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CK Baker Mar 2017
there’s a barnacle scar
deeply ingrained
on the basalt stack
at mark thirty two
whispering summer winds
scented oil
cotton and roe
as waves brush
and shape
the sandstone shore

the briny air
and lost erratic
set a tone to this
pollyanna portrait
it's andrews undulations
and gifted benches
its concessions
and traces of the barry burn
its sculpted driftwood
and sanko lines
make this picture
almost perfect

children play
as venom spews
from the caterwaul pair
those odd looking mates
casting smiles
with arrested despair
settling shots
swiping bugs
dipping and darting
as photo men
and muscles
and long neck seabirds
make their turn

the hunched hoody
and his sorted sidekick
get their fill
(of moss and rubble ~ chubby and kelp)
nice to meet your acquaintance
the pho man would say
an odd drop
and ironic turn
from those horrific corners
of timeless desperation
down by cannon bridge

harbor seals
and carriage horse
are fronted by
raven shade
jolly tides pause
in quiet bays
(with curious looters
and *** pickers)
sand merchants
and field totems
all streamed by the light

cirrus strands
blanket the
outer edge
hovering craft
and shimmering willows
bolt the evening frame
blood orange
and tethered
with a filtered glare
bottle-nose dolphins
and seabirds
(and shifting tides)
are all settling in
for the long night stay
Briar Ren Jan 2018
I have built a nest in your heart,
made of down and daisies.

And you, in turn,
erected a temple
in mine.
Kevin J Taylor Sep 2015
Along Victoria Inner Harbour
Behind the granite wall
Next to Capt. James Cook's effigy in bronze
Next to bold bronze plaques of white-worlders-
Across from The Empress
In front of the Assembly of Other Nations
Under an iron bench
Scratched in concrete—
No justice on stolen land.
Victoria, British Columbia, Canada.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Debbie Lydon Feb 3
I'm told that feeling and love are innate,
So why can't I communicate?
I'm despairing and longing for human connection,
But I'm met with indifference or even rejection.

Internally I harbour thoughts of kindness,
But they wither in the wake of external blindness.
I'm obsessed with truth and authenticity,
And this comes at the detriment of anyone knowing me.

An extreme fear of misunderstanding remains,
Despite me knowing that this is my ball and chain.
A depleting hope lingers on in my dreams,
So fragile and weak, a mere ember it seems.
A poem concerning the difference between the way you are perceived and the way you perceive yourself. A fear of misunderstanding is ever present in a society that is fueled by facades and a cold approach to eachother. It causes pain and this is becoming more and more overt in our day to day lives.
Does depend on the day
but the mention of his name
jolts her into a restless
alarmingish warmth
armour amour as such
Touching to note that
somehow every time - yes
so often she looks for him
on social sites or streets
where he is pictured
at a conference a corner
sauntering in that suit
Deadlocked in memories
hypnotised by appearance
between shore and ship
indeed, just like the shipping
forecast a warning predicts
the storm yet cannot foresee
the monotonous rhythm of
Hearts melting still breaking
Arthur Habsburg Jul 2018
Cockcrow harbour:
the gulls whining like tethered dogs
about rooftops
paliophobic cars and
grounded vessels..
on the hoary horizon
a glaucous strip
with backwater.
Not putting on a show
the frigid sea benumbed..
with a tail of emerald jelly
skim a vanishing lane off that
lustrous sheet
and watch
the trailblazing mainland

Only scattered dreaming is possible.

In it's bachelor pad,
cradling over crinkles,
away from the meretriciosness
of validating the real by sharing it,
blusters off any veneer.
stale but spry,
fare your way around the inoffensive isle
to it's most shyest of harbours:
a mouth full of silver
saving it's breath.
The windows facing the sea
black & white,
their wooden frames hooked to the wind,
the splattered gulls meow
your name
in a way
Of course comes to mind.
The pines
are demanding a visit,
They're whispering
so you can hear them,
each as different as every snore,
these pines know
how to grow in the sand
and still reach for
the Nimbostratus with heads in unison.
The spaces
between their trunks illuminating
the blazing needles
raining down
painting the ground
to your lover's
skin texture:
Feel her closeness
from jilted borderwatchtowers
as she speads her mire
like no one's watching:
weedy and sugared
with bellflowers,
the waves in her shallow armpit
billeting a pair of white swans:
demurely they float
sometimes as pillows and sometimes
as question marks..
Go ask the seasoned locals,
they say the bones she parked
when she let her ice sheet melt
are portals
to her noble underbelly.

Hidden in the woods
reminiscent of your heart,
the red
tank-sized stone
is sealed,
but what the lighting reach cannot
the rain shall sluice apart
And though her hair has
come to be
the moss
black and hoarse
as sailor's beard,
there is still time.
The void says
her noisy neighbour is nothing
to die for.
The theadbear car with absent doors
to drive her
in reverse gear
to the first few
days of holidays:
her golden locks a-blaze,
her arm around your
hind-sighted doppelganger.
Going to Prangli island.
You can see how Endorsements feed your I
That Shy Ghost whose Casper does not exist
Fare alone for Cause to swallow your Pride
Which when accomplished guides your Star at Best
Just how often do we see your Girls cheer
And Pray for Purpose very Few will get
Hymns they Sing; From Media beg you to hear
Even when such Few harbour Good Intent
I guess those Executives knew your Cue
What would Attract and what would sure Pursuade
Even at Cost your Temple lost its Due
And they cry Happy at your Virtue, fade.
Those Trunks still shrink much to Addict's Delight
So climb your Board and do your Dive in-spite.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
karin naude Nov 2013
"on grace anatomy a father once said that his daughter always insisted on climbing the highest trees and jump head first of the bridge, and that its his job to catch her."

those words pulled my tight my heart strings into a knot
mom was my safety net, always there, ready to catch me
understanding that i cannot help but to climb the highest and tallest
i cannot help but to head the call of my soul and wander
not lost but hungry for experience and to live
no not achievements
and always knowing instinctively when the wind of change approach
running to meet it open sails never afraid of leaving the harbour
believing that i'm not made for the harbour

after God called my safety net home
i struggled to find my footing, momentarily lost
by the grace and hand of God i found my feet again
Shofi Ahmed Aug 2017
Come bask in the summer sun
     let’s slip out fly with the butterflies!
         While white fluffy cloud-swans  
              dip in and rise, surge and fly
                 up the rainbow arc sway away
                    come down the blue harbour
                       ambling along shady lanes
                           cast your glance treat your eyes!
Tommy Randell Nov 2016
A dove sat beside me
As I supped my Pint,
Looking away from me
Not meeting my eyes.
The cold in the day
Raising her down,
Puffing her up
To a serious frown.

"Are you happy there,
Thomas, yourself?" says she.
"Sitting there supping
On that warm balcony?
While I take my ease
On this cold metal rail,
Rounded and bested
By the wind at my tail."

"Have you no bit of bread,
Or a crumb of sweet cake?
Have you a drop of the clear
I might care to partake?
No? Well no matter,
It is for the best
As I've much left to do
Before I'm back at my nest."

"The squabs are all waiting
The milk from my crop,
So I'm back up the harbour
With the wind in a strop.
Sit as you are, Master
Take in the dew,
Enjoy it, this Peace,
In this moment, this Truth."

And meeting my eye
With a glint glassy but soft,
She sprang from the rail
And was battled aloft.
I looked on the town
And the harbour-side trade,
Supping my pint,
Mindful and weighed.

Tommy Randell 20th Feb 2016

She cries because
there is no moon

in her window.

And can she sleep
with you and mummy

there is a moon

in your window.

She drifts to sleep
in the harbour of our arms.

The moon asks
"Can I go now?"

I nod a yes.
Watch it tiptoe away.

Careful not to
wake her.
Nigdaw Jul 3
Lips that I had kissed
Are now denied, the look
That once would hold me,
Not for my eyes, those arms
That could embrace, capture
A moment of grace, body
Clasped against your breast
Your form so vibrant smelt
Like bliss, now hold another
As I ache to be the chosen,

Like watching a ship leave
Harbour, my ardour it's cargo
Like a faith denied, even though
I believed the gospel, I
Never felt at home, we rented
Space fixed in time, by contact
Then denying my crush, you broke
A clause in the contract, what
We shared was no longer us
Turned emotions unrequited.
James Jun 17
playing with the bulls
stabbing the cattle
they are keeping me starving
whilst locked in the castle

ugly politicians
but nothing uglier than me
their friends are at the harbour
whilst strangers drown at sea

lying through their teeth
like the old lazy drunk
the ships are on fire
and their friends have all sunk

we're selling the bulls
eating the cattle
the politicians are hanging dead
and the people have the castle
Jim Davis Apr 2017
In the last
three decades,
after we became one,
I touched
amazingly beautiful things,
horribly ugly things,  
unbelievably wondrous things

I touched nature's majesty;
hued walls of the Grand Canyon,              
crusty bark of the
Redwoods and Sequoias,
live corals of the
Great Barrier Reef,
dreamlike sandstone of the Wave

I touched magical and strange;
platypus, koalas and
kangaroos Down Under,
underwater alkali flies and
lacustrine tufa at Mono Lake,
astral glowing worms
in the Kawiti caves

I touched holy places;
Christianity's oldest churches,
the Pope's home in the Vatican,
Hindu and Sikh temples and
Moslem mosques in India,
Anasazi's kivas of Chaco canyon,
Aboriginal rocks of Uluru and Kata Tjuta

I touched glimmers of civilization;
uncovered roads of Pompeii,
fighting arenas of Rome,
terra cotta armies of Xian,
sharp stone points of the Apache,
pottery shards from the Navajo,
petroglyphs by the Jornada Mogollon

I touched fantastical things;
winds blowing on the
steppes of Patagonia,,
playas and craters of Death Valley,  
high peaks of the Continental Divide,
blazing white sands of the  
Land of Enchantment

I touched icons of liberty
and freedom;
the defended Alamo,
a fissured Liberty Bell,
an embracing Statue of Liberty,
the harbor of Checkpoints
Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie

I touched glorious things
made by man;
the monstrous Hoover Dam,
an exquisite Eiffel tower,
a soaring St Louis Arch,
an Art deco Empire State Building,
the sublime Golden Gate Bridge

I touched sparks from history;
the running path of an
Olympic flame just off Bourbon,
the last steps of Mohandas Ghandi
at Birla House before Godse,
******'s Eagle's nest and the
grounds over Der Führerbunker

I touched walls of power;
enclosed rings of the Pentagon,
steep steps of the
Great Wall of China,
untried bastions of
Peter and Paul's fortress,
fitted boulders of Machu Picchu

I touched strong hands;
of those conquering
Rommel's and ******'s hordes,
of cold warriors of
Chosin Reservoir,  
of forgotten soldiers of Vietnam,
of terrorist killers of today

I touched memories of war;
the somber Vietnam memorial,
the glorious Iwo Jima statue,
the cold slabs at Arlington,
the buried tomb of USS Arizonians,
Volgograd's Mother Russia  

I touched ugly things;
shreds of light in
Port Arthur's prison,
horrible smelly dust
in the streets from 9/11,
ash impregnated dirt
in the pits at Auschwitz

I touched oppressed freedom;
open ****** plazas
of Tiananmen Square,
smooth pipe and concrete
of the Berlin Wall,  
tall red brick walls
of the Moscow Kremlin

I touched constrained freedom;
heavy ankle and
wrist slave chains
in the South,
little windows
in Berlin's Stasi prison,
haunted cells in Alcatraz  

I touched remnants of madness;
wire and ovens of Auschwitz,
stacked chimneys and
wooden bunks of Berknau,        
Ravensbruck, and Dachau,
the tomb of Lenin,
toppled Stalins

I touched hands of survivors;
of Leningrad's siege,
of German POWs and
of Russian fighters
of Stalingrad's battle,
of Cancer's scourges  

I touched grand things;
deep waters of the Pacific and Atlantic,
blue hills of Appalachia,
towering peaks of the Rockies,
high falls of Yosemite Valley,
bursting geysers of Yellowstone,
crashing glaciers of Antarctica and Alaska    

I touched times of adventure;
abseiling and zipping in Costa Rica,
packing Pecos wilds and Padre isles,
flying nap of earth Hueys to Meridian,
breaking arms in JRTC's box,
fighting Abu Sayyaf, and Jemaah
Islami in Zamboanga City

I touched through you;
wet sand beaches of  Mexico and Jamaica,
mysterious energy of the monoliths of Stonehenge,
rarefied air in front of the
Louvre's Mona Lisa,
ancient wonders of Giza,
Egypt's tombs and pyramids

We shared soft touches;
drifting in Bora Bora's
surreal waters,
joining hands camel trekking the
Outback's dry sands,
strolling along Tasmania's
eucalyptus forest trails

basking in swinging hammocks
under Fiji's bright sun,
scrambling in
Las Vegas' glittering and
red rock canyons,
kissing under the
Taj Mahal's symphony of arches

We shared touching deep waters;
propelled in gondolas
through the city of canals,
Drifting atop Uru cat boats on Lake Titticaca,
Swooping in jet boats
up a wild river in Talkeetna

Racing in speed boats
around Sydney's great harbour,
skimming in pangas in Puerto Ayora,
paddling the Kennebec for
East's best petroglyphs,
cruising Salzbergwerk's underwater lake

We touched scrumptious things;
Beignets and chicory coffee at DuMonde's in the Big Easy,
Hot *** with sesame sauce
in the walled city of Xian,
Peking duck, dimsum, scorpions,
snake and starfish on Wangfujing Snack Street

We touched delicious things
Crawfish heads and tails at JuJu's shack
and ten years at Jeanette's,
Langoustine at Poinciana's, Fjöruborðinus and Galapagos,
Cream cheese and loch bagels
at Ess-a' s in the Big Apple

I touched your hand riding;
hang loose waves of Waikiki,
a big green bus in Denali's awesomeness,
clip clopping carriages of Vienna, Paris,
Prague, New Orleans, Krakow,
Quebec City, and Zakopane,
the acapella sugar train of St Kitts

We shared touching on paths;
the highway 1 of Big Sur,
the Road of the Great Ocean,
the bahn to Buda and Pest,
the path to the North of Maine,
the trail of the Hoh rainforest,
and time after time, the way home

I could spend
the next three decades,
in simple bliss,
having need for
touching nothing,
other than you!

©  2016 Jim Davis
A poem I wrote last year for my wife!  Posted now since it matches the HP' theme for today - "Places"
Mohamed Nasir Jun 2018
I love watching swallows
Gyrating and playfully swirls;
Mingle above over the river
Forming in a malee a ball.
Swiftly riding the thermals
Scooping the swelling water.
They shriek wheeling freely
Like boisterous little girls.

I came to see the lively acrobatics
In graceful motion of symmetry.
See enormous body of water flow
Pour itself into it's wide open mouth.
Slowly eroding shaping contours
And lives living along it's banks.
Constantly foreboding danger
And yet beauty and the mighty
Together in harmonious chemistry.

There I was many hours
In thought. What do I ever get?
At the jetty by the imperious
River where until dark I will be.
Time spent the opportunities
Passing by I have no regrets.
I'm like a ship from harbour
To harbour of a predestined life
With cargoes of worthless experience
Till I rot at the bottom of the sea.

Laboriously river meander and flow
Agile wings twist and turn in the air
With invisible brush of arcs and lines
With a vast sky as an open canvas.
The two characters, elements
Of nature, demonstrate their part;
In the theater of strength and grace.
While I am but a nameless intruder
Grateful of the kindness forever last.
This is an old poem written a long time ago when I was a young lad. Rewritten certain parts as I had grown older better as a writer.
Big Virge Aug 2018
People PLEASE ... !!!
Just Be ... STRAIGHT UP ... !!!!!
Honesty's Easy ...  
It Really A'int Tough ... !!!  
If You're Gay ... BE Gay ...    
DON'T Try To Play Games ...  
If You Sway ... That Way ...  
Then Be ... That Way ... !!!  
But REMEMBER  I'm STRAIGHT ... !!!!!  
I Want GIRLS ... ALL DAY ... !!!!!  
Don't Tell Me How To Be ...  
And We'll Be .... OKAY .... !!!!  
The Last Poem I Wrote ...  
Was Called ... " Two Faced " ...  
The Reaction It Received ...  
Was FAR FROM ................................... Great ....... !!!!!!!  
I'm Cool With That ...  
In A ... " Funny Kind of Way " ... ?!?  
I Guess This PROVES ... ?  
That Things I Say ...  
Put A STRAIN On Those ...  
With DEVIOUS Ways ... !!!  
They CLAIM To Be Straight ...  
But ... "Harbour HATE" ... ?!?  
Hatred of ...  
My Poetic Mind State ...    
Their Veins PULSATE ...  
When I Enter The Place ... !!!  
And Most CAN'T LOOK ME ...  
......... In My Face .......... !!!!!!?!!!!!  
What's Up With That ... ?  
Could It Be Cos' I'm Black ... ?!?  
Or Could It Be ... ?  
Cos' I Speak What's FACT ... !?!  
Getting ... "under the skin" ...  
of Those Who Swim ...  
in Waters FILLED ...  
With YES ... Sharks' Fins ... !!!!!!!  
They Take The PLUNGE ...  
And Jump RIGHT IN ... !!!  
But Like They Say ...  
YES ... FOOLS Rush in ... !?!?!  
Then Comes THE BITE ... !!!  
NO KISS ... " Goodnight " ...  
Their Now ... "TRAPPED IN" ...  
...... The Devils' Pie ...... !!!  
A Pie That's FILLED ...  
By Those Who LIE ... !!!  
This Pie's ... "STENCH FILLED" ...  
Like The Mets' ... " Pig Sty " ... !!!!!  
Why Oh WHY ... ?!?  
Do People ... " Imply " ...  
They Speak THE TRUTH ...  
..... Instead of Lies .....  
FACE The TRUTH ...  
FACE What's YOU ...  
NOT ME ... I'm Cool ... !!!!!  
I'm Just ... " God's Tool " ...    
But What Are YOU ... ???  
Are YOU From The School ...  
of ... TWO FACED FOOLS ... !?!  
Do You ...  
Choose To REFUSE ...  
To HEAR The ... TRUTH ... ?!?  
EVEN When ...  
YOU ARE The PROOF ... !?!  
Those Who TALK ...  
But ... DO NOT Listen ...  
Are Those Who Wonder...  
What They're ............................................. Missing ..... ???  
What You're MISSING ...  
Is What's ... TRUE ...  
What You PUT OUT ...  
COMES BACK To ... You ... !!!  
DON'T BE A Fool ... !!!
DON'T BE ... UNTRUE ... !!!  
Say What You FEEL ... !!!!!!!!  
It May .... REVEAL ...............................  
A Side of You ...  
WITHOUT ... Issues ... !!!  
DON'T Worry If ...  
You NEED ... " Tissues " ... !!!  
Has Felt ... " The Blues " ... !!!!!  
Stand STRONG Stand TOUGH ...  
And ... MOST OF ALL ...  
Just Be ...  
..... " STRAIGHT UP " .......
Inspired by experiences I had in the days when I used to frequent the poetry circuit in London, but as a general rule, I prefer those who can be what this poem suggests .....
Mary Gay Kearns Apr 2018
Down at Portleven where the harbour
Day in, day out, filling with small craft
I sit in the sunshine
Legs crossed and sketch
These rocking cradles
Blue netting tangles the edges with orange buoys
Draping the nursery in a softening
Becoming gentle rhymes
The air sits still
And today my drawings
Hang on a wall.

Love Mary x.
Pagan Paul Aug 2017
The morning mist dissipated
as the ships keel ploughed a furrow
through the Great Green of the Aegean,
leaving far behind the magick isle.
Vigilantos stood at the prow,
marvelling at the accompanying dolphins,
curious and playful,
schooling with purpose to the ocean.
Ahead, waiting, a grand tour.
Of Sumer, Abyssinia and desert lands,
to glean hidden knowledge,
regain the mysteries of the ancients,
read the Necronomicon and old scripts
from a time when power crackled,
and the storms of the gods
belittled the existence of mankind.

The twilight Moon peeps
from behind the brazen grey cloud.
And she weaves hap-hazard
through the crushes of the crowd.
A high-born daughter of the desert,
a vision of beauty from the sand.
With silks and satin and perfume
richly obtained from foreign lands.
Through the colourful bazaar she threads
with occasional glances thrown at stalls,
priestess jewels sparkle in the night,
its her Name the sirocco calls.

Cobalt blue water, an illusion of light
where the sun slides through the meniscus,
and the harbour of Tyre was alive.
The bustling of boats around ships at anchor,
snatching glimpses of a turquoise sky
and the quay throbbing with the pulse of music.
It would be another 3 thousand years
before Rome was even a trading post on the Tiber,
let alone an empire conquering the east,
or building hippodromes and columned avenues.
Vigilantos drank in the atmosphere,
his magicians instincts bristling, noting all.
Meandering through the narrow streets,
loosely following direction, getting lost.
Seeking his retinue and camels, ready to start,
across the desert to Ninevah on the Tigris.
To speak to tribes, pray with the priests of Ur.
To find the secrets of mysteries, and treasure,
reaping the knowledge of the Old Gods awe,
amongst the shifting dunes of history.

Vivid colours of silks and dyes
adorn the tents of cloth and stick.
The summer sun beats down lazy,
heat as oppressive as mist is thick.
Her charms and delights are hidden,
with misery and pain, the last week spent.
The dark, the quiet, the inane chatter,
deep within the women's red tent.
Free from the curse, her moon-cycle complete,
she wanders with mood sombre and slow.
A powerful man from a western place
will arrive at the camp as the sun sinks low.
He had seen her in the main bazaar
and decided to stake his claim.
Whilst confined away, behind her back,
her father had bartered for riches and fame.

His travels around those beautiful lands
had yielded books of law and scripts.
He had heard the oral traditions of elders
and gazed in wonder at the Moon's eclipse.
Then he had seen the greatest treasure
wending her way through crowded markets.
With tact and guile he discovered her Name,
and vowed to grace her father's carpets.

The desert folk live a simple life
but far from simple are they.
Sharp of tongue and quick of wit,
erudite in a most unusual way.
The father was the elected leader,
King of the tribe that he now led.
Vigilantos had bargained hard
to purchase the girl for his marital bed.

The sun sinks, falling from the sky in the eve.
Spectacular reds and orange colliding with the dunes.
The azure twilight sky lit and sprinkled with stars,
and the tribal camp fills with laughter and tunes.

He walked with purpose toward the campfire,
his features silhouetted by flickering light.
The sudden hush of the assembled camp
echoed strange, deep into the desert night.
His eyes beheld her most beautiful form,
half in the shadow, half in the light.
For her families benefit he had traded,
agreed bargains, and come to claim his right.

“Princess of the desert, Daughter of the sand,
step forward gently and take me by the hand.
For my island home calls out loud to me,
so come, let us away across the sea”.

Head bowed in fake submission
she boldly makes her cold admission.

“I am a Woman of the free,
these sands are my home to me.
With all good grace; I could not face
life on an island in the sea”.

Black and red, darkness and rage
descend upon his fevered mind.
Humiliated, spurned by a maiden fair,
and pride will not be left behind.

“A curse. A curse. 'pon thy beautiful head,
prowl and creep as do the undead.
Evil deeds are now thy course,
henceforth our contract is now divorced”.

But something made Vigilantos start,
a pang of something from his dead heart.
With such feelings he could not contend,
so a caveat, for the curse to amend.

“Thy deeds and crimes maybe invested
'pon mortals only who invest the same such evil
'pon their fellow mortals”.

Leaving far behind the desert
he turns his face to the sky.
The ships keel ploughs a furrow
as the evening mist draws nigh.

And now she prowls the dark night,
her Name lost in the sands of time.
Seeking out the mortal sinners and
punishing their evil with her crimes.

... and thus it begins ...

© Pagan Paul (08/08/17)
Prequel to The Judderwitch poem (posted in April).
I fear this may create more questions than it answers.

My Judderwitch poems are now in a collection :)
A drop of you,
In the ocean that is me.
I feel A cold burn,
It’s serenity.
When in pain I sail away,
I see no reason I should stay.
Tread my water I try harder,
Are you my saviour on the harbour.
Am I drowning,
Will I surface,
Too the bottom,
I’m a feeder,
Catch my life line,
I’m a keeper.
From the get go why did I let go.
Cast my body too the corners,
Let me spread now across the boarders.  
I am soaked to the bone,
My whistle broke I’ve all but blown.
Paddle faster,
Through disaster,
Shine my light out,
Is it night out,
Where’s my light house.
I’m inhaling,
I’m concaving.
Spread my arms out,
Its ok now.
Shut my mind off,
Let my head bow.
I am sinking,
Parts are failing.
Turn my self off,
I’m in the making.
Let me go now,
Feeling low now.
Watch me go now,
This is my down.
Kanishka May 20
I wish I was an aurora.
My performance will be a blissful rare site.
I'll dance from sky to sky unhindered at night.
My manoeuvre making spectators gasp.
Witnessing me sing will render luck bright.

I wish I was an aurora,
My lovers would camp despite freezing just to peek.
They'll try to touch me but fail.
They'll hold me dear only to lose me instantly.
I'll be their memory, remembered vividly.

I wish I was an aurora.
I'll be the goddess of dawn.
I'll be the chariot of light in darkness.
I'll harbour revolutions in lives.
I'll enlighten everyone as my own.

I wish I was an aurora.
I'll be valued and worshipped by some.
But I'm not an aurora,
I'll die insignificant and glum.
Mohamed Nasir Sep 2018
how do I steer
a rudderless ship
will I capsize
be dragged down
into the cold hostile
sea not knowing
where to harbour
no island in sight
in the stormy night
wandering along
searching blindly
the coast.
how do I captained
a barren ship lost
if not for the light
the house bring to
weary souls saviour
like the Noor of God
reach out as a beacon
to shine as a warner
over the foggy sinners
guiding through
the crazy madness
a safe passage way
to return home.
Noor in arabic means light.
Jon Thenes Jul 2

‘you’re the only hell that I’m gonna know’

i pledge this with spears/

i greet me

goodbye of you

and approach my new interaction

with life-path,

a heaven in preproduction...

but a few steps on the road

i’ve a bone to discover...

                                                   ...i recover and cultivate

                                                   a little hellscape

                                                   that travelled within me all this time/

                                                   in some form or another

                                                   it seems i owe you

                                                   an apology/

                                                   i also harbour an imp and

                                                   without the dominance of your
                             ­                      raging villain

                                                   my brute loosened from it's domesticity

                                                  /that said

                                                   you still remain

                                                   my significant

                                                   past tense

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