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A picturesque moment
Forever frozen still
Beautifully perfect
Before all became ill
Ek Dec 2018
Open mouth singing
in your diamond shirt
embroidered with collectibles
of smiles and laughters
that you gathered that
day on the beach

Spellbound dreams
that you carry
in a silver faded necklace
carved with the initials
of all the constellations
you can point to

Wheatfield sun
dancing upon your
golden hair
of rainbow flowers too
you move the wind
and mother earth dances with
Ek Oct 2018
Sprinkling crystals dipped in glass
ray of prisms breeze my eye
sunshine rhythms hide in grass
floating sugar on the pie

Neon lights pass to scroll
while purple midnight breathes
jacket goosebumps stockings stole
four-wheeled lion grumbly seethes

Honey nectar slumbers my eyes
whitewashed lace tangle my face
gentle buzzings of pastel sky
as cotton candy sank with grace

Open heart box standing in the rain
cries diamonds for to call her name
the poetry train caught riding to Spain
set carnival dewdrops on red flames
Valerie Oct 2018
He ponders on how to make the decision
One to give him satisfaction and the other displeasure
His small hands cradle the calabash gently
Cautious of the fragility of its content
He's wondering how to explain his spoil
Excited beyond yet afraid within
Still wandering in the bushes treading lightly on dead leaves,
He hears the drums go off from the village square.
A thought jumps in, too tempting to ignore!
But he must reach his destination .
Forging ahead to gratification,
He's barely acknowledged and his secret unkown.
Walking through he's pushed aside and ignored!
He pays no mind, full of smiles.
If only they knew the content of the Calabash!!!

                                          Valerie Gbinije
Sometimes we underestimate people and their worth...
meg May 2018
Do you ever feel like leaving?
No letter. No excuse.
Just an empty room,
and a note that says,
“I’m in paradise now,
it’s about time.”

I feel like I am homesick
for the places I have never seen.
Like the graffiti in the sky
And the clouds on the walls.
The smiles on faces.
Instead of seeing…
People who force themselves
to dream of places
with endless fields
of grasses and flowers
while the sound gunshots
ring through their ears.

A place far from vile men
who want the world for themselves.
A place where you can just run.
Run without the fear of
losing your breath
or getting tired.
Running until you fall asleep,
and then running some more.

A place where you can eat dinner.
Not a place where
you force the ashes
of your dead family
down your throat.
Swallowing cries
and whimpers…
Eating your own flaws.

A place where you don’t
have to feel obligated
to use your last breath
to apologize for
bleeding on someone’s shirt
as they look you in your eyes
and slit your throat
that once laughed through the day.
All I hear now is echoes.

A place where you aren’t in a room,
with your phone clutched in one hand,
the other slapped across your mouth.
Hoping your cries won’t
be the last
gut wrenching sound
that departs from
that
place that
once
was more than
the echoes.

21 century.
The age of
broken homes,
suicidal kids,
and bullets in skulls.

We always want change,
But we can’t move past the things that
have haunted our ancestors.
We begin to dream,
dream of all things
to the point where
we don’t notice these haunted things
happening again.
Hypnotized by golden fire,
not noticing it burn with us.

We drink the poison
Poured by our own mistakes
And we cry about feeling so sick.

We are in the tough place between
moving on and letting go.
Bound by broken things
begging to be set free.

I just want to live somewhere
Picturesque.
Lined houses,
with fences,
and chimneys
wide enough for Santa

But we can’t have that yet.
We’re not ready to move on.
Its gets bad before it gets better,
But it blows up before
it has the chance to grow.

And I just wish I could leave
see graffiti in the sky,
and clouds on the walls.

I want to hear the sounds
in a silent movie.
Never mind.
I want to listen
to the silence.
Kivanc May 2018
I ask where I am now
To the God I like
And who is in my heart
And in my miserable life
You know somethings changed us
Hitting from high
In the middle of night
My picturesque love
Slow. Steady. Rhythmic.
The dull thud beats in time with the sway and cantor of the melody. Glide across the hall, dip down to the banister.
Beat. Beat. Beat.
Even and calm, lost in the frequency, wandering amidst the pitch. Fanciful footwork frames the floor with twisting steps and intricate detail.
Shrouded in fireflies and dandelion dust that drifts on the lazy current of the song, drowsing through notes and harmonies in a trance of ballroom dance.
Rise up.
Build into a waltz of throbbing desire. Whirl in the stars and flit past treetops. Even and clean, again and again and again.
Search the woods with craving eyes and fixate a longing gaze on the shadows of the mountains. The horizon will bleed into the treeline as melancholy keys and jubilant echos bring a cobalt stare reeling round and round the surface of the planet.
Press out each measure with deliberate punctuation.
Step hard, flit away, step firm, pull in, step true, twirl out, step in, dip low.
The march of feet in sync resonating through soul and mind: rhythm, measure, beat.
Soar.
Rush the pace into a frenzied tango. Alight a tender foot on the raindrops and fly into the moonlight as the throbbing repetition drives the dance onward.
Hear the wail of the drums in the atmosphere; they cry out in agony, ever increasing intensity. Pound out the steps over and over, numb to the world.
Bring the reckless mind crashing down upon the orchestra pit. Flood heart and soul with sheets of music dripping with pen strokes of madness and ingenuity.
Heaving, writhing, panting, burning, pounding, crashing, yearning heart be free.
You stop short, gasping for breath, ears peaked by a new sound. Another beat. You swipe the wild strands of hair from your eyes and find yourself a butterfly’s breath away from a brand new heartbeat. His sandpaper skin brushes your fingertips, chocolate eyes melting into your dance. You twirl out, he catches your milky wrist and dips you into his lullaby. Spinning in, two songs forge into one as pounding fades to throbbing. The voice of the lark rises in your throat, a jade sky splits the earth in two, and you fly away. Dancing to the rhythm of your heartbeats.
hiba sajid Aug 2017
As I look out through my window seat,
I can see vast tiny blocks and green
Bushes through the white cotton candies,
As I’m rising higher…I can see them faintly.
They are slowly fading away.
Now all I can see is a huge land of
White cotton candies amongst the vast blue kingdom
I can see them move past me,
It’s purely pleasant and picturesque.
I can see them move past me,
calm and peacefully.
I can see them below me ,
I can see them above me,
I can see them from miles apart too.

Each one has got a unique form,
Some are quite..,
Some are rushing along it’s infinite boundary.
Even though it’s beside me ,
I cannot sense it with my bare hands.
I wish I could feel them  with my fingers,
I wish I could jump into one of them,
And travel across it’s ocean of serene beauty.
Could it be icy like snow ?
Or steamy like gases ?
Will it lead me to a castle undiscovered?
Or maybe heavens above?
9 | 31 Poems for August 2017

When my blue skies have turned grey, I listen to that one Emeli Sandé song and reminisce about you every single day.
The moment you opened your eyes, I was right there by your side and my love for you comes as no surprise.
But I knew that someday my love wouldn’t be good enough for you and that somehow, you’d find a way to disappear.
I hope you’ve found a way to finally stop smoking cigarettes and drinking ***** like there’s a message in the bottle.
Love, I wish you’d be more open about your feelings because bottling everything in is detrimental.
I still write about you in hopes that one day you’ll read all these words and hopefully find your way back to me.
I still miss the sweet scent of your presence on the white duvet covers and cotton sheets of my memory.
Love is blind and that I already know, but I had never pictured writing these words without you.
Maybe you were right when you said that my love is as bad as my handwriting is – maybe I should’ve seen it coming.
Your aura always took me to peaceful picturesque places that I had only seen in my dreams.
I still want to hold your heart like the lonely autumn trees hold the fragility of clinging leaves.
But I knew that someday my love wouldn’t be good enough for you and that somehow, you’d find a way to disappear.
Hatfield is a suburb in Pretoria, South Africa.

It is also the place where I met a girl who would go on to inspire some of my best poems. It's a shame that we're no longer together. This is dedicated for her.
Brightest beauty glistening on the wave
In that moment perfection crave
That picturesque scene forever save
Remembered now until distant grave
Calm, gentle, floating on the wave
For some it really seems so brave
To let go, be free of thoughts that pave
A path so dark you wish to stave
Sky's reflection gleaming on the wave
Bright, blue, clear, such hope it gave
And worried thoughts start to behave
Eyes free, no more accustomed to a cave
Peace, tranquility, dancing on the wave
And Oh how sweet the heart can rave
Once freed from shackles that enslave
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