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Shofi Ahmed Mar 2017
Touch me not
I am not up for grab
I am everyone's dream
I am happy as it’s
sing me not your lullabies!

Live with me not
I am not for good
time with me is
gone so quick.
Before the cloud
rains down singing
and one response to a tweet.
Then why complain
without happy me
nothing is groovy.

Come to me not
I am not
first come first serve.
But when I come
happy me is spot on
everyone’s rose!

I belong to no one
get me for a song
but in no time
I could be gone.
Then why no one
forgets me not?
mt Apr 2018
i don't really know what it feels like to be in love but i think the clouds look nice about an hour before sunset when it seems like everything is submerged underneath a blanket of cotton
or maybe in the morning, when the sky is so blue but the clouds are so sad and so soft like the froth that sits on top of my soda in the summertime when its hot
or right before a sunset when the clouds are dripping gold and the sky seems to soak up all of their honey, honey like the bottles tucked away in the pantry, honey like the eyes of the spiral-haired boy living across the street
and i sit and watch how beautiful the sky is from the sweet-smelling sheets of my bed or the lonely window in my classroom or the passenger seat of my father's car and think of how beautiful it must be to be in love
Steve Page Apr 16
not rooted,
not foundational,
but transitional,
I mean - tabernacle.
Following cloud and flame,
and restless for Jordan.

not stilted
not intellectual
but relational,
more than routine ritual.
Led by spirit, filled by flame
and restless for Jordan.
Flame is a constant.  God's presence is essential.
Chrissy May 31
While looking for the meaning of the stars in your eyes , I saw only her reflection in them
I knew I she had already become your moon
To you I was only a passing cloud
Hg Aug 2018
from the rose under her nose
a cloud of smoke made its escape

**** girl where you from, i asked
planet of the vapes?

a slow and hateful eye roll
traveled across the room

your jokes are the worst you know
you’re lucky that you’re cute
©Hg
Shofi Ahmed Jun 2017
Dancing the swelled
waves of the deep,
swimming clouds
leap out to reach
over the sunny sky.

Blow out a cool kiss
on the bank of the
blue Ganges of the skies.
The lips that kiss the bottomline
play the flute.
Listen, singing chorus rains down,
bouncing back to earth
the only open-through planet!
Jo Barber Jul 23
I feel light and fluffy,
like a pearl-colored cloud,
or like scrambled eggs
whipped to perfection
with butter and cream.

I feel joy everywhere,
even in the tiny crevices
**** feelings try
so hard to hide in.

There's a sun inside of me,
always,
but some days it's overcast
and rains for too long.
Today is different, though.

Light and life are one, and
the sky and the earth
divine and bewitching once more.
Feedback is always appreciated. :)
The smell of raindrops is like perfume.
Droplets bounce each and every passersby's umbrella,
mimicking the rhythm of their pulses.
It feels as if time is slowing down.
365 Poems for my 365 Days

5 of 365
KiraLili Sep 2016
The higher you trek up the thinner the air and thicker the mist
Forest get smaller as you ascend the stairs to Valhalla
Finally there are no more trees standing as you brush the last one
It's a hot summer day down below but cool at mile high
Gushing glacier fed water falls hammer overfilled drainages
Low laurel leaves bathe your boots in dew
Trails climb past these small deep stream side gorges
At these elevations your view plummets down the tight buttress valleys
Optic nerves are drawn to so many cascading vistas
Brow sweat is wiped by bandanas dipped in cold golden ponds
The snow is all gone but you can still see where it's weight smoothed mountains
Near the top of the craggy pinnacle is table top ledge
As if carved by the a larger hand
Butane hisses as coffee perks to a rolling boil
Steam from one tin cup joins the mountains mist
Thin air breaths slow from exertion
One sip of brew and you can hear the mountains exhale with you
Fisher Peak Kootenay Rockies mid 90s
Poetria Oct 31
the cloud escapes me
when i am far, it floats further away
when i am close, it is lost forever
what we see, then, is it true?

i try to find you
but you are far, and further
now you are closer, disappearing
soon, you are gone; you were never here
inspired by tyler lockwoods '5pm, last week of october')
Shofi Ahmed May 2017
Hold onto the little one.
Don’t spill the raindrop
Let it run, let it run!

The sun in a dew
dancing on the rose
let it roll out
a drop of the deep
on the ground.

Let it roll, let it dance.
Take your plunge
swim down the sea
only to sing high
fly out with the cloud!

Like in the sea
the spin is in a
drop of water.
Makes the heart sway.
Follow the river
to the west, the east
the north and the south.
It goes every way.
Shofi Ahmed May 2017
At last the sun is out and about
indulge in your piece of summer.

Today London in bloom
white clouds, white swans
roam out to the sky.
Welcoming the punters
the sun is rolling down.

Come never wonder,
for once, what they're worth.
Hop on, pop in, drop by
bask in London summer!
MeanAileen Mar 2017
It's my best friend,
and my nightmere-
it's all that I love
and everything I fear.
It's my fulfillment,
my bottomless sorrow-
bringing dark thoughts
of no tomorrow.
It's my strength,
my greatest plight-
this evil addiction
I try to fight.
It's my oblivion,
my heartbreaking pain-
a toxic cloud
that's killing my brain.
It's my protection,
my paranoid lies-
the Devil himself
in crystal disguise.
It's my sanity,
my endless strife-
this methamphetamine
destroying my life.
It's my reality,
my make-believe bliss-
I just never imagined
I would end up like this....
Truth be told....
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2017
I
A flower that smells of pure bliss keeps an ear to the ground
It's a serene one sitting beneath the stars down on earth
The moon, far, far, seven seas away, loves to drop into her lap.

The Bay of Bengal billows, music has gotten beneath the skin.
The leaves furl out off the deep wood with the birds
singing out to the top of the trees, rhyming with the leafy dance.
Heavensent, that was in one sanguine day in the spring.
The Mother’s Language Movement in 1952 sprouted like this
on the eighth of native Falgun month—oh magic did it unleash!

On that day our beloved brothers were shot dead
They could swallow the bullets with smiles but won’t give up
demanding the official status for the Bangla mother tongue.
Angels wrapped round the martyrs amid lamenting mothers
Laid them on Falgun’s perfumed ground bleeding corpses
Seas of roses bloomed and blew them out red, red kisses!

They are gone not the stone wall of consciousness they raised
Ah, at the sprout of the spring what were they echoing?
Ingrained deep in the soil the pre-designing voice in the planning?
Who can tell? The world gels on February 21 in celebrating!

The angels then snapped up our martyrs’ souls off the land,
placed them on a piece of Heaven where they can hear the jingle.
Down on earth, a nation springs up, has gotten its wake up call!
Stepping on the sweetening arc of the mother tongue melody
the stone turns a flower, all in a butterfly moment soaring to victory.
Thanks to the movement - Bangladesh itself later comes to be!

II
The sun comes down to the rose painting on the land
In the heavenly Falgun hues it nibbles some wild summer dreams.
“Serene songs of earth stirring the water,” like it comes into play,
rowing the cloud bubbles singing in southern breeze.
Ah, a walk on the sun-kissed kaleidoscope land is a pure bliss.  
Every blossom spray of the wind is soothing sweet
Hop on and play straight to the ruby heart, as if it's a flute.

Mother tongue means speak free, fearless, in full streaming.
Speak the heart to the world without the fear of losing the cloud
that will listen, bouncing back on the brink of the sky river.
Then what did one say, hear, or was awed by in the blooming Falgun?
Could it have been the spring humming in her native lingua
or King David singing in mother tongue by babbling brooks
what in any other language, even with a silver tongue, isn’t possible?

Allah has listened to our martyrs’ crying mothers and fathers
The martyrs’ souls whisk through the galaxies and starry fair.

Soar high over the clouds, take the rainbow's *** of gold away,
Like a hue turns 360-degree in the colourwheel bask into the colour.
Still, dip the toes in Bangla mother’s soil salted with perfumed art
Like Himalayan water swirling down melting deeper deep down
This magicland is polished for everyone be it you, a fairy, a star
or off the ploughed-out barrow a walked out wonder!

A pristine voice duo’s voiceprint gleans to the spring in muse,
Pops in a beauteous scurry and speaks in the mother tongue!
Hidden within the earthy depth, only emerges with time,
only dances in tangent, that day slipped out with the butterflies.
And finally the blue nymphs take the plunge drop down the sky  
That day the mother’s voice triumphed, whose is the most original!
This is a poem from my book Zero and One available on Amazon.
Logan Robertson Oct 2017
A rain of bullets hit Las Vegas, leaving blacken skies
From disgraceful clouds of a loose cannon.
From the first 911 call to storm's demise
72 minutes downfall took human companions.

For them, life for one minute enjoying country songs
In the unbridled company of each others innocence.
Then good faith served the merry goers wrong
As the concert venue became the tomb of dissonance.

It hurts my heart to follow this story unfold
Of the climbing death toll, making this the worst ever.
Harder to imagine a mass killer cut from this mold
Of being so heartless and desensitized to life he severs.

To the victims accept my cries of condemning this worm
While paying homage to harmonious humans imparted from the eyes of the storm.

Logan Robertson

10/4/17
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2017
Tomorrow we have all
the good reasons to wake.
The earth’s column
down the sky will stay high!
  
The same old first light will break out,
unveiling once more the face of earth.
Log on now it’s present,
don’t let it vanish away!

Many a time rallies of clouds
shroud the blue sky.
There is no need for anyone
then just to turn away.

The stars too illume
the sky with dim lights.
Maybe the chaste moon
then comes out swimming low
in the orb of the night.
So the sun, too, for a while
goes off into the hide.
Only to show up soon and align
above the earth’s column.

Atop a blooming new dawn
with the rose facing the sun
aligning to it’s shining polished line
passes through the present time.
So don’t just let it slip away!
A slender white cloud,
tells wind its tale, dissolves!
The sky's smile vanishes.
em Feb 8
i am like a gray cloud
not pretty in this sky.
i disappoint and displeasure
all the passerby.
this depression
is not a "this" thing
it just
is.

its me.
Sharon Talbot Jul 2018
Doctor Larch peers out the window,
Pulling aside brocaded curtains to hide
The grief that he will not show,
The rending emptiness he feels inside.

As his son Homer rides past the sunset,
Not knowing where he goes
But aspiring to see the wide world,
The ocean at Mount Desert,
Seeing wonder in the expanse
And worlds inside a circle of glass.

He has taken with him his heart,
A dark picture of frailty.
He finds unexpected work in an orchard,
Leisurely harvesting round, garnet jewels.
The nomads, dark and wary,
Ask him to read about death and stars.

There are rules for the workers.
And Homer finds that they apply
To no one, neither nomads or
Curious young men.
He sees in the errant father
The reflection of his own,
The man who made him good.
“You are my work of art”
He wrote.

Like an artist with his painting,
Who resists giving it away,
So Doctor Larch holds on to him
Hoping his adolescence ends
And he returns.
Finding peace at the last.

The lack of rules bring about a sea change,
Allowing forbidden love and pain.
He ventures out once more into the vacuum
Of conscience set free,
He devises his own rules about the womb
And how to help those in agony
But eventually…

With all the rules now open,
There is nothing left for him to do.
So he boards the migrant truck
Just as the pilot returns, broken.
He watches the struggle with a wheelchair
Sees his lover watch him with her yellow hair
Knows her future, years of sacrifice.
And he admits at last
That he has a purpose,

The train to St. Cloud huffs slowly away,
With Homer standing in the wet snow.
There is the old asylum,
The orphanage and home on the hill,
Almost black, with the sunset behind,
Homer begins the long climb.
He approaches slowly.

But then, a burst of laughter
And children from the door
Flock around him, dancing, shrieking,
Some holding him like an errant dog,
Who must be told to stay.
“Will you stay?” they ask.
“I think so,” he smiles in irony.
He is home at the last.
I wrote this while watching "The Cider House Rules", one of my favorite films. Homer realizes that his life on his own is not that much different than it was at St. Cloud, yet it's much emptier.
Girl Oct 23
I’m trapped in a cloud with everyone inside
But you’re outside the cloud
And I can’t reach you
Only if I break trough the cloud
But there’s so much pressure
That it’ll take time
So much time that you might be gone when I’ve reached the outside
But with people on the same side
And others still trapped inside the cloud
CK Baker Oct 2017
dust cloud heavy
in an apricot sky
cottonwood mucker
under ambrose pale
whippet and shepherd
mill at the earth patch
yellow birch hangs
over red bench park

combine shavings
in crack rust brown
scissors chips
fall to the back stop
whiskey jack looters
sing patented chords
siblings (and 2 wheel enthusiasts)
give thanks

joyous retrievers
master the criss cross
bare maples stand
at settlers way
barred owl and blue jay
whistle the fore-wind
ghosts
and goblins
pull at the seeds

wind gusts belt
over the west gulch
blood rush churns
in a chilling fall morn
hallowed grounds still
at the midday
quiet reflections
of the afghan
and hound

jumpers unite
at the oxbow
route runners bend
(on a sultry foray!)
meadows exposed
in the framework
ball park empty
with pennants past

barrel dirt favors
the brew house
crimson and copper
find bracken ridge gate
harvest hands savor
the honey and hops
blankets of color
for a winter's hatch

brush fire kept
under steady peruse
bark bites fly
and embers glow
pine cones drop
from timber tops
3 wick candles
set the dinner place

shiver and ******
at the piper's call
cob web dew
on shadowy gates
a chilled mist mellows
the season's return ~
poets and artists
and dreamers awake
Shofi Ahmed Aug 2017
Singing up on the fly,
the sea touches the cloud.
Dancing on the ground,
it won't slip off the floor,
it won’t drop a drop!
Curiously algorithmic,
runs on the go,
leaps or dips, but never
is a gone goose!
Ah, holy smoke,
what did you drop?
Outside Words Sep 2018
My breath beat shallow at a chest of stone as I looked out
At all of our houses that seemed so small from whence I stood
The sky’s true and radiant blue, I discovered at this altitude
Cloud rings spiraled down, the sun beams reflected off my goggles -
And my arms felt stiff, strapped into wings of enchanted brass
     When all of a sudden a gust swept –
          Me from the tip of my ride with such haste!
          From a cloud boat I dropped and gasped for my life!
          Cyclones of wind paddled my body and blew back my hair…
From a tumble, to falling with such grace,
I soared with a smile over my tiny little city -
And yearned at the horizon in its majesty -
     This moment and its treasures I had stolen for me.
© Outside Words
faith Sep 2017
random words spilling out,
a nine kilometer cloud,
it is something that i must shout out,
it wasn't until the final bow,
when i realized that life is so short,
i think i need to abort,
not a baby,
just reality,
for a while make me smile,
a nine kilometer cloud,
it made me frown,
it pulled me down,
a nine kilometer cloud
complete randomness message if you want to know how i came up with the title :) -Faith
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