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Ashley Chapman Nov 2018
In a playful vision sent
Your ****** homologue
Of amber shins and pale phalanges
Weaves four-leaved clovers.

In response,
***** spurs
And protean winged descent
To float into your kaleidoscopic star:
Gliding,
Freely falling,
To rest in lace extremities.

There in our bed of sensual feet,
Sunflowers breath,
Whose burnished rotating petals
Gather me in wisps,
Each spiral frond,
Gyring
Before death's voids
Is drawn in purls.

And in pleasures held,
Cossetted in latticed limbs,
A ***** lustrous rich embrace;
Denuded and alive!
And with abandon kissed:

    Bony toes
    Tendons
    Deep arches
    Shins
    Ankles,
    Sweetmeats,
    Light and delicate.

As here between pretty shins
And fleshy silken feet
Our ascent begins
Rising,
From low regions,
To scale new heights
And crown our night.

This lovers' leap into prismatic
reproduction
In the empty Cosmic wastes
     In a web is caught!
Where feet and toes inspire
Continuity for pointed stars.

As material possibilities collide
The lust for life
Is born in non-existence:
So in our nest of feet,
Mating in the game
With heads thrown back,
Of lust drink deeply we.
A friend sent a mesmerising image taken from a kaleidoscope. In that image so many ideas came together that I was able to put this down. It tells of what I know, the line between life and death, or more succinctly put, between our conscious and the great unconscious. In mind, to love is indeed sublime as it removes us from ourselves and plunges us to meet our heart's desire. Out in the wastes of time and space we also see ourselves writ large where whole galaxies collide and in so doing, the resultant chaos, new stars are born. So I take solas in such thoughts, even if my soul does at times yearn to shuffle off this mortal coil and be at peace and know Truth at last.
Black surges, forges piling emotion,
Foraging, attaining such predicted erosion.
Color the rubies to a diluted amber,
Brittle, dripped gems are toxic, I clamber
To the lamp as to see my implicit devotion.

Vitals ascend, and I can't perceive
This motionless forfeit I often receive.
Aid is essential, it holds potential,
To cure this conflicted, addicted vessel.
My heart on my sleeve, I'm undeceived.

I implore to explore, as breath, I leave,
So close to dying, I'm on the eve
Of darker clothing, and flowers to family,
Hallucinate my abnormalities.
Yet somehow, I am still on my feet-
All feedback is welcome and appreciated.
Shofi Ahmed May 2017
When you stepped in my door,
I realised I was Paradise
in my heart and soul.
You were so surefooted
because you came up from the high.
So long I longed for it.
O Fathima, only to kiss your feet!

The time was so sweet,
beyond anyone’s dream
only in pure beauty
I was rendering,
screaming to new highs.
I did it my way!
Lovely bouncing on
my polished pitch,
the rivers forget to flow
back to the seas.
But no one knew
where my toe melts!
Until you did
and took me for a tread
closer to your spring,
my sweet dream:
O Fathima, only to kiss your feet!

Your so pleased man wished
to rain down with love,
but humble you hid your feet!
You blinded the moon, snowed it
away under seven seas.
No wonder it's
your winning footing.
Like the Prophet said:
I found me the heaven
beneath the mother’s feet.
O Fathima, only on your feet!
Bryan Lunsford May 2018
With rose petals at the floor of your feet and with candles lit lighting up our scenery,
I know I've never felt more complete than I do right now (with you here with me)

For you are my perfect symphony,
As here, I watch our hearts carry the beat,
(In the midst of our bodies producing this heat)
And I lay you down–where our hearts melt degree by degree,
Making love to you, there, delicately and ever so sweet
Shofi Ahmed Nov 2017
Far and near
they are two stars
rose in the same orbit.

One shows up is a
dazzling shimmering sun.
One is so polished fine
as if the zenith is
zipped in zero bytes.

No grave can grasp
it in the end.
It has no end, no size
zero left to demise.

An ocean is no more
now is only a drop.
Now the ocean
is in a drop.

Still on the ground
walking the walk
but those giant feet
do not show up!

Can we hear it bending
the ear on the ground?
The orbits on the go
with the sun on the top
pile into the vibration within
only to float up a notch
then bends down once more.
Knit Personality Sep 2016
I know a guy who goes by "Bigfoot."
   I think he fits the name.
And I would bet a pickled pigfoot
   That you would feel the same.

A connoisseur of odors foul,
   I've smelled some awful feet;
And I would bet my lower bowel
   That Bigfoot's can't be beat.

O.O
Once, monster feet were all you wore,
pounding its claws upon wood floors.
Well now the beast is walking in your skin,
that you have lived, and fought them in.
How much can a human body take,
When horns pierce your skull, to keep you awake?
People say faking's profitless,
while I'm choking demons back in my esophagus.
An intervention for dented hearts,
that were beats, you wrote apart?
Do they await indented bumps,
a heart, bitter, selfishness pumps.
Alert the shadows as I bow to them,
poetic, inadequate, I lost to them.
What worthy life have I built to live,
if pain is all I know to give?
------------------------------------
All feedback is welcome and appreciated
Chris Slade Jan 22
Don't be frightened if you hear me at the door...or even if you think you see me at the window. Pretend it's a trick of the light...or another one of those bumps in the night.
The spirit is strong and, I'm finding, quite playful in its first few days, weeks, maybe months... whilst waiting for another 'mission'. You know...finding my feet - or maybe wings?

But I'm not likely to phone. E-mailing was not my thing! And texting? You’re kidding! I was not a big fan!. All that predictive stuff...If you’re too quick it ends up nonsense...all wrong...not for me.
But I will be sending messages through the wind in the trees or maybe the surf on the rocks and sand. Wherever we walked together listen out for me there. I've always felt that I'd be able to do that.
You know...whilst finding my feet - or will it be wings?

And always, from now on...help spiders out with a glass and a card...
take care not to squash their legs. You never know what happens next. And, anyway, another time, but long ahead I hope, it could be you. Although, I always fancied I would come back a human - like this last time round.

Being me was good. And they say, ...you know...out there...
that you go back to a time when you were at your best.
For me that means being younger, fitter - So, a wander on a sun warmed or breezy beach. A Salsa dance, or this Zumba lark...or doing a painting. I liked that...
But definitely...fit...Before IT... You know...I’m looking forward to finding my feet, my wings.

So...you may see me - out in a crowd, or walking along a country lane, incongruously between villages.
I'm already working at appearing for longer and for being more than just a familiar, fleeting, scent or smell. Until I get the calling to make a full life of it again...I'll maybe pop in and out of your life (to let you know I can) ...just in an incidental, experimental kind of way; but then only from time to time.
It's quite tiring...You know...finding your feet...your wings.
I first wrote this after my Dad passed on and there were some experiences that were difficult to explain which gave me comfort to know that he was OK... on the other side. Pathetic? I can understand why people would think that.
ryn Oct 2014
It's a dance
It really is
Skip and prance
Lifelong practice

Loop of songs
Never ending
Of various genres
Life is playing

There's the spotlight
World is awaiting
Pressure of eyes
Silently watching

Take your place
Assume your position
Execute with finesse
And flawless precision

Spin your pirouettes
Don't get dizzy
Maintain your poise
In this revelry

Along comes a partner
Present as a duo
The game now altered
From when you were solo

Two bodies now
Move in unison
Reciprocate and reply
Through steps made in heaven

Flighty feet
Intertwined bodies limbre
Sweet little performance
Elapsing into forever

With grace of ballet
Each other you'd catch
Intimate display
Think you've found your match

There'll come such time
Both will not be in sync
Episodes of missteps
Push you to the brink

Alone again
Or switch of partners
Find solace in groups
Still dancing for answers

Dancing with others
Much you can learn
From hip hop to the waltz
Together or in turn

Try to adapt
To different styles
Soak up all you can
May take a while

I've danced all my life
Can't say that I've mastered
Fair share of jeers
And accolades I've garnered

Always clumsy
Exceedingly awkward
Tripping and falling
Barely proceeding forward

It's just this dance
One with syncopated beats
It's just this prance
That my gait can't meet
It's just this stance
I often use as retreat
I realised in a glance
That I have...but

**two left feet
Lizzy Feb 2017
When I first met love
It took me in its arm
And twirled me into a world
Where I could no longer
Be okay with loneliness.
It dropped me in the dust.

I was a foreigner here.
The only reality I knew before
Love left me stranded
Was dark and quiet,
Comfortable and terminal.

I was bound to fade away
And my time was almost up
When Love ripped me
From my grave
And ****** me into
Its strange world.

Here,
I settled into
My tragic fortune.
Waiting for Love
To dance with me again.

Our first dance
Was too furious to survive.
Love tossed me
Like a ragdoll
And spun me so fast
My head nearly
Detached from my body.
Love went for the lift
And dropped me on my face.

The second time
Love took me by the hand
It's gentle swaying
Almost made me forget
About our first disaster.
Softly, Love turned me around.
I turned once,
I turned twice,
Lost in rhythm I closed my eyes.

Now Love turned me again
And when I opened my eyes
Expecting to greet the face
That hypnotized me,
Love was unfamiliar.
Distorted and cruel,
Love changed to Narcissism
And left me in the dust again.

One more time
Love asked me to dance.
And I said,
"Stay away from me.
I won't fall for it again."
So Love shrugged and
Began to waltz without me.

I watched in disbelief
As Love moved
With a new kind of grace
And fluidity.
It didn't need me
To create such beauty.
But with patience,
Love waited for me.

So I stepped in
And Love let me lead.
Love bent with me
And caught me
When I dipped.

It seems
All we needed
Was the right music.
jonni inferno Feb 2017
behold
mine guilt be carved
'pon this furrowed brow
plainly writ
for all to see

i pray thee now
speak softly
fair an' sweet
an' brook no lie
to pass thine ruby lips
those serpent fangs
venom filled
'twould pierce an'
wi' their poison still
this wounded heart
that lay bleeding
lost an' dreaming
far beneath...

where mid-night forest
darkly flows
this raging torrent
swiftly feeds
black rivers
writhing coldly
thru my soul

as faceless voices
darkly speak
urging chaos
mindless screams
nightshades tearing
rending eat
the broken pieces
of this wounded heart
that lay bleeding
lost an' dreaming
far beneath...

where the sun
is but a myth
deep within this
dark abyss
an' the moon
faithless
fades
from memory

alas
speak softly
fair an' sweet
release me from
this dark abyss
that lay bleeding
lost an' dreaming
at thy feet
.
.
Pic Poem
http://oi60.tinypic.com/29kvqs8.jpg
.
.
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/268738-at-thy-feet/ic to pic/poem
Knit Personality Sep 2016
Stand at my grave and weep for me
When I am buried, for I will be
Deceased; or if with life I strive,
They will have buried me still alive!

O.O
LittleFreeBird Jan 2015
That summer was hotter than any of the others before. The county was dryer than it had ever been, and the kids more restless than years past. I was sitting on the front porch at my granddaddy’s, swinging slowly with the breeze that offered no relief from that God awful heat. I was in a little black sundress, which was hard to find because most people prefer pink or yellow or orange  - anything but black during the summer. But you can’t wear pink or yellow or orange to a funeral. So there I sat, in my black sundress, black sun hat and black heels. I even had black sunglasses, but I opted for those on my own. I had no desire for every eye in Harlan to see me cry. The sunlight hurt my eyes anyway; I had one hell of a hangover. The night before was the first time I’d drunk anything but sweet tea or water in my life. My body did not take kindly to it. I was doing a lot of things my body did not take kindly to as of late, drinking being only one of the many vices I’d begun to partake in. “Come on girl, we best get a goin’. Ain’t gonna do to be late for this one.” Granddaddy offered me a hand and helped me up. The car ride there was silent, but I would catch him every once in a while glancing over at me to make sure I was “Keepin’ my **** together.” He knew about the drinking and had my hide for it.  It was far too soon that I had to step out of the car and walk to the front row where your family sat. The rest of the day went by in a blur. Your momma hugging me. Your daddy shaking my hand. Your sisters clinging to the skirt of my dress. I don’t know when I started crying, just that the tears seemed like they had been there since the day I was born. The songs we sang were all wrong and the sky was too blue and the birds sang too loud. The wind blew too much and not enough, because if it had been enough it would have carried me far, far away from that place, but too much because it’s sigh sounded far, far too much like yours. I kept it together until that first handful of dirt hit the lid of that ****** box that was going to hold you for the rest of eternity. I remember being jealous because I wanted to be the one holding you, not that hole in the ground. When it was my turn to throw it in, I fell. I fell as hard as when I fell in love with you, except you weren’t there to catch me this time, you were too busy in entering into the arms of our Good Lord. So I kissed the dirt I held in my hand (when it finally stopped shaking) and threw it in, then I tried to throw myself in. But granddaddy caught me before I could get to you and they covered you up before I could claw my way in. It hasn’t been the same since you left; the air doesn’t smell near as sweet and the sun doesn’t burn near as bright. I haven’t had the heart to wash the mud off that dress yet and I’ve had too much heart to throw it away. You left me to live in a world full of contradictions, Darlin’. Left me to live a life that knocks me to the ground and waits for me to get back up, just so it can kick me in the teeth.

And, I suppose, in your absence, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
writerReader Mar 2015
pitter patter goes
the rain and
the sound of
your little
feet
Dark Fjord Dec 2016
Hand me a  pillow, to listen
not as burnt, if you can still get
a grip or suckle.
take to the ***
shamamama May 8
Some strong sensations on my ankle
Unravel me
Dissolve me

Remind me
When pain and suffering
Led the path

I thought it was real,
Was the only,
Was the only way--

And now I wake up to ten thousand
Hairs on the soles of my feet
Tugging me
Into the day
From starlight
And ancestors
Going my way

Remember, remember
I walk on these feet
With curiosity, flexibility,
Wonder and love

Grandmother Earth
Is right down below-- So
Today I can step on
The ground with pure joy,
Embracing this place by
Loving breath from my soles
A Long while ago I was challenged for a few weeks by my legs, I learned to approach life and "my doings" with reverence and love to ceremony, intention, and awareness.
Shofi Ahmed Jul 2018
She and I are so close
but no one can see.
There is no room left
for any witness to squeeze in.

The wind tried it's flowing
couldn't stand still  
neither the water did.
The seven seas danced
beneath her polished feet!

Zero space is in between us two.
By no measure its big
but enough to touch the dream!
Jaxey Mar 4
don't beg for help
on how to get back up
from the feet
that stood on your legs
and convinced you
you couldn't walk
in the first place
only the broken will understand
Logan Robertson Aug 2018
My little-lost friend
is that you I see
at times
sleeping on a park bench,
shopping carts
and effects anchored.
Homeless.
With your eyes holding shame,
brown and sad.
I can't help.
But see.
I see you inching,
inching along on the earth,
pitch black and poor,
weathered, severed
and dirtied.
Lost in time.
Mouth open.
Where open hands may be closed.
I do pass by you every morning,
thinking,
thinking of you.
As you drum your thumbs
to your own music,
in your own darkened world.
Where the albatross rest on your drooping shoulders,
as you piggyback what olive branches there are.
I can't help.
But think.
As you sit shrugging
in those same brown pants
and redshirt,
holding weeks of grime
and stench.
No doubt,
holding passerby's
casting eyes, thoughts
and conversation.
Sometimes,
I can't watch.
But hope.
Yes, hope and pray.
As you go looking into the pockets
of thrash,
digging for change,
literally,
hopefully,
three ways to paradise,
please,
yes, sir, please.
And maybe.
Just maybe.
You will find better
and parkgoers can use the bench again.
That would be a nice olive branch,
to give back,
my friend.

Logan Robertson

8/1/2018
Seanathon May 16
Just a blind man can have faith
In the firmness of world beneath his bed
So also will I believe in steadfastness of my God
And that I will arise anew each day
To begin again
For as long as he wishes
I am his
Ivy Haegan Jun 2017
Girls my height are supposed to be petite
Skinny and proportional
When I would read seventeen magazine and they would show the best outfits for your body type
Mine was never on there
Not big enough to be curvy
Curvy girls in magazines were curvy all over
and average height
The petite girl wasn't supposed to have curves at all
The petite girl was thin
The petite girl could wear anything

Why can't short girls have *******?
Because when we do, we're a fetish
And for some reason, when you fit a fetish people assume you're there for them.

"I like short girls because you can pick them up when you ****."
"Short girls don't have to get on their knees."
"Can you **** my **** standing up?"
"A C cup on a short girl is like a DD on a normal girl.”
“I like ******* short girls because I can really take control.”

My mom always criticized me for wanting to dress slutty
And it broke my heart because I never wanted to look slutty
I just wanted to wear what my skinny friends could wear
And sometimes it's hard when you can't find high waisted shorts that cover your *** all the time, even right after you stand up from sitting in the car for 30 minutes and they rode up a little, but a little on you is a lot because you don't have a flat *** like all of your friends do, but you can't go a size up because then they're too big and they still don't give you the coverage that at first your mom wanted for you but that you now want yourself because you can feel the heat of people staring because girls like you shouldn't wear those kinds of shorts, and at parties they think it's okay to touch if it's not covered, and you've been in this H&M for 3 hours and nothing fits you like it does that tall, pretty girl with the A cups in the fitting room next to yours,
But how could my mom know that
At 5 ft 4, she weighed 98 lbs on her wedding day
You can wear anything when you look like that
I suppose it sounds better out loud
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