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MeanAileen Aug 2017
***** *** and cigarettes
bad decisions, no regrets.
Painted lips and fingertips
lace, leather, gags and whips.
Cheap motels, steamy nights
sweaty flesh and candlelights.
Pushing limits, breaking rules
naked dips in swimming pools.
Getting high while living low
riding rails, pure white snow.
Playing games & telling lies
the look of lust in lovers eyes.
Rendevouz in seedy places
sloppy kisses, hot embraces.
Ménage à trios, or even four!
Anything goes behind locked door...
Shots of Jack make it all alright-
just another dirt-bag night.
50% fiction...
Shofi Ahmed Mar 21
Spring upon the rose
live on the flow.
Be wrapped in the fragrance
touch it not.
Let it be without a form
even in the invisible dark
shows up a moon.
And believe it or not
that all perfect sweet spot
planet paradise could be the next stop.
Like the flower thins out into the fragrance
ah, these finest wings know no bound.

The butterfly paradise slips out is on the fly
wafts into the enduring scent of a paint so bold.
Lo, on its picturesque wings it has all the eyeballs
where does it reach out to no one knows.
It's on the other side of the pool
only the Queen Fathima knows that sweet spot!

No one tolerates any pause is deadly on this route
here death is unknown but none can touch the bottom!
It’s a Mount Sinai scenario no eyeball
can withstand the dazzling beauty enduring long.
Yet it’s immaculately spotless every soul shines out all in all
that shuffles on these secret alleyways of God!

Pans out to the horizontal spread
and feels deep dips into the depth.
Flower in the fire, the sea in a drop of water
Hewn beauty Fathima is the far cry
water nymph amidst the mesmerised burnt-flock.
The resident handsome swan in heaven
on the constantly flowing riverfront  
keeping it on its toe!
yv Jun 2018
The warmth is now gone from your side of the bed
and my  body is missing the cuddles you give on rainy days.

your scent has left the room, but the echoes of your laughter remains. I'm not used to sleeping alone anymore.

I miss how the bed dips on your side 'cause of your heavy weight,
and how you became my blanket, my pillow, and a shoulder to cry on.

I hate that I miss you, that I took you for granted, I didn't treasure the moment. I took what we had for granted,
and I regret it.

I miss you, and how my heart used to burn too.
never take anyone for granted
Shofi Ahmed Sep 2018
Bud of the winter dew on lips grow,
Snowy boughs surrounding began to unfold,
'Spring it shall flower' you must travel along, to see
When she will flower and in her very first glance,
Shall innovate the ether lapis-lazuli sky,
And the glamorous sun in her luminous dews,
She will cast her gaze towards the infinity,
And the veiled spring-night of tender full-moon,
With millions of star thriving, will be reflected upon;
She will whisper to the sleeping morning breeze,
And that will wake dancing the primrose's aroma,
Smoothly waving over the green meadows!

Who will let it be freely, purely, organic!
In whose innovate warm touch shall dissolve,
Poor winter's covering upon the earth,
Hence, once again green earth shall cast,
A glance to its vernal zenana,
Beneath the sunny sky wherein the air,
Shall sniff the aroma of the radiant rose,
And the birds shall tour around,
Singing the song of freedom!

Endure, yet she is beyond the gaze of the sky!
Now a season poor as she has flown away,
Gone to address the assembly of the Angels!
Therefore, accepting an invitation from the fairies,
To have a bath in their lotus-pool, prior to flight.
Hence, delighted fairies all flew to the palace,
To give the news to Queen Mab!

And soon a while after they return,
Around the pool, they greeted and sang,
The spring while she steps into the pool,
They sing and dance, hail the spring:

'The troublesome thorn mingled into itself,
The long ugly arm has collapsed pieces itself,
And the beauty has broken through!
Behold! The shining sun under her shadow!
The beauty by her grace fathomless,
Gorgeous she looks, rosy winsome!
Make all dance her awakening fragrance,
Tenderness she breaths, and caresses the bliss,
With a heart of endless love,
Vivifies the file, pleasant, dynamic!'

Meanwhile, the maid of honour came with the news,
They wanted to hear 'the Houris too shall join them.'
Yet they are flowering themselves alike as they gaze,
Upon the adoring scene of divine, winsome, paragon, fashions,
Impressionist hairs of the Queen of Paradise!
Where lay upon the Throne, and youthful streams,
Flowing, surrounded by, and canopied by the sky
Of glory garnished by the millions of the divine artisans!
There the sun care greatest and offers harvest lights,
And now, she comes to the streams, she shall swim.
Therein the never fading water-lily will please her sight,
She will listen to the divine birds of joyfulness,
Singing the songs of the blissful souls,
In the name of the all praiseworthy,
The perpetual Creator, Allah.
As she will innovate the songs,
And the innovative image of the eternal creations,
Will be bestowed upon the spring and all the houris,
Shall greet the spring as they will pour
Flowery rain over the fairies' pool!

Listen, the angels sing 'Lo, the spring, '
Again and again, as she dives into the fairie's pool,
And dips out up to the earth! See for yourself:
As youthful as ever with the sun shining on her forehead
And the day on her flowers, with her the earth is radiant
Her soil is perfumed, she belongs to paradise!
M Salinger Jul 2018
The sun dips,
behind the mountain,
behind the treeline,
into the
blue

The way I wish you would.

Your eyes,
the colour of evergreens
drenched in dawn
& gilded

the afterglow,
the embers of the day
fading & strong,
reminding me of another
day, with you
& without you

I know, you know
no one is
perfect,
but, do you
know?

Here?
In Here?

I'm scared this might be the
closest
any one of us gets

Here.
You & me.

Dive into the
fear
so I can take your hand
& walk barefoot
while everyone we love
sleeps,
while the night cools the
earth
& we're drunk off the
scent
of a true midsummer night's
dream

When will you finally
tell me,
certain as the dew
that kisses the morning,
that the only lips
you want mine to
touch
are yours?

Because I can feel your
rhythm,
the way a breeze can tell of a
storm

Lean into me.

As we take in the
beauty
that surrounds us,
so I can put my head on your shoulder
& rest easy
hearing your heart beat

Because mine
beats for
you.

Tell me you'll find me
when the time is
right

Because I'll wait for you.

The endless
grey abyss of winter,
painful & biting & testing
I'll wait for you like
I wait for
spring

Full of promises & possibilities
& life

So dig deep.
Because you are
worth
enduring all this
time
in between.

Because you are the
deep evening sky
& I am the coral clouds
as the sun dips,
behind the mountain,
behind the treeline,
into the
blue
Inspired by the great beauty of British Columbia and how it's grandeur and imposing nature can be reminiscent of imperfect love
Bus Poet Stop May 2015
"Many a physics graduate student has gnashed her teeth in frustration over the mathematics of general relativity. Perhaps she should try envisioning a flat, boundless desert, with rocks of various sizes scattered across its surface, whose mass creates dips of various depths in the sand. A sturdy canopy looms over that desert, stretched tightly over a skeleton of tent poles linked by bars, matching the rises and dips in the sand beneath it. The desert is all the matter and energy in the universe, while the canopy is the geometry of space-time. The poles and bars are the equations of general relativity, connecting the stuff of the universe with the shape of the universe. As Halpern writes: “Mass and energy warp space-time, telling it where and how to curve. The shape of space-time, in turn, governs how things move within it.”
-------------------------------------------------------
My mass and my energy are both warped, so the where's and the how's and the eyes of my curves are the poles and the bars of behind which I relentlessly cease to exist, only to seize what lies beyond the constraints of time and space, as eye wait for the bus to stop in the No Standing zone
The Bus Poet
Stop!
http://www.nytimes.com/2015/05/03/books/review/einsteins-dice-and-schrodingers-cat-by-paul-halpern.html?ref=review
mariamme Sep 2018
i sit and stare out across my lap
the dips and valleys, where your head once rested softly
skin like pillowed silk against a stubbled cheek.
maybe so, the mountains of love
that brought you cresting unto me
have now begun their descent into these valleys,
skin of silken sadness like an unbroken surface
trembling at the cold of winter snows, frostbite
between our lips, chilly disappointment.
and in the valley yet lies your warmth;
i captured you in kisses and mumbled goodbyes,
sleepy eyes that cried hello,
i love you my dear & never leave.
i curl my body into folds,
conserving warmth as i grow smaller
ever unready to be alone again.
and though i ration this warmth,
take pieces of our love to feed the flame of forgotten desire
we slowly crumble into the scree
at the bottom of this mountain we built,
towering high above our hopes and dreams
aimless as the life beneath gathered like dust.
Bijan Rabiee Sep 2018
Limpid waters reflect
The shadow of sunset
Chase has long been interred
In catacomb of dreams
And roar of thoughts muffled by age.
Stripped of but all verve
The shriveled finger dips in
To ripple the reflection of night
Toward the fringe of life's purpose
Toward destiny's flowchart
To galactic conglomerations
Or a shaft of light
That carries with it
Aeons of dictatorial abundance.
Cindra Carr Jan 2014
My life leaned back into the predestined road
Of which, it was etched out in dips and bumps
Flourished in the curves and straight a ways it took me.
Perhaps I am the clueless one
Who is unsure how it all came to this point on the map of time.
Being told to think about my life goals or plans at this stage
Can be hard to fathom when each line seems to disconnect.
How do I plan for the rest of my life
When I’m not sure what plan got me here?

cc011014
ryn Feb 2015
.
    It's here again...
   Heavy downpour...
   I inhaled the rain,
    cloying with petrichor.

      Standing at my window,
     looking out...
    Street lamps struggled aglow.
   People with brollies walking about.

   My eyes reached out to the heavens,
    tracing these glassy beads
      as they'd free fall...
        Falling by the sheets,
       the pattering hastens,
      periodically punctuated
     by the thunder's call.

     Mind is drifting and floating,
       intently listening to a
          million love wishes...
             Liquid beauty...melding, sketching...
           In light entrapped splashes.

         Raindrops descend and come,
         into my still life tonight...
          Won't you will me numb,
             with your chilly bite...

             Wide-eyed enamour...
            Catching a stray droplet or two.
             Riding the tail of a zephyr,
              finding a place where
                no trouble could ensue.

            An errant gust blew
           to meet with me.
          The refreshing moist
         meets my parted lips...
        Inhaling deep in this reverie...
       Into a sea of tranquillity,
        my mind slowly dips...

      Sigh... If the droplets were kisses...
      I would savour each and every one.
      If the moist wind came and caresses
     I would meet it in a tight embrace
   till the break of sun.

  What a sight...
   Almost surreal it seems...
      As the light from the surrounding
         lamps dances playfully...
        Dispersing and exploding into a
     barrage of shattered beams.
    Before it gets subdued in the drops
   caught by the leaves on a nearby tree...

   The drops would trickle
     and fall before merging,
      forming stranded puddles
       unable to flow...
        Rippling... Splashing... Reflecting...
      An image...
     Borne out of a fantastic show.

    An image of beating hearts,
     overlapping one another...
       Speaking of consequential love
          and feelings so true
        Intertwined...
     in the promise of forever...
  Slowly retrieving itself into an...


  image of you...
Shofi Ahmed Jul 2018
I wanted to walk
along the earth
on this great shore.

But before long
it dips in the sea
into the ocean.

It's not a problem
I see is a ******
still has the cloths on!
esridersi Aug 2018
Beauty wears a short, black dress of olive silk skin.

    She lies poised on the couch, drained of her special sleep.

    Yet still, light pours His fingers down her figure, sleek and thin.

    The face of her dress smiles behind the glasses guarding her deep brown eyes.

    Beauty chose the slender sweet slits for her lips.
    They match the dips her hips outline on her gown.

    Her legs sit dainty off the side, but her flushed-red scarf wraps her cheeks,
And hides quietly in the back.

    She sleeps soundly dressed true black, with her small eyes cracked.
Nico Julleza Dec 2017
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Sitting at the balcony, a sunset to her face
a scent of chamomile, an elated memory rephrases
frolicking aster's in autumn color graced
the imbue of old feelings, her craft of curtain lace

Spinning a rustic harmony, the rustle of leaves
dips a chocolate pudding, her smile swept by me
a dessert like sky, the billow swirls in place
our grandkids tag-along to the hounds that chase

An old love song, a diary of stories we made
halcyon, even her face freckles and her hair is gray
she gave me fields that kisses spring and fall
our magic remains forever, even our time is called
#Love #Relatioship #Song

It Took me many months to finish this poem, to get the inspiration. I'm Glad its finally done.. Enjoy my love story poets.

(NCJ)POETRYProductions. ©2017
melancholy eyes glaze over
the old honeycomb wallpaper pattern
and the mottled ceiling, paint peeling
noting every crevice in your new apartment
my consciousness dips in and out
of every nook and cranny, catching
fragments of the conversation.
you should always be the centre of attention.
i'd tried to entertain the notion, you'd noticed
my eyes in the ceiling and ushered me back
to the boring evening tea room with a gentle
fingertip or two pressed to my wrist.
do you wish you were somewhere else?
would you read my tea leaves and tell me,
what does the future hold for us?
Danielle L Cook Aug 2018
his hands sketch my edges, down
tracing the dips and curves and swells
his fingers curl into my skin, soft
where ever skin is found

burning with every seconds past
longing for his touch to last

his hands feel through me
reaching soul deep, he breaths
in holy serenity, feeding me solely;
his masterpiece
what it feels like
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