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Pagan Paul Aug 2018
.
Its 2 am and I am so wired.
Why can't I just be normally tired?
As others enjoy some restful sleep,
I am in a place far more deep.....

And the abyss calls so inviting,
          a leap into the unknown and beyond.
With clarity I jump out and fly,
          an excuse for reality to quietly abscond.

Psychedelic nausea as the dimensions twist,
forcing me to a place where I do not exist,
a land in which I may be killed or kissed,
but certain my presence would not be missed.

The feelers take a hold of me,
     whispering secrets of antiquity,
revealing images of aeons gone,
     in spoken word, rhyme and song.
I have the histories of many worlds
     all in my mind strung up like pearls.
A line of lanterns alight once more,
     open and willing for me to explore.
And my pale blue eyes no longer see
     the images created by any reality.

It is secret knowledge of ancient times,
I receive in the script of cryptic rhymes.


© Pagan Paul (09/08/18)
.
gleck Nov 2016
“We could be gods amongst mortals"*

“Why be a god when the earth gave me you?”

His slight whisper
Another’s warmth on my hand
Body sculpted like those of gods
Engraved into my own
He is very humane; -

He is gravity;
Retain me against ascending
Pummel my sins

He is water;
Take away my thirst
Drown me when greed takes over

And I am grounded,
I am thirsty,
Lain earthbound onto the ground at his side
Heart aflame far away from Mount Olympus
I am still only  *
human.
“death everywhere, not age or ancient, just an infiltrated lack of life”

a puzzling, troubling line in a personal message,
instantly isolated for further review,
needy indeedy for a second medical opinion,
for it’s a description of two,
an actual place and a state of being

a place where death seems more commonplace,
not from agedness or honor,
but from a madness drunk from a special cocktail of
heat, guns and pseudo-rock stars, with beer chasers

imbibed by those who imagine themselves INRL  
in a movie genre of specialized urban cowboys,
subset horror flick,
self-appointed angels

part of a world view
so pervasive that it infiltrates the mental water supply
and modifies the pure children early on

demeaning existence, with a sense, a sendup,
life is unreal, cheap, so taking it-is ok,
justice delivered, for we angels,
are subset,
angels of death

in a country where
seven out of ten believe in angels,
and one in four confident that
the sun revolves around the Earth

look to blame
polluted water
the ever-overheated atmosphere,
bringing typhoon and storm,

I do not know

how be sun and water,
the essences, the originations of all life
today come to the planet days still
clear and warm,
yet can not infiltrate our personal mystery,
respire, re-spark the notion of the spirit,


the simple sanctity of life peculiarly human
call me by my other name
mystified momma
Trevor Stuart May 2014
I put so much effort into random places,
so much effort into random faces
face it
im faceless
placeless
drifting
shifting
thoughts towards destiny
feeling empty,
wondering whats left in me...?

messages esoteric terrorize my rhetoric
pedestrians staring glaring gazin gotta get a second look

shook

layers shed, fall from those ancient snakes
left for dead
suffocated, stranded
damaged
god ******
this sunless planet is madness

immobilized

try to find sense in a broke world
what are hands without manipulation?
and in life? death is a stipulation
a fools gold is never within grasp
so
clasp delusions Grandiose
with a toast
to sham pain and champagne
emptied grails course through mans veins

oh to see what mirrors saw
would reflections appear at all?
peer into the endless ego
see nothing but self libido

we are all weary travelers,
existences' eternal passengers
remove masks, flasks, end the charade
let serpents slither, and sun bath
away from the shade

embrace the end of nights
push away the start of days
just keep in mind
which way
            the pendulum sways
Spenser Bennett May 2016
Wind laughs low tonight
Flays skin to the blood marrow
Keep listening, smile
The wind beats against my window in the night, seemingly mocking, seemingly spiteful, full of love, and infinitely caring all at once and then not at all.
jane taylor May 2016
age old wisdom
silently watches
patiently calling
waiting until
i am ready
to hear

©2016janetaylor
Shofi Ahmed Sep 2018
The silent moon
over the old pond
is lost for words.
If only it could
describe the charm
mirroring a mirror
of ancient calm!
The uniVerse Mar 2017
Shine forth ancient one
for I too am your son
your vessel of choice
use me as your voice  
through written word
to eyes unseen
and ears unheard.

The language of love
is an unspoken truth
all writing that was
forms a mental noose
around the neck
of our ideas
that seems to break
unanswered prayers.

Allow me to write
on your behalf
that you may restore sight
with the words I craft
and let yours be the light
that illuminates my path.
https://www.instagram.com/p/B0WXG_mnqLL
Rei Coman Oct 2018
There are old ways that we have forgotten,
sacred to our ancestors generations ago.
Far before men named Jesus Christ
Muhammad and Confucius,
our ancestors knew the ways to live
as enduring and resilient as the seasons.
Songs and rites, gods as ancient as the
deep green forest, and stories
of the rise and fall of great men:
Chieftains, farmers, warriors, musicians
whose songs echoed over young world.

The world was harsh then, as cold
as the towering bedrock of the mountains.
We gave thanks for what we had,
both to the gods and to ourselves.
The choice was to live strong, work hard
or die like a wounded animal.
The world was fair in the days of old,
our cares cleansed through sweat
and blood, and in the crushing weight
of the labor of survival we found peace.

Today, our peace is lost. We have
nations, such foreign things,
a group of people enslaved by custom.
The green forest has become
the fireplace of a world too gray,
the unforgiving mountains mere pebbles
beneath our trembling, dying feet.
Though our lives are calm our minds
are shattered, the breezes of indifference
blowing away the forgotten ways of old.
ottaross Jun 2016
We went to a play last week

Actors strutted around

Among a set of tall buildings

Made of actual stone of grey

And billowing smoke

And noises

And crowds.


Upon the great stage they talked

About their ancient ideas

Like wars

And politics

And freedom.

In one scene an actor yelled

and swung a mighty hand

and struck the other man!


And though we knew

It was really just acting

The idea that one

Could hit another

Shocked all of us in the audience
So powerfully

And a few people even left

The theatre

In tears.

But there were funny bits too

In the play that night.

A character said he had a car.

His Own. 
Personal. 
Car!

And together they were to drive

Both of them

Off to an aeroport.

Like with all the steering,

And foot pedals,

And everything.

And in a very sad part

Someone treated someone else badly

And called her names

Because of the colour

Of her skin

And because she had come

From somewhere else.

And all our eyes were wet for a while.

One man used a device

Which was an ancient komputer.

Two flat parts with a hinge

And it opened upon his lap

And one side glowed brightly

To illuminate his face

And he presses a bunch of button-keys

To spell words and things

Because that’s how they told the

Komputer

What to do.

And we all laughed.

when it was over a bunch of us asked the man that was hit if he was okay was he really okay it looked terrible and did they really have to do that awful thing in the play and was the other actor a bad man and he said no, it was alright and the other actor was a nice man and that it didn’t hurt at all and he said he was sorry that it scared us but it was the violence of the time and the people of that time and we said we kind of understood.

And we all felt better


But one lady

Still needed to hug him.

And his eyes

Were a little wet too.
Shofi Ahmed Jul 2018
Dancing the billow in the sea
the cool one will show up
in no time with love.
Deep down from the deep
with the flute on the lips.

Listen to the flute!
The chorus clouds bang out
floating by the river blue,
they sing down the sky as they move.

The sun draws in
from the secret valley
ambling with the wonder light
as if it, the punter sun, in the sky
knew it, knows the flutist arty
rose from down the sea!

Every planet is a flying bee
twirling around the inner music
nothing ever stops in the solar disc.

The waning and waxing Moon
in silhouette and at half-light
swings over the sea full of life.

It all starts from the ground;
it was from our sea waterfront
Him the creative sweetheart in the midst
floated the leading light the bumblebee.
All the stars bubble in the galaxy
they know this ancient story!

Since then the brightest bulb
the sun in the solar ring  
leads the bunch’s mindful
butterfly dance on the way home.
Following the enduring haunting melody
of the pre-design command ‘qun’ be!
A poem from my upcoming book Qun: Love is Unconditional
Sharon Talbot Sep 2017
Sere and yellow,
Rough and round, [bright pebbles in a mound]
Pitted and mellow,
Winding our necks round,
We wore them.

Amber beads unearthed from clay,
Fashioned by my artist love,
Glowing yellow, filled with day,
Captures sunbeams from above.
I still love them.

Some say gods have made these,
To ensnare the light of Sun,
But we women saved these,
In memory & hope of sons,
We keep them.

Fat & smooth as butter,
We turned them in our hands.
The bone beads scraped with madder,
The amber just with sand.

Those of shadowy carnelian
Embedded like a shield,
We treasure as we fear them,
Like wounds on battlefields.

The others soaked with brownish earth,
Sere and yellow,
Rough and round, [bright pebbles in a mound]
Pitted and mellow,
Winding our necks round,
We wore them.

So, when we are dead, take not from us,
These rounded, golden suns,
But bury them with us, with sword and severed buss,
To revere the slaughtered ones,
Who never returned to us.

Revised November 15, 2016
This poem was inspired by several photos taken by poet/photography and historian, Giles Watson, of amber and other beads unearthed at an Anglo-Saxon dig site in England. I was struck by the way the amber still glowed after hundreds of years beneath the earth, and the artistry of them.
Twin ancient pyramids
standing still we are
a mystery to ponder on
aren't we
jealousies hunts me though
ancient twin love
I am crazed a human in love
since I first looked at you
and with just one look
thats all it took
I fell madly in love with you
I guess I found a praying saint
poet teacher mine
I dreamed of making
mad passionate love to you too
you were irressistible
sensual carefree with a white
slanted mysterious smile
to die for and ayyy amor
how painful this is!
I imagined you Alien
owned in heart
and in another's arms

yes the rivering watterfalls of
earth swipped me down with
force just to drop me back
right into your ocean

I find you everywhere
in poetry mirrors too
you are wind near and far
my starry looking eys
are fixed
looking up ******!
in awe of these powers
connectimg us in mind in heart
everywhere I look there is you

guess bad luck is mine
such sacred true love found
to lose it again and again
sorry I blocked you
my only friend on earth
sorry I asked you to unmask
I am only human
most poets won't unmask

how painful to be fallen
just to stay pushed down
Ayyy aay your bending blue -green eyes bewitched me so
Ayyy ay what pain not to see them live except in mirrors
nymph sacred tree Dryad!?
how late i understood
that with you I had it all
and lost it all but this is earth

theres still heaven
there's more justice there
in the ballancing scales
meassuring hearts
inner core's true love
we are in the inside twins
and outside so much alike
you can't really ever hide
you are me and I am you
our innercores
and outer waves countenance thunderous laughters and all
we are one and the same
twinsouls flame soul
anxient pyramid wonders
never really part
=======
By: RhettlvScarkett
revised-8/28/19
no words left to write
only can say how
not all is a loss
"Inspired by
a great poetess
I admire
my twin mind to mind
my beloved
Karijinbba
n-khrennikov Sep 2018
She always had a hidden river in the heart to call her, flowing to the shadow of swans in the ancient castle.
n-khrennikov ©


            Tale of an Eternal Love
Marble skin,
Sculpted clutch,

Solid and tender,
To the touch.

Depth of character,
Length of reason,

A modern day Greek,
In exactly his season.
Adonis says "hi".

*If I had matched lengths of acts, I'm sure it would seem better but, haven't put enough thought into it*

Edit ******** put enough thought into it*
Chris Saitta Aug 3
Sunset is a washwoman's stream of rubia dyes
And the crushed scales from the Kermes insect,
While the loosened garments of life slide
Over the ancient liquidity of the hills rolling
As the mountains rolling as the seas rolling
As the clouds rolling as the graves rolling
Like eyes rolling back to sleep.

I am pressed for lullaby,
Not the pillow-clap of thunder or the ether songs of Persephone,
Biding by her asphodels with icen fingers from plum-colored hell.

But press my ear in my mother’s lap of ancient sun,
Of peplos and himation and stola,
And listen to the vines and bunched grapes
And all of heaven sink in its commodiousness.

Press my ear to the sun-fed heart that flows
To the furthest span of the cloth-seas of man and
The solemn songings of the ever-deepening sky.
My mother all along smoothing out the wrinkled sheet of sunlight.
The scales of the Kermes insect were used to make red dye in Ancient Greece and Rome.

Peplos and himation are Greek female clothing while stola is Roman.
Chris Saitta Jun 14
Fall to me, all you streets of Rome,
With your embrowned oils from torched walls and breccia of shadows,
The pizzicato of stairways and afternoon slowly closed
Like the thick, leathery-echo from this book of all roads.

Fallen, smoldering empire of storefronts and back-shop heirlooms,
Your lupine hills unbound with milk of cur in the wind and woods,
To your fallow fields rowed deep by a conquest of oars,
To the deepest silence and soot-muted oneness of Pompeii,
And a sky that is an ancient coin, without worth,
But still rubbed smooth at the edges by overfond lovers.
Yes, more Rome.

For a slide video of this and other poems, please check out my Instagram page at chrissaitta or my Tumblr page at Chris-Saitta.
Nesma Apr 2015
The constellation that speaks my name is the opening line of the zodiac.
I am an Egyptian golden ram, and in ancient Egypt, Aries was the indicator of the reborn sun; I’m a never-ending fresh beginning of a mass of fire.
I am a self destructive flame, constantly setting myself on fire, and you caught on it.
So forgive me, and then admit the truth that we both know; Flames are the ultimate spring of warmth and light
I was born at 11 am, on a Monday, on the third, of April, 1995. 12345
CK Baker Dec 2016
The napalan man in a violet cape  
descended the stair with a lopsided gait
a wretched procession, subscribers in cue
rattling off as they stream from the pew  

sounds and smells from a shadowy place
a catholic priest to gin up base
lanterns strung from bolted doors
cobbled streets and wooden floors  

stepping stones and iron bell
fortified by the citadel
hallowed halls and sepulcher
dragon cane for the horse drawn tour

castle turret,  archer holes
centaur scribed in chamber bowls
garden columns in courtyard view
the blood ballet and hullabaloo  

ancient tombs on warrior grounds
gods and saints who made their rounds
goliath still with battered scythe
knelt in prayer and mummified  

battle fires and crowds that roar
gallows, caves, abysmal war  
gargoyles flock the terraced *****
pearly gates to bring on hope  

serpents, snakes and burning ash
lava bombs and trident clash
mariners drift in absentee
as neptune rises from the Tyrrhenian Sea
John K Trainer May 2014
I Walk through the lonely ancient woods
And hear the voices from the Cedars of Lebanon
Whispering a truth known to all
But remembered by few

A felled branch reveals the wound
That smells of comfort and wisdom
Your knots are like the eyes of God
Scrutinizing my every intentions

I feel at ease as I rest in your strong arms
And think --
If I had a choice for a final resting place
It would be under your majestic feet
Silverflame Aug 2018
my old futile dreams
make the windows all misty
ripping up the seams
blood mixed with ancient whiskey

a smile around the corner
lures the naive mind
******* up the world order
another death wish signed

overhead, brick by brick
the november wind stands still
heart oozing of homesick
empty thoughts keep my glass refilled

delusions cover my sight
faraway lights blink with eager
fixing the crooked night
dinner with the grim reaper
A poem I wrote last year, which I someone managed to delete with my clumsy fingers.
Kris Oct 2017
The ancient bridge is alight with rage
burning bright like dragon's breath--
fierce, invigorating, brimming in age.

I.
she had been a structure of the primeval kind
wooden bones tied together with tendons of twine
and sweat the subtle scent of forest from pine.

a mother she had been to the lands that relied
on her undying presence throughout bodies of time,
their parted lips looking for a voice in their midst.

yet, it was not soft thanks nor words of praise
but instead scorn that was spat at her from the
toothless mouth whom she would steadily aid.

II.
loveless from the moment of her birth--built by force
hammering nails until they fit (and she bled)
wires strung tense above her, intended to strain.

and yet through it all she kept her balanced grace--
did not falter--not even from the howling remarks
of the de-hearted winds that carved scars through her;

not when the snow seasonally perched on her back,
refused to budge; filling her caves with ice, 'til the sun
melted them like tears, meanwhile searing her skin;

not wavered by the storm of steps--the most agonizing,
this relentless drum-beating, a headache’s throbbing
that never gave her even a heartbeat's rest.

III.
thus the flames became the sole love to taste her
intimate, attentive; the blaze left no part unsavored
they carefully consumed her whole, limb by limb.

first stroking her weary wings until they lowered;
blanketing her shivering legs that always stood firm
but, exposed, had wanted to be covered.

licking delicately the buckling belly that was worn raw;
what rapture! what warmth! a foreign feeling of awe
for it had heretofore only ever known violation as law.

and so at last the foundation creaked, fatigued;
her last breath (one she had been holding for eternity)
erupted as a half-happy cry, for she resolved to release;

the weight of sisyphean struggle collapsed piece by piece
and as the fire consumed her, all pressure was relieved--
for ashes perceive not burden--they are as light as dreams.
Be rooted
Grow up
Move on

But
This too will
Pass
Genre: Inspirational
Theme: Aura From The  Coconut Tree || In Search Of Balance
stopdoopy Oct 2018
A woman once
                                        Wished on star
                                        From lands afar

                              "Please oh please
                              Bright twinkling light
                              Give me a child tonight"

                    And the woman prayed
                    Every night for years
                    Her plea fell on deaf ears

          Until a goddess
          Who made me swoon
          Heard her tune;
          The Moon

Begging she had heard
The mother of Earth
The call answered
With a "birth"

          Transcending her planet
          Coming to ours
          In a pomegranate

                    Inside the botanic
                    Did she travel
                    Until cloth unravel

                              Child Delivered
                              To dainty hands
                              Such divine plans

                                        Celestial now infant
                                        Baby and parent
                                        Woman loves ancient
For Houkyou, the title is what my friend calls their daughter and the whole poem is based off of it.
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