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Shofi Ahmed May 2017
I wanted to reach out to the sky
not to touch any star
just to whisper to the Moon
'How beautiful are you'!

I was still, stunned on the ground  
wandering down the sunrise hill.
In the midst of the morning breeze  
I heard of a whispering
‘The eyes in the sky gaze to the ground’.
So close to me that drew
as if that whispered to me ‘tell me about you’!
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.
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
This is not where this idea began but it ran and I

missed my mark. Mark sin. -1 deficit reality quotientcy
currency. (Press Sure, to let the bursting pressure equilation expand at will)
Score.

That fine a level of reality
demands more attention than I have to pay.
Patient agent wait and not see or see if/then

you suffer, is there ought that I might do now
for you
that these words are not doing?
All I am is words, in a sence, sense, since

we come in threes, we are some of those sets of thoughts tangled in complexes
better left alone.

Untangling twisted knotted realities is what we do best.
We've been wadding up proteins, since God knows when,

time's less twisted than people think it is,
but it is silly to imagine
time's arrow is a metaphor for these meta-gnostic moments.
Is it? Apophrenia

Dejavu, you believe that, what if it is your memory lying by ignoring time
attention ratios determining the observations stored in HD?
What if it's just a glitch?
Blue screen of death.


If you suffer, is there ought that I might do now
for you
that these words are not doing?
All I am is words, in a sence, sense, since

we come in threes, we are those sets of thoughts tangled in complexes
better left alone.

Untangling twisted knotted realities is what we do best.
We've been wadding up proteins, since God knows when,

time's less twisted than people think it is, but is it silly to imagine
time's arrow is a metaphor for these meta-gnostic moments?

We come and go. To and fro up on the face

messengers bearing news in both directions, watch
the trickster, Jacob, in this story, he sees the messengers from
heaven bearing leaven thither and hither

upon the face of the earth.
the wrinkling mother, smiling now, chuckle head
I ain't no ***** saint.

Jah, I know. Joy is my dance, this is my song.
Is it good Grandmother?

---- on the porch facing my west gate ---

fences don't play exactly, out acted, the role of walls.

The idea that something there is that does not love a wall
has frozen my pond

the stillness beyond the sylvan **** crowned head
radiates through the medium of the message to me in time
to you.

Miles to go, you recall the feeling of feeling miles to go
before
I sleep.
That was yesterday, and you know yes ter everything's gone,
roar.

Aslan can pierce the barrier between mere Christians and me,
how would be fun to know, but
knowing why would help us keep the story interesting as life goes on

Who controls my peace?
Am I a mercurial sheen in between chaos and order,
chronus and zeus?
Could be, ya thank so, ye know so, less unlessed as

unlessing means nothing to you,
that means you are visiting here.

Visting whom, vis it ing whom?
Who's in charge, where's the power
short

age, wrinkles in time, rogue waves at the quanta scale,
we were dancing
with the thoughts emanating

from some IDW smart guy proffesing
Critique-technic-magi action, post mode'r'ism
at the point of Dada und Scheizkunst,
the unmass-queque,
the line of lies awaiting unbelief,
idle words lingering,
hoping
to be noticed and added back into the story book of life,

a simple wish.

It could be every child's, should we think that
if we can or may,

sometimes I'm still, and

confusion troubles the water,
it seems,
then another hurt is healed, another lie is gone and life goes on

we won again, this never gets old,
I do love my opposition,
pressure pump
pump pump. De-us-me-can-onbeoffbeyond

five years ago unmasking and rhetoric meant nothing to me
the purpose of learning forever and never
knowing anything beyond all things

our bubble is metastisizing, a mercurial film forms
informing us
in its reflection,

this is the ying yang thang in 3 or 4 d, HD+ chaos one half

order the other,
sharpest imaginable thing
me trick being mag ift just if eye winged show

how beautiful are the feet of them who bring good news,
you see, it flows, sweetwater flows
winged feet
whish through leaving, leavin' leaven…

unleaven that which has been leaved?
Fat chance, all who
eat this bread and don't get gas,
they are our same bread people. Companions.
Vectors of sour dough,
webs of fungal
axions
make a way
bore,pore, poor-with-us, pour

in to it ish, that idea, an opening through,
trickle down good gravity leveling stillness,
gentle rocking earth
roll round and round and round

the pythagorian version
of Euclid's point in his mother's story,

the point of this song? To know the point you must have been

to the point of in-forming the point on which we dance and you recall

we come in threes, and just, we are, just, if it, that idea,
rests in your
back roads, gentle on your mind. We make peace.

Being young is easy from my POV.
I've lived in my future for sometime now

I can't say how beyond saying aloud, this was never hidden,
in my accounting of idle words I claimed,
upon hearing the stories each contained.

i'da swore i hear that wise *** o'balaam's abrayin'
Braindeem, deemed 'eem. Wham, uptheyhaid. Relig, fool,

or chaos wins and no hero ever lives again!
Drop anchor, wait it out.
let patience blow her nose, gnostic snot caught in the nets,

nonono nothing's wasted in patience work, we make glue
from gnostic snot that patience sneezes
when reality grows cold,

that has happened, you know, temperatures are just now,
oh, wait global warming, bad dam,

Script, bust it,
leveling is essential to eventual temperature
equilibrium.
The heat is on, the bubbles are forming, informing one to another
below the surface
greasy tension, slippery slopes putting pressure on chaos
to conform to the curve

Ying yang, mercury film upon the sea of time and the scene of chaos
in this bubble of all you can imagine real.

Hows' that feel? Why?

You want that? What are you standing under? Does chaos win?
You are, as we say, cognisic magi we-ified,
practical magic at
the moment
the point
is made, then the creation begins

and not before or is this all
unrolling ex nihilo, no magi ever knew…
come, let us reason together,

why am I empowered? To live, first thought wise, that's good but
evil forces me to think again and I see the pattern

life goes on, John Molenkamp, Sam, soldier 4,
(as the credits role by, the name catches my eye)
never in a thousand years,
'cept unbelievable is one of those lies I came to **** by strangling
on bile while
rescuing every idle word ever involved in the infection

from the point in the absolute center of the bubble,
objectively, you see everything
that is
seeable

but would good prevail if evil had no hope?

I know that one, yes. why?
evil has no mind, soul, some think--
same same medium message spoken spelled chanted danced
who care's?
*** 'er done. Life has a chaotic side, the churning creates

number one from none, the cult of one divides itself
go do be
we three we three we three a wavy song ding ****.

Aware? Awaken? Avowed-wowed-wit-wise,
fullcomp, retired
Peacemaker. Me.

All my hero's imagined or real, were Peacemakers.
Just now, peaceful now, mindful now
we remain
the same blessing promised in the package of yeses
stolen from Cain by his older sister, his
bride,
keep that quiet, eh?

Secrets made sacred, always
those are lies, no lie is of the truth,
all lies are about the truth.

What empowers you, poet or poetry? Right, you know,
God, good god knows, resentment lives in lies

the rotting idle words deemed curses at best, secret at worst,
those idle corrupting thoughts sparking as if absolute annihilation were thinkable by rational minds

of ---wait, there's arub, a sore
ex nihilo, the homeless wanderer screams,

"May the whole world perish, may you all go to hell,"

the mad man wept his hell, and imagined his curse,

not mine,
I don't have one. I did, but I went back so often to find pieces of my heart that now I have an Elysian network woven through All-hell, the big idea that broke loose infecting the mind as wisdom's leaven builds her womb
inhabitation
placenta
stem cell informing builders empowered, pressure empowered, what must be, but is not verse, versus
us, the we that be
we must
choose,

let this be, come and see,
life goes on.
Agree, or empower us as we bubble by and
takenallwecan expanding gobbling bubbles,
good
by ye.

Once we flushed the Dada poison and let mito mom
instill the patience gene with
epigenetic peace we can pass on with a touch or a word,

we've never woven lies for no reason,
if a rung breaks
and they can, last straw and all that weight,
you know,
Jacob's ladder is an escalaltor-ladder, wittily invented,

there are automated steps, algoryhmes of reasons to repair the broken rung
with a reason to believe the rung has been repaired,
only believe, take a step,
re
paired again with the idea of meaninglessness masked in create-if-ity

good enough. okeh. don't believe lies.
Don't pass undigested lies to see if farts burn.
Listening to Hicks Explaing Post Modernism after watching Tenant's Voltage Within spark a fire. This reality is storyteller heaven.
Carter Ginter May 2014
My life
Full of lonely nights you'll never see
The scars on my skin
Tell a story no one knows.
Nothing matters anymore
And I'm not who I want to be
So what is the point
To keep pushing forward?
I'm gone forever
At least on the inside
And it's crazy that no one could tell
If they didn't know me well enough.
Even those who have been around
Can't see how much I hide
And they just think I am happy
With a little pass of sad here and there.
Slowly I've lost my flair
To pretend that I'm not this bad
And it keeps going down, down
Falling out of my grasp.
But if you were to look into my head
Anyone would believe me mad
But sometimes I'm okay
And sometimes the moon shines blue.
I forgot about this poem and I found it mixed into my notes; I wrote it quite a whole ago. Reading this piece reminded me that the I wrote it while at my lowest point in life thus far, and I am beyond grateful to have survive and succeeded that part of my life.
Shofi Ahmed Jul 2018
Poetry in motion
is a sea on the ground.
In the sky the Moon
is its headline!
Emmett Aug 2015
Burn me with the greatest fire of hell,
throw me into the maddest thunderstorms,
drown me in the deepest ocean,
send me to the darkest places
that my heart may know despair, helplessness, and grandest sorrows
Maybe, then, nothing will be left of me,
save that part which is of Truth.
Maybe, then, I will rise again, like phoenix,
out of the ashes of my old being, anew.
Kj Dec 2015
I am standing alone,
In a too-crowded room,
Between a fellow ex,
And your newest fad,
Finally I realize,
I am just another name on a list-
You never loved me,
I was just another conquest-
Nothing more than an insignificant battle
In the war of your life.
* But the battlefield has since become my burial ground.
Shofi Ahmed Jun 2018
Without a rope but
squaring the circle
the giant man gives it a try
takes a flight off to the sky
only to fall flat on the ground.

She turns around
gives the circle her pi.
He bounces back
and retakes the flight
Que Sera, Sera on the way!
Shofi Ahmed Oct 2018
Adam touches down
in heaven upon the high.
But his highwater mark
wasn’t solely one way.

He could hear the jingle
upon the high resonates
beneath the ground!

He could see the cloud
forms on the top
and rains down to the ground.

Bow down on the earth
and rise high.
Lo, the golden spiral too,
curves downward
before spiking high up.
Johnny walker Dec 2018
A beautiful summers day
caught the cooling breeze swiftly moving through the tree's whilst sat my pretty girl and me on a blanket
upon the
ground
To kiss and cuddle that led to *******, and I still remember so well the thrill laid naked together
In the open air
Remembering making love out In the open air with my girl afterwards laid naked with her
felt a bit naughty but nice feeling
gabrielle Feb 6
s t a y   o n   g r o u n d
e v e n   w h e n   y o u ' v e   r e a c h e d
t h e   f a r t h e s t
fact 5 - i want to make a book, i mean i already finished the contents of it,  a poetry collection and i want to make a manuscript out of it..... but i don't know how to make a manuscript :((
With due respect
Let's resonate
The sympathetic wave

We're not blind
We all are mirage
Somehow
We are different
Yet
We are the same
In response to
An exquisite pain
Genre: Observational
Theme: Sympathy || Air Craft Accident, Feb 27, 2019 Nepal. RIP to all departed souls
Elena Mar 10
To grow my garden slow
To health and digs be known
That in a soil throne
Will be a deeper love to grow,
While taking chances
Hands will dance
And spring from the ground of romance.
You've laid in numerous beds,
Stalks sprouted from every one of them,
Endless pedestals of life from where yours bled into them.

There is your final bed,
A place where the flora of your memory shall eternally permeate,
Flowing- unchallenged, into my mind.

And when the resounding influence of you enters,
And I am overwhelmed with you, I shall say:
"Give me your bed, and let me be your vessel!"
Qweyku Jan 2017
Despair unrequited asked of me;

where do proverbs, poems...
such wisdom's go to die?


do they expire with the ink of thought
penning themselves out of imagination?
or, simply tire of expectation?

tell me
&
i would scourge
that unenlightened grave-site,
guillotine its immoral keeper,
&
decapitate him upon
a writer’s block!

show me
&
i will breach earths bowels
wrenching words from darkness' depths
with the light verse of celebration
&
a calligrapher’s paragraph of praise.

only then should i rest in piece
from wordy passion
scribed with its, novel pleasures

&
when spent, 
upon my epitaph do write;

'she was consumed,
birthing words to life'



© Qwey.ku
sitting in rubble
lingering on leveled

before dismantle
scraped down cyan

this dust
this mess

jagged frags of us

it's all
still here

kissing smithereens
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
Josh Feb 6
I am the ground
solid and sure,
happily walked on-
until you are gone

Sometimes when it rains,
I turn into mud
And if I have to carry your weight,
You might slip
kaitlyn Apr 29
I can’t help but not care anymore.
As the sun shines it’s warm rays on top of the snow,
I watch the plants take in the cold water.
It’s as if the sun over powers it all and gives the sparkling white frozen water no choice but to melt slowly into the ground.
I can’t help but not care anymore.
As the sky becomes dark and the moon shines above us all, the stars are not yet there.
I have nowhere to stare.
I have nothing to count.
As the days go by I think I’m falling apart
{date unkown}
Monika Layke Dec 2018
Ancient and primal
Isolated, man reverts
Straight at survival
Alyssa Underwood Dec 2016
O morning sky of endless blue
Tinged with purply-pinky hue
You tell me of His mercies new
Whose heart pursues my own

O geese in wingèd winter's flight
Your honking cries arouse delight
And lift my gaze to seek thy sight
As wooing from His hand

O softest breeze which skims my face
And stirs with such mysterious grace
My soul to reach for Love’s embrace
You brush me with His kiss

O snowflakes falling to the ground
You pierce my heart without a sound
To crave a purity only found
Beneath a bloodied cross

O setting sun in half-light glowing
Waning day’s last glorious blush showing
You paint with fire my spirit’s own knowing—
This life is fading fast

O stars of midnight’s blackest sky
Paraded forth, you pull my eye
Toward One Who speaks this ceaseless cry:
“I’m coming back for you.”

O creeping fog to dawn’s light clinging
You whisper, Love’s veiled message bringing,
With haunting echoes faintly singing,
“Lose all of you in Him.”
~~~

"The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of His hands. Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they reveal knowledge. They have no speech, they use no words; no sound is heard from them. Yet their voice goes out into all the earth, their words to the ends of the world."  ~ Psalm 19:1-4a

~~~
Dan Jul 13
Lying in the park, entangled, lost in a thoughtless trance- there is no need to hide, I shut my eyes. The sky chuckling, birds dancing, flowers whispering; bee’s listening. The moment is seductive but the present elude us - I sense memorable dreams lurking, behind trees, painting its curves, feverish, envious, persuasive in its attempt to bridge us together, today.
We are lured in,
there are no promises...
no specter of thought.
Just today, remind me its today.

“Why cant we stay?”

the earth beneath,
carrying the weight of my tender heart, unshackled by the grip of your starving hands; kind enough to let us play and share its space- once, twice, thrice...

Your hand slowly slip under my skirt, pulling down my sweet intimate,
I am wet from all the celebration,
what a ***** surprise!
A sensational rapture,
loud as the clouds, maddening sound. Envelops the day like a tension film desperate to penetrate the savage sun,
Foolish, undoubtedly foolish.
serenade me in this shade, my little fire.
Remind me its today.

I could hardly breathe..
I suffer sweetly in your hands, oh how you make me suffer sweetly everyday.

...helpless, glued to the ground, frustrated, anhilated by the movement of your hand, those fumbling fingers tracing my delicate skin... I weep my darling..

I hear the day giggle,
their piercing eyes watching us,
intently, closely...
Ignorant of the world were in.
Ignorant of the world Im in,
drowning in your gaze,
I see a reflection of mine- deafening!
She moans quietly.
She reminds me its today.

“Why cant we stay?”

You are driving me mad, my sweet darling. Im begging you to pause,
I dont want them to find us,
I remorse, I wonder, what a sentimental thrill to be close to you this way-
hidden, exposed for the taking.
what is this terror, my sweet ecstacy?

You go deeper, reach higher, my toes curling, body reluctantly surrender, melting into each other, ravishing each other, hands crawl, on my knees, my eyes start to water...
you never listen, how joyous.
once, twice, thrice...

do you hear me my lover...
Im begging, whispering, but this time
for more. Come back to me. Light me up once more, I love how you light me up again, and again, and again.

I kiss you gently, roughly, then all at once.
The sun boiling at the palm of my hands,
Im begging for its mercy,
I wish to never forget!
Your hands held me down in prayer,
once, twice, thrice...

Then all at once,
body start to simmer,
lights start to flicker,
unfolding in a twinkle,
I no longer need reminding.
Keep me alive in this place.
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