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Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
Sitting in Circular Quay in a bistro on a warm winters day
dreaming while watching the tourists and ships sail by.
As I eat oysters and drink the day in with my wine,
past memories wash over me.

Morning teas, chats, and paper bark trees,
hikes through the bush and walks along the beach.
Watching dolphins play at dawn
and fishing the waters on New South Wales shores.

The Harbor Bridge alight with Bicentennial Fireworks;
a surreal beginning to this adventure.
Wringing every drop from days spent,
finding a new world with each step.

Discovering myself through the wisdom and eyes of you,
maturing, becoming my own.
Like family, you’ve been both mentor and friend,
carrying me through fire and back.

My life was undone as I first saw your shore.
Feeling my heart would break
with our first goodbyes,
unknowing that an permanent bond had been forged.

Tracing back over the years since we met,
I’ve been given more than my share.
Making me ponder how I have been blessed,
to count you as a true friend.
All poems are copy written and soul property of Vicki Kralapp.
At rest, the motions seem sublime,
as we prepare our circular climb;
The winding 'round of colors' whims,
beneath the rock's exotic gems.

As the tale entrusted to our elders,
life's epic journey starts to smolder;
The planet's rage urges from its core,
and soon our days will be no more.

So moving quickly to escape our fate,
from the destiny of trials and hate;
Now gathering missives from the sun,
no longer fooled by anyone.

We face the climb just as we must,
before our hearts turn into dust;
and cheering on are clouds of rain,
Which spill onto our wounds with pain.

But then we see the course return,
exempting souls from hurt and scorn;
While climbing high yet much too far,
we've failed to capture heaven's star.
Keeping our 'eyes on the prize' can be dangerous ! Proceed with caution.
That summer glow is on the horizon
and in the humid night air
I'm here trying
to learn to speak, not to spit
verses
but to utter truths. Trying to
find my voice without losing myself.
So here's what went down between me and
myself as we looked upon the town.

I spoke into the glimmer of its lights
and told it my deepest fears
and most tenuous hopes
and I let my feelings
flow forth as my voice
made quiet my mind.
I uttered a few words as
if they might make a man
realise who I am, and I had a moment
or two before I asked myself what'd become of my time.
I saw myself sitting in a room, all day
for many months, years,
A lifetime,

And thought to myself what a waste
and wished my voice was clear, confident, lucid
and longed for the authenticity and courage I'd stifled
and wanted my mind to be together, smooth, whole
and begged for the strength to make it through the months
and remembered those aimless summers past, lethargy
and apathy with a sentiment that almost bordered on fondness
and wondered at that trick: how wrong it is
to be wistful when memory is so selective.
Better to look to the future
with sincere notions of adventure
and convictions on how to regain one's
soul;
Let go some of your self-control.
Delia Darling Sep 2018
As I stand here, outside my work building
stealing a smoke break
I wonder about God and the universe
and how much happier it makes me feel
to believe in other things

That the sun was a running man
chasing the stars in that endless black
run man
run fast
run free
but freedom only gets you
slipping and sliding in circular leaps
around our earth, almost like
a clumsy mouse in a stationary wheel
and these sneaky stars
always one step ahead at sunrise
or at his heels in sunset

My mom’s a Catholic woman
she won’t believe in the running man
her stars are not stars, no
her stars are rosaries in purses and
priest’s words
taught words
holy words
but holy words are also
human words, are they not?
It never made sense to me
that a person could live their whole life
repenting it

But then again,
my dad used to have me work in our yard,
picking the weeds outside
and he let me treasure them in a vase
he never called them weeds,
they were always
dandy-flowers
wishing flowers
wildflowers
but wild only gets you
believing in the sun and
keeping shrubs in vases
All of which suit me, because

In the lonely nights of endless black,
I have the company of my own stars
and when holy words of weeds fall back
I remember that—
wild humans are only wildflowers
Just some random thoughts induced by an insignificant smoke break
Shofi Ahmed Jan 27
Zero is enduring
zero is deathless.
Nothing is up to it
none can mirror it
though forever
it's an open case.
The eyes are yet to
see an open face!

Because like it's
nothing is in perfect shape
purely a perfect circle!
Nothing matches it
as like Fathima is none else!

Ever more sprawling pi decimals
never go unnoticed propelling
to the end surge before her.
Before the original one
Fathima is yet to be mirrored.

All the planets turn circular
before the unseen perfect circle.
Fathima nails it snapped it up
circled it with her hair!
Before the furthest sighted eyes,
the dot at the earth's centre
at its pool of primitive water.

Fathima embeds in a loop of her hair
thus supercharges the water!
It finds the cut, the golden ratio,
constant continuity in her hair's inner flow.
And the Big Bang happened
there, their breakthrough!
The potential worlds to be
from the first drop of water
she gets them all buzzed out.
From down the rock bottom,
from the zero null
Fathima finds and raises the sun!

Nothing is comparable to it on the ground
nor up on the high, we only see the fire
of a heavenly phenomenon is beyond the sight!
zebra Aug 2018
a curved pastry
like a prune danish
in a sway
a weaving kiss
anointed by a melting stick of butter,
pushed and puddled
deep and slow

the shape of a heart
with a hole in the middle
ooow dark fig
stinking rose
a comfort that sweetens with the grace of form
and pops like a trigger releasing a bullet

i covet
with eyes like erections
pants sticky wet
hot glue factory
for you love, my *** angel
red skin girl gaping
with circular yearning set in motion
tarnished petal mix meister
sinful hot house
for quaking tongue and lips,
a wild cherry *** kisser
spiked ***** blushing
lord of ****
solar ******* hero
flexed and oiled
to the rescue
a god send
triumphant and blessed
looks like a fast cigarette boat
hitting the speed bumps hard

she said yes please
dip like
nautilus of the black sea

What?

no loitering
no parking
not a through street

haahaahaa

****

that

****
adult ***
the ***** don't lie
and every word is a small miracle
Life* often speaks in rhythm & blues
whispering trumpets to bended ears, while reminding us
that smiles belong only in photographs; and tears
behind the curtain of an indifferent face

We walk fine
lines, between tragedy
and genius, lines so rarely straight
we seek balance in mediocrity
and solitude in unfinished lives

We become incomplete puzzles
forcing squares into circular places
by tearing away pieces of the whole
and conforming to the empty spaces

some things were never meant to be changed

We place people into boxes, neatly organizing them
by the
labels* we give their cracks and flaws
seldom ever realizing that *broken has a beauty all it's own
, and...

*some things were never meant be mended
Christian Ek Aug 2014
The infinite movement of the universe expanding.
Time, the guiding phoenix.
Is it circular? Is it linear ?
Why is time endless but yet can vanish in an instance ?
Time, you hurry me with your impatience.
Why do we waste you time without caution in mind.
Will I continue to live once my time runs out?
Am I living right now?
Give me more Time.
Third Eye Candy Apr 2013
Gemini in seasonable  evening,
serenely swirling in Septemberous
ferris wheels
reeling in the vast domain
of lonesome leviathans
and witch-fires;
nowhere bound in the boundless fecundity
[ the feral joys of creation... ]
twins
meander in gravity's
well of souls,
swollen with unknowns and proteins;
golden rods in pointless foam
brewing the elixir vitae
in the Dippers cup. the Milky Way,
a wayward gush
from an ancient Mother Goddess,
plump and shameless, pumping teats
to nurse worlds
infused with divine rays of gamma and x...
why set dark apart
from firmament burning
spheres?

dragons
must clutch eggs in the void
as much
as fork tongue white dwarfs.
of course, the Source
unfolds
as  Love does. it's purpose,
in thrall of fearless veracity,
spinning yarns for glad garments
to clothe the naked dread
of such fearful symmetries
as roam the wild delights
of the infinite
meringue.

the Pi
on the window sill,
tempting the circular frame of reference
to square with the sublime Will.
another Fibonacci in your
bedpost,
to better hobnob with
broomsticks.
everything annihilates hatred.
from within,
we sojourn to sovereign super-continents
of opulent peace.
profound realities surge serpentine
with Meaning.
we are outdone on the inside by small minds
and farcical
hearts.

so at night
look up.

Love's Tongue Is
Love's
Word.
Day
Slumbering on and off
I must have dozed into a side street
My memory on a go slow
Having vacated the premises
Beads rolled and filled the gaps
Settling into the spaces in my head
Overflowing into folds of the pillow
Their circular bodies probing my cheeks
Pulling faces at me in disturbance
The light switch to my brain remained off
The beads multiplied, the pillow
Like a giant bead bean bag
Impacted its air bag mode
Wham....I was awake
Not knowing for a moment quite what day it was
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
The wood is stacked for winter.
One way out of the mind's limitations
is through other minds' contemplations.
The books are stacked for winter.

Yet even that cannot satisfy.
Failing to hold still for meditation
my teacher smiles, makes this observation:
The purpose of sitting's not to be satisfied

or satiated. Remain hungry,
cold, uncomfortable and counting enemies.
These, and fear, are our commonalities,
and the discipline of not hitting whenever angry.

You'll appreciate dying
quietly at home. Whichever season has been randomly selected will be
      beautiful as ever
as a molecule of water is to all matter.
"In my life there were always too many things."

If there is no time, only change
the linear becomes circular.
Do not say north or south. You're
within the winter range

of chickadee, hawk, owl and heron.
River grapes, rose hips, the cedar waxwings'
repast. Their talk is my reminding
there is change and endurance.
www.ronnowpoetry.com
Onoma Dec 2016
Breath is never
baited, its sea has
already parted.
In its place a mountain
stands, a man lain across
its peak.
There exposed, what bone
may box a breast,  O dear Mother--
never off kilter.
Therefrom a thread so gold, marrow
met skin, up and away...
a steady pull by the tail end
of an angel.
Relative as the bent forefront of love's law,
where all reunion leaves no remnant.
To find a faith so becoming, space leaves
room for space verging on itself.
How blue the pearl, how circular
the sky of its sea...how golden grows
the thread that breaks with every breath.
Mike Groves Jun 2018
This thing I thought I could grasp,
Desperately I try to hold on to it,
This thing I never truly had,
I knew this illusion couldn’t last,

It disappears as soon as we reach for it,
It’s as thin as the mountain air,

For a moment we lie to ourselves,
placing it safely and securely on a shelf, "I can keep this here and never let it go."
Even though it is a forced perception,
A contrived illusion ,the world's largest deception,
Once we leave the room...
As soon as we lock and bolt the door...
we will not be able to see it anymore.

We never realize the freedom there is in letting go,
understanding that no matter what we do, the answer may still be no.

We would be happier admitting this concept is completely fictitious.
We could break this circular pattern, this cycle so vicious.

I've spent too much time trying to hold it in my hands,
Making myself the victim of my own laid out plans.
Andje Mar 2018
Maybe I’ll get tired of running
Around my circular room (around
My head) and when I give in
I’ll be empty and correct
: )
I exist; morning oasis,

Counting down to the new year.

Insomnia hits.

All- Nighter.

Writing, reading until dawn.

I can't sleep, voices.

: )

I talk, I laugh,

why am I here, how did I become-

Darkness pools. Scars of light.

I rose into the earth.

: )

I'm fine, happy

what do you mean?

No, that really is me.

I pulled my teeth out.

: )

Have you seen loneliness? With dark circular eyes.

This red air smells sickeningly sweet.

Limbs over there, like my store bought lilies,

freshly cut.

: )

What is sad is this,

that you're forever happy,

forever right, forever free,

in the shadows,

beneath your sightless dreams

: )
Poetria Nov 2017
quiet, stolen brightness
oh, it doesn't belong to me
but this sky is your black ceiling,
I'm just trying to be seen
and I see you-
I see you-
I see you shying away, yes
every few days, there's less,
every month the same cycle,
over and over again
and you don't know
how much is too much
and you don't know
when you'll be enough
and you're stuck
cutting those pieces
and you struggle
to bring them back
back to largeness,
back to circular-
insecurity,
phases of the moon,

and the Sun does smirk
in the morning blue.
write this whole thing solely for the last two lines? does that make sense?
Life when we first arrive... With no memory of our lies...

Humans running in a constant loop.

Subjectivity, granted as the dauntless.  

Circular statures of reason they're quite comedic,

these predicaments involve dancing with the seasons.

Constantly UNintrested.

Things are easily forgotten

I am the ONLY one who has witnessed the problem?

If you're amazed by THAT colorful imagery

well your life is too simple to me.
what is life to an estranged fisherman who catches shells
but knees held up by strings
sullied and winterbleak
and armless orions
and bar-of-red-soap memories
marred inside a confetti tin can?

i am programmed for a slap or two
down at the old public yard sale
where two cents buys a soul
and a thousand useless words

i have lifted all my woes
from inside the battery cavity
of all my clocks
how they ticked and tocked

and every spring upon the
arrival of ants and mildew
i fold myself into a paper swan
perched atop atticjunk
seen from the circular window
stiff and sullen
Tempus Fugit:

Nought is eternal,
Nox is ephemeral,
And
The Charred Canvas
Of
The Night Sky
(Noctis Lucis Caelum,
Scala Ad Caelum)
Bedarkened & besmirched, bespeaks
A
Love-Worn Wayward, Wayworn.

In the
Citadel
Of mine
Temporal Heart
Time
Streams infinitely
As an
Exhalation of The Ethereal One.


The Chronology of
The Arbiter of Fates
Shalt Destine,
Herald Eternitas
Upon
The Phantasmagoric Horizon
Of
Mine Mind's Sky
Wondering
Upon
Days of Yore.

(The Hither,
The Thither,
And
The Morrow.)

These
Luminescent Children are
Are born
To wax Luminaries
Then,
Wax Nebulous
For all eternity.

O, Metempsychosis;
Born of
Edicts Unseen,
Of that
Which was,
Is,
&
Will Be.

(For
All things
Are
Circular & Cycling,
Existentially.)

We were conceived
Infinitely
To
Infinity
And beyond.

Let He, Let She
Whose
Ears & Eyes
Of
The Unuttered Anima
Be unstopped, unfurled
To resonations:

Deep within.
The Emerald Lifestream Anew
Dost begin.

The Sovereign of Songbirds sings
Esprit d' amour
To those who wait.

(Se' Lah.)
Cosmic Reverberations
from
The Cosmo-Plexus of Empyreal Love,

The Communal Oneness
Tethering
The Denizens
Of
The Macrocosm

&

May You All
Effloresce
In the
Aeonic Light
of
The Empyrean One.

~Excelsior Forevermore~

-Sanders Maurice Foulke III-
Joel A Doetsch Mar 2014
I'm looking deep into her eyes

Looking into her eyes...
is like opening a door that leads...
to another door


Wait..really?  OK...I open the door.

This door leads to a long, winding path,
like the winding path of your love.  
The path leads to a third door


O...K. I open the door.

This door leads to a spiral staircase
descending down, down, down,  deep
into her soul.
At the bottom of the staircase is--


A door?

A door.

I open the door

The door is locked.  The key might be under the mat

Seriously?  I check under the mat

Nope, not there.  Maybe try under the small rock next to the door

Oh for the love of...I check the rock

There is a key

Wonderful...I unlock and open the door

Inside this door is a large atrium
the glass ceiling giving way to a
beautiful summer night, the stars
twinkling in the distance.  At the
far end of the Atrium, there is a curtain


Sigh I pull aside the curtain

There is a door

Come on!  I open the ruddy door.

You find yourself in a long hallway,
with fine art hanging along the walls.
Crimson carpet lines the floor.
At the end of the hall is a door  locked
with a combination biometric
fingerprint scanner/retinal scanner


What.

You have 10 seconds to unlock the door
before the hunter-bots de-atomize you


What!?  Ok! I try my fingerprints and eye!

The door unlocks and the hunter-bots stand down.
In the next room are three vials.  Two of them contain
terrible neuro-toxins that will lead to an excruciatingly
painful death.  The third will allow you to continue on
to the next room.  You have 30 seconds to choose before
you are terminated


What the hell is this!?

This is the path to true love hidden deep in her eyes

No, this is insanity!

15 seconds

OK!  Geez!  Umm..Vial Number 2!

You're totally dead

Oh god!

Just kidding.  None of them had poison...was just messing with you

THAT'S IT!  I'M DONE WITH THIS

Really?  There's only one more door.  I swear

...Fine.  What ridiculous thing do I need to do to open it.

It's already open.  You find yourself in a circular room
with a pedestal in the center.  On the pedestal is a hand
written note.  On that note is the key to everlasting happiness


I pick up the note

You smell sweet hints of your beloved's perfume and
notice the care that each word of the note was written.


What does the note say?

My love:

Next Tuesday Only --  Buy One-Get One Free at J.J's Pizza.  Cannot be combined with any other offers/coupons.  Must present coupon upon purchase.  Expires 1/14/14


...An expired coupon for Pizza?

Such a wonderful expression of love!

How do I get out of here...

You see a door
.
nadine Dec 2017
in the middle of the vast calm sea someone threw a bottle with people locked in there instead of a letter. the sea was in chaos after the bottle came. but crashing waves wavered no bottle, storms broke no tiny vessel. rather than calling it tough, the bottle fought because it was scared. no more.
escape. don't we all just want to escape from the bottle-
the suffocating bottle where you meet various people with different personalities, we never realize but we sometimes try to please.
win. don't we all just want to win the battle - the tiring battle between what kind of person you really are
a beautiful rose with thorns
from what kind of person you try to be
the circular puzzle piece for a rectangle-shaped puzzle quiz.
don't we all just wanna ruin our bottle and be who we are -stunning, unique, mysterious or what your personality is in the calm sea where you can be free
break free
this has been
nadine x
Dawn Jul 2014
Tear drops over tree tops
Splash and lets play

Grief withers away
Because change is coming
And yesterdays have left

Crying for what's yet
Drops for past wishes

Moan
Won't forget the sun
Gasp, hot lovin'
Just to feel enough

Shimmer
Times have come
And will be gone
Except for today
Everything just begins

Feathers dropping
Flowers blooming
Glittery pink skies
Hearing birds cry
Watching the moon rise
Cold night skies

Hold close
Won’t forget
Before it sinks
It isn't happening yet
But yesterday has come
And now it's went

Breathe

Grown deep
Sink and wave
Dancing today
Free falling tomorrow
Now smiles
No end...

Circular motions
Closing ceremonies
Yule tide greetings
New Moons
Creations create
Intentions, ready- set
Let's begin again
Mary Gay Kearns Jun 2018
I saw you fill the park
Tall and grey
Like Gandalf
A book of spells to hand
And cloaked against the rain.

Long strides across grass
Pink shirted king
A circular crown
Shoes trodden down
Waiting for the Wedding to end.

Love Mary for Roger ***
The Dedpoet Oct 2018
Inventing the day,
Circular possessions,
All I own cannot be touched,

Everything lost in a fire,
Blazing nocturnal,
The slab of marble becomes
A tin marker,

Watching with stillness
As fleshes mesh with time,
     A poet remains:
The spherical elimination
   Casting lights on dark
I find my axis
      I find myself the epitome
And the footsteps
      In the puddles resound
In my minds echoes;
My body is a transparent verse,
        Night unfolds , I
Can see myself again.

      Listen to me as you listen
To the water,
     I am the unhindered thunder,
The shadow in the light's
     Ignorant glow,

      From my footsteps rise the
Steam,
I am still The DedPoet,
    As you sleep in your bed
I invent my new homes:
   Nightly I bocome a
Poem of The Nocturne.
The arrival of the night on distant shores,
completes the cycle of relentless waning hours;
In circular repeat of day's end glories,
we softly whisper life's reflective stories.

With moonlit skies as constant company,
our feelings caught in wondrous reverie;
And love is but a boastful source of care,
when suddenly the sky grows dark and bare.

But in the swirling essence of the night,
we set about to make our memories right;
In tossing sway the rumbles of the waves,
allow us to submit to what we've craved.

Approaching dawn with sunlight from above,
finally satiated by passion's whirlwind love;
Our shadows fall like twins upon the beach,
as knowing smiles creep gently 'cross our cheeks.
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