between us--

             ..keeping the oils  of our skin
              from  blending  together
              (the angel closes her eyes..
              as the Glory  that  was hers
              is now hiding   in the corner
              of the room)

I am weeping  now--
This beautiful Lovedream..
This one  perfect chance  
since the day I was born;
For my deeply-protected  spirit
to intertwine  with that
    of another..

Over the keyboards  I reach
as I press myself  to her..

there is a danger  here..

      --as much  for her
       as there is for me.

       Through the tremble,
        I am so incredibly  

        Yet  still I gaze  at her--
        consumed, by Spirit-crave.....

(Small hands  slowly  
reach around me..
Those beautiful orbs, for eyes
staring,   so intently--

       ..A cherub-like face   
       around me,  peering..
 --Those eyes now closing
 As gifted fingers  on keys
  bring forth  the most   perfect


             And suddenly
  a whole world,  treacherous
  becomes  immediately  safe.

For all the moments,  never known
'cause he stepped off of the tallest sail
for all the love he left below  in the waves

He made his peace with letting go
said some things he'd never dared to say--
the one the Lighthouse left alone;
.                 .                  .
Til a set of eyes  had pinned him
became his version of a Kingdom
Now I know they'll never hunt me

When she's singing to me, "Glory"
(And a hopeful rhythm woke within him)
She's singing to me, "Glory"
(Had some letters written, 'course she's in 'em)

I was only ever thinking 'bout you, you know--
   .. singing to me,  "Glory;"

A set of eyes had pinned him
Became his version of a Kingdom..
She's everything the devil can't be

when she's singing to me...  Glory.

Perfection,   encased
in the most beautiful  spirit-temple
Ken Pepiton Oct 2022
Sing a song to entertain,
as we sit around a little fire.

We are small, our fire smaller,
so we think we know,
we trust our science,
as taught,
were we, to test a known,
religiously, to prove,
all things.

At once, we think, if it were me,
alone, thinking we may, we might
disintegrate as fuel in fire,
becoming beings we are,
under your skin,
in your sense of wedom,
happening in ever for ever's own sake.
Uselessness of solitude redeemed in thought called prayer in some stories.
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