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Hisham Alshaikh Jul 2018
You laugh
Angels weep out of jealousy
Devils have no single conspiracy
Demons dancing in harmony
Men hearts go broken with no remedy
Women eyes tearing continuously
Violins break out of envy terribly
Composers have no more creativity
Music plays with no melody
Silence starts listening joyfully
Happiness laughters left in agony
Beautiful words describe nothing but misery
Tulip flowers become colorless shamefully
Believers lose their faith immediately
Infidels drop their convictions instantly
Hearts start beating rapidly
Lungs oxygenating quickly
Living ones laying listening carefully
The dead come back miraculously

--Hisham Alshaikh
You Laugh. Version 1.
Osiria Melody May 14
Toss and turn in bed like laundry undone
My washing machine mind runs and my
energy dries up
Exhausted from being awake for too long,

I toss and turn to begin another cycle
I rinse the pain away from my body thru
successive stretches
A calisthenic conversation with myself

Lying in my bed of thoughts, each one is
a piece of emotion clothing, unravelled
I detect the fibers of morning breath and
reluctantly tumble out of bed
With a sigh, I walk to the bathroom to
brush my teeth, just another day

This toothpaste bottle is like detergent to
rid of my morning breath
And as I wash my face, I wash away the
morning grumps, which drain to my sink
My reflection greets me as I realize that
my image is an outfit seamed together

Since I look a little better, I don't feel like
the laundry undone when I first woke up



Melody
5/14/19
I woke up earlier than usual today.
September Roses Feb 2018
Imagine a Person
just like you
living parallel to you
their life a parallel line to yours
a Person who finds the same thrills as you
loves nothing more than your favorite artist
your passions exactly the same
living your life
singing your songs
painting your paintings
a Person so uncannily made for you
someone that you would instantly click with
someone that would watch sunsets with you
someone you would never let go of till the day you die.
someone impossible
because you just never quite meet
someone you just miss by some cruel circumstance
and you'll always miss them
because you see the thing about parallel lines
they never meet
Violet Sep 2017
My Mom always makes nice shakes,
that we actually joke: "Mama Juice".
They could really win sweepstakes,
being much better than Jamba Juice!

Mama Juices could have good fruits,
my favorite flavor is usually avocado.
I’d really just love any Mama Juice,
being nice to drink and swallow!

I'd drink smoothies just everyday,
since nice fruits could be their flavor.
Mama'd have me instantly go "YAY!",
since any shake can be a real lifesaver!

Despite thinking I had a fat tummy,
I am actually still feeling so healthy.
Enjoying Mama Juices being yummy,
thus I always then drink them: plenty!
This poem is about my Mom's shakes and is in ABAB form. It has 100 words, as  my other works do.
Osiria Melody Mar 13
Scrolls through your feed,
Urge to LIKE and COMMENT on
each of your posts
[Refrains from doing so]
Am I a creep for stalking your
profile back to day 1?

We don't connect in real life,
unlike instantly on social media
FOLLOWING each other's posts
throughout the year
Occasional LIKES, COMMENTS
Falling in love behind a
screen of an idealized world

I've never heard your voice
I've never held your hand
I've never spent time IRL
with you
I hope that you look the same
like your profile picture, though



Melody
3/13/19
Should we meet IRL? I dunno, LOL.
“death everywhere, not age or ancient, just an infiltrated lack of life”

a puzzling, troubling line in a personal message,
instantly isolated for further review,
needy indeedy for a second medical opinion,
for it’s a description of two,
an actual place and a state of being

a place where death seems more commonplace,
not from agedness or honor,
but from a madness drunk from a special cocktail of
heat, guns and pseudo-rock stars, with beer chasers

imbibed by those who imagine themselves INRL  
in a movie genre of specialized urban cowboys,
subset horror flick,
self-appointed angels

part of a world view
so pervasive that it infiltrates the mental water supply
and modifies the pure children early on

demeaning existence, with a sense, a sendup,
life is unreal, cheap, so taking it-is ok,
justice delivered, for we angels,
are subset,
angels of death

in a country where
seven out of ten believe in angels,
and one in four confident that
the sun revolves around the Earth

look to blame
polluted water
the ever-overheated atmosphere,
bringing typhoon and storm,

I do not know

how be sun and water,
the essences, the originations of all life
today come to the planet days still
clear and warm,
yet can not infiltrate our personal mystery,
respire, re-spark the notion of the spirit,


the simple sanctity of life peculiarly human
call me by my other name
mystified momma
Shofi Ahmed Aug 2018
The world is small even heaven isn't big.
But an uncreated Word is,
an expression of love and promise!

The tale of the beginning
the tale of the end without the ending.
Soon God said it 'Qun' be
Bang it couldn't be bigger indeed.

Everything small and big the complete
creations panache came to be so big!
Body is small the soul came in the front.
Every soul banged explored at once.
All heard the same Word it was only one
that sets the tone for the first to the last.
So sweet it took everyone’s heart!

The death wouldn’t touch the soul
that already died but couldn’t die.
Revived there and then instantly,
hearing the 'Qun' the uncreated melody!
Crooned up even through the dead-end
surged up to the other side of the black hole.
Like a waxing Moon passed over, crossing
the asleep body in the shadow, yet in the making!

Adam was yet to be in the body.
It wasn’t in the physical element
that by no means could hear it!
Unlike the abyss soul there
the sea can take a dip.
The cloud spills and rains
but only to revert back to the sea
showering the shallow body.

Unable to resist it, the first big bang
didn’t take place in a physical body!
Not in the star, milky way or in the galaxy
nor an orb is as scientific as the human body!

He said ‘Qun’ again and the first big bang
on the matter takes place in Fathima’s joint
interlacing her live soul and pre-design body!
It cut through the irrational pi in between
the soul and body now gel in melody!
So that the grand manifestation in bloom
shall continue to resonate perpetuating the body.
With pure love without a condition without a boundary.

Nature that was yet to be, gets a mirror in its entirety.
and bang big upon hearing ‘Qun’ be, says the Almighty.
It comes to be and shall perish only to be an eternal body!
Andrew Rueter Jun 2017
You make me feel so stupid
When we play chess
The way you en passant all nonchalant
You chase me into castle
From there I watch you intently
The way the Russians watched Bobby Fischer
In his hotel room
But while I wait for a move to develop
I become the Boredest Spazsky
My mind in a stalemate
As I try to crush your Sicilian defenses
As much as I harangue
You leave me in zugzwang
Which confuses my feeble mind
For I may be a pawn
But I'm the king pawn
Which means the board usually revolves around me
But your queen takes that instantly
And I'm left in a fool's checkmate

I wish you could see things from my side of the board
You'd see how desperately I wanted the king
All the complex and unique obstacles in the way
But instead you just sit there
And laugh at me losing all my pieces trying to reach you
Mark Upright Aug 2018
|“lead into gold, good into dear, mortal into immortal”
(where poems come from)”
|


you charged me
with crimes three times three,
sorcery and witchcraft and doing god’s work

plead guilty three times three
not that I was successful,
but a complex, candied marvelous failure

not in my possession, the sorcerers spell,
my dross and wordy dregs all sit sidelined,
perchance perhaps,
if you search with a leaden patience inhuman,
you might just find a minuscule golden vein there’d unmined

turning good into dear, an “anyone can do it” miracle,
when you whisper with just one kiss those forever words,
don’t be afraid, say it low and slow, I love you,
and
“I only want to be with you”
and dare it to be become dear

mortal into immortal, an order tall, for one knows his
hiding places for all too human pockmarked weak,
but having been charged and found in guilt,
no one proffered evidence but they wanted a unambiguous
unanimous verdict and proof is such an old fashioned truth notion

happy accept your accusations and since confession is
the best soul medicine, with glee, here and now reveal
how immortality is achievable


breathe poems  constantly instantly throughout
the orifices in the skin cells and
pore’d orifices you were god given;
it is how we immortals communicate
with what cannot be seen,
yet drunken heard when spoke aloud

taste the poems in and on tongues you can’t comprehend,
the sounds fly skyward after infiltrating your eyes,
then you can see your own immortality anointed rising

all nonsense you plead,
indeed,
only immortals truly cherish and envy the
human ability to create
nonsense, the place
where poems come from

*******
Ryan Nash Feb 2013
We step outside and even though
you were only one option out of many,
I chose you.
You were perfect
for a seven minute fling.

Your milky white skin burns instantly
to my fiery touch.
At first, you play rough.
Your breath scalds my lungs
with the promise of a shorter life.
But as you ease into a pattern,
you begin to mellow me out.

Now we are halfway through
and your tan lips
are starting to soften
at the thought of this fling
coming to an end.
As the seconds whine forward,
you send me one last shock of ecstasy,
and then in a puff of smoke,
you leave forever,
with me wishing
that you would come back.

They say a seven minute fling
will take seven minutes
off your life.
I sit and ponder this
but still I hunger for more.
And although there are millions
of you out there just waiting
for their own chance at a seven minute fling,
the time you have given me
is as good as it ever will be.
Crow Oct 2018
there are no mountains to hold up the endless, sometimes troubled sky
no ocean waves drawing our eyes and hearts away to sea
fall’s colors are muted when compared to the vibrant array of the northeast
verdant giants do not tower above forest floors deep in soft years of fallen splendor

on the American plains, natural beauty of such grand scale is reserved
for sunsets, displayed on the firmaments unframed canvas
those of greatest magnificence occur when a cloud deck is lit from below
just as the sun meets the silhouetted horizon in a clear band of sky

the bottom of the clouds become an inverted fiery sea
long rolling waves in scorching rows following one on another
whitecaps replaced with blazing plumes of orange, red, and yellow
leaping up from deep purple and violet troughs

I witnessed a sunset of this type tonight as I drove west
words came instantly into my mind “Clouds of Fire”
the voice I heard was not my own internal voice and the words were not mine
my brother’s voice spoke the words, echoing from a similar sunset long ago

behind our home, where I lived out my graceless teen years, was a field
my brother and I would go walking in that enormous open space
through the restless grass as long as our legs, the prairie wind tracing waves
late one fall afternoon we stopped on a hill to watch the sunset

when I was very small my brother often was a stand-in parent for me
our father worked at night and our mother was trying to keep a business going
he was 13 years older than me and he was my idol
my first step was towards him, he taught me to sing, we played with my toys

he made up stories for me which I often concluded were true
by natural talent, he was an artist and drew cartoons for me
his unrealized dream was to be an artist professionally

at one time he and I and the brother between us shared a tiny bedroom
he painted a knight on the wall above each bed, each unique just for us
the house was rented and we weren’t supposed to paint anything
but it made us happy, and it made him happy, so he did it anyway

even when I was older and knew the stories were only stories
he still made them up just to amuse me, and himself
about his dog learning to fly, strange animals in the woods
talking birds and abandoned ruins, and The Book

the story was of how he had found a huge, old book bound in red leather
it was hidden in a hollow tree watched over by an owl
there was no title, it was just The Book
in The Book were all the secrets of the world

we stood on the hill looking at the sunset, wearing heavy coats
against a winter chill which came early that year
he said “Clouds of Fire, they are real you know”
I gave him a look which must have said “sure they are”

gathering all the dignity of his 13 years of adulthood, his beard
outranking my continuing struggle through adolescence
stared at me, sagelike, and with great solemnity said “It’s in The Book”
this phrase became the inarguable way to end any issue between us

sunsets are, by their nature, as ephemeral as rainbows
or clouds, or so many of our memories
or us
my brother died 18 years ago

when someone who is loved so much dies, the grief can crush you
your heart excavated to leave room for the pain to fill in
eventually, with rare exceptions, it does get better though loss remains
we become accustomed to the new world, the one without them

this is not forgetting the ones we love, nor being selfish
it is necessary, otherwise the accumulated weight of misery
gathered in a lifetime of loss would make it impossible for us to continue
no one who loved us would want our future to be so

some memories can defy their nature and become part of us
they cling to us and live as long as we live, so it is now when I think of him
I remember the joy of reunion after being apart, laughter at a joke,
the smile that came just because I was happy to be with him and he was my brother

but sometimes


like when I see clouds of fire

               how I miss him
For my brother
Gillian May 2013
let's just say i'm doing fine
jonas says he's going back to california
the roughage of a thousand ocean floors
roll me into their waves and
strangle my heart instantly
pulling him away,
always,
all ways...

jonas and i are in the kitchen at standing on end
"i'm getting out of here, you know"
he pulls out the Gilly mug he always uses here
i read the wisdom beneath the scribbles of his hands

jonas left two weeks ago, i won't hear from him
he's living like a shadow, passing over, never sinking in
everyone everywhere he's ever been will never remember his name
none of them will know who he is

will our ties weaken or will we make
deeper grooves every time we retrace a step?
like highways after years of traffic
Smoke Scribe Mar 2015
Part II  of "Got 0 Followers"

aim high
to keep
it low

expectations
such an
Awesome Awful
curse
others infect
you with

don't, yada yada,
ya wanna be like
Tom, **** and Jane,
even Harry, a transgendered
friend and fellow (ha) outcast,
all with a good job
prospects of a
goodly tented long life?

so ya write poems
to nobody
about nothing and
you are pleased
to be pleasing just yourself

in writing you have
nothing to prove,
so read them
like keepsakes
ya like,
keep 'em & me hid,
in the shoebox
under the closeted
pile of ***** clothes,
special designer outfits concocted
so they keep my remains,
privatized and unsanitized,
my equity,
hidden,
disguised as disgusting

but for god-sakes
don't follow me,
unless
you want to curse us
both with
Expectations of Expectations,
then comes with
illiteracy of
Affection

then the literary
pre-tension
that always follows,
leading to

Affectation,
the first derivative of the infection of affection

yeah,
then comes
caring
and it instantly it's too late,
you're *******,
right up the mental heine,
lost condemned
ruined annihilated
crushed subverted
crushed into
mental death camp suffocation of more, please ma,
can I have some more?

**crap, why did you have to go and follow me?
Lawren Jun 2013
A calm and cool breeze
Passes through the leaves of the trees,
Persuading the branches to sway,
Like algae in a turbulent sea.
Without a cloud in the pale blue Arizona sky,
The sun radiates down-- hot and glaring.
It reflects off the shiny paint of the cars around me,
Illuminates the brown mountains in the distance.
And magnified through the thick lenses of my glasses,
It blinds my sensitive eyes.
The surrounding sempiternal desert
Is so clear and sharp,
That no one nor nothing can hide
(With the exception of the beings who can blend,
And despite my tiring efforts,
I am not one of them.)
The nearest Creosote bush
Eminates of the smell of water,
As it passes through a hose.
I am instantly transported back home
Where sand is replaced by grass and plants
That require regular watering to survive.
When I close my eyes I can see
The illusion of a waterfall, created by the uncoiling hose
As it ejects tepid water for us to traverse.
But upon unveiling my windows,
I allow the sandy landscape to penetrate into my soul
And I am brought back to the present
Where life subsists, illogically,
Through a dearth of water, and inordinate sun.
Lia Mac Jan 23
Cut deep into the inside of my arm with the sharpest blade. Drag up from wrist to elbow and release. Dark. Shiny. Red black wells up, flows freely. Rolls down my arm so hot in this deep cold. Drips from my fingertips splattering onto the stones. Each drop forming into a perfect snowflake. Instantly frozen. I knew I was beautiful.
Lie down. Cold hard metal bites into my back. Blood streaming onto the rails. I can feel them start to vibrate.

Ecstasy
Zowie Georgia May 2014
I dreamt I was walking,
aimlessly and in a foreign land not knowing how I arrived.
My ears were flattered by the whistles and admirers as I passed by,
but inside I was so sad.

After walking down a few deserted streets I turned a corner and saw people celebrating and joyful.
I entered their space to pass through but I was stopped in my tracks.
My eyes instantly drawn towards a little girl in a long pink dress,
she was bald and dancing alone, I felt like I'd never seen such a happy little girl in my whole life. She lit up my heart, I stood smiling and admiring her spirit.

She then looked at me, her little legs instantly ran towards me as though she recognized me from somewhere. Fearlessly and confidently she asked me to pick her up and hold her. I look down at her still smiling and place my palm on the top of her head. She stretches out her arms and I scoop her up.  

Her feet dangle around my waist as she playfully tugs at my hair telling me she loves my hair! I hold her dancing as we laugh together totally at one, her mum begins to walk towards us and I put the girl down again.
I then whispered in her ear 'Please, don't ever stop dancing!' and as I look at her beautiful innocent face I began to cry.
Her mum then asks me 'What's happened to you, are you okay....?'
And as I begin to explain the reason for my tears I wake up literally crying.... Because this little girl was me.
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