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Ken Pepiton Mar 3
Mean music, blues, is what they called

the noises,
morphing to music, in mir
act all-outs miraclue-lesss time of magi Ai ai ai
ical memes, mere memories of
the sound,
the music is in the pattern,

commas make no noise, breathe,
see, slow and steady, wins the race, been
done that, is a game sons of god once played,
perhaps, they were grandsons, in the summer of 1969.

Been there done that went way back,
that night by Lake Mohave,
when I built the carbon
oxidizing pyramid,
that burned the lesson this deep,

so now, some fifty years after
everwhen that was, when I was there
and you were not. That
is all you know,
you were not there. But here you are.
While listening to Stephen King on his 2014 Revival tour.en
Solaces Feb 5
Echoes. . . . .
Astral messages on the walls..
Celestial voices..
Seraphic poetry viewed through the third eye..

Inside. . . . .
Is inside..
The builder beholds his creation..
A creation from being inside...

The. . . .
The beginning was shown to us..
From high above..
3 winged angels sing in chorus..

Vessel. .  . .
The vessels were made in the sand..
Only shells of them..
To match the lights in the sky..

Above and beyond thoughts..
Dreamscapes and new horizons..
Unfamiliar constellations..
The hierarchy of the tower of silence. . . . . . . . .
lenore Jul 2019
poem is
a pharaoh's tomb:
the i interred in immortality.
Shofi Ahmed Oct 2018
A sprinkle of blue sparkle
off the lapis lazuli sky.
A throw of stars
from the full moon night.
We will take in abundance
while rowing the waves
once in the River Nile.

Hear! The crave of oars
breaching the shore.
Reaching out and close
to the pyramid foundation.
That’s scientia is pure rigid
yet so open loose.
One dozen milky ways
can hover in rhythm
over this stony knot!

That doesn’t mean
the Mintaka stars will give
up their shares at all
They will sit on the top.
Without the pyramid moving
a step from the true north.

Between this relative sublunary
and over the moon mural
if and when one spaces up.
The silent Moon takes a pause
humming the prehistoric lullabies.
With a patch of the blue sky
and a starry sprinkle from the night.  
Maybe then we will take a break in
behind the closed doors of the great pyramid!
A poem from my upcoming book Qun: Love is Above Reason
Shofi Ahmed Aug 2018
Thinking that ancient Egyptian
made the great pyramid
is numerically imperfect.
Shofi Ahmed Aug 2018
The truth that was
but couldn't be afar
behind the closed door
locked away forever.

Opens through in full circle,
the infinite touches on the finite:
Finity gains the ground to infinity.

Paradise kissed the earth,
pyramidon drops bouncing down
around the pyramid in reverse.
It’s on a golden spiral run
round the mundane and divine.

Only to find the intersection is locked,
not above, nor below, but in the numbers
heading to the exponential circular zero.

That too towards the origin sways,
because it’s in the human, lies the pi.
The demons dance,
ominously disguised
as Monsoon clouds,
hovering above the
slick, crimsoned altar.

One more heart,
one more soul,
one more sacrifice
might make the toll.

Life-blood River
deposits iron
on the pyramid's
sculpted stone
cascading, absorbing deep, flooding the gates of hell.  

On a canoe of bone
the King embarked
to negotiate peace
with the underworld rule.

"No more blood,
no more skulls
no more souls",
said the Lord . ...
"your time has come.
No more bargaining fool"
Poem to complement a recently completed blow-torch, pencil and watercolor painting on raw edge wood.  See profile background pic.
R Nov 2017
It's done.
I finished it.
The Gods are pleased.
The Pharaoh smiles at it.
It pierces the sky thoroughly.
And yet, part of me thinks.
Do they care about it?
I see the skies,
and notice the
stars align.
It's supposed to be a pyramid, though this font doesn't make the appearance look good. Just squint a bit.
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