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Shofi Ahmed Oct 2017
Shining upon the rose,
lovely the sun rises
over the midday sky.

Without a second thought
the brightest one steps up
bends the ear on the ground.

Prophet Muhammad's (PBUH)
wife was waiting.
He was walking his way home.

Maybe or maybe not
one can revive from the
death sleeping at the night.
Hearing the sound
of the homecoming
beloved's foot though
one can't die.

The blessed lady heard
the sound of the foot
and was sure it was his.
This is it, it's the man, it's his!
He is coming home.

The sun is walking on the way.
It will show up
upon the rose in no time.

Ah, only to discover,
it was Fathima walking
father's home!

She, a woman had
her foot sounds the same as
the man's, the greatest of all!
The very one cannot be copied
because he is the masculine original.

Because from the one
same circle came
the man and the woman.
Maybe with a little gap
spilling infinite pi decimals
new days and new nights.

Still, these are a show of
the one Moon and the one Sun!
Left Foot Poet Apr 2018
man (?)
the tomatoes?  

patty m.,
a grievous error thy commissioned

tomatoes are the quintessential feminine fruit
red juicy, round, curvy, sweet
with a flavor at once the same,
yet never again always different, diffident,
asized, and blonde or red, never contrived

without it,
would pizza be pizza?
without it,
would **** ***** love,
be merely a good salad

or a poem

ever be the same?

“me love tomatoes”
cookie monster
He walked the streets a begger
they buried him like a king
he played a six string guitar
he wore no golden ring

She had the voice of angels
survived a valley called death
then fearing no evil
she passed every test

They wrote the songs with sunsets
they walked the line together
they stood in a ring of fire
in love they burned forever
Tribute to Johnny Cash and June Carter
laura Sep 2017
happy **** day, **** me
**** you, humpback **** front
don't stop, follow dotted lines
until you find the little treasure spot
get a little wierd with love
get a little wierd with me

you aren't safe out there, kiddo
just stick with me, too much
talk in the office about us
make out behind a filing cabinet
stuck on the phone all day telling
everybody we're going
to be alright, happy hunting
Kevin J Taylor Oct 2017
Let each hate, and ours for his,
Be scraped away. Hopefully
He cared for some— At least the few
That may have cared for him.

Allow unchanged what good remains.
At length, with love or hate or both,
We go. In time, some with pause
And some without, return.
.
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.)
MAN
Paranoia
and Fear

although,

I am,
just here...

every direction is a miscalculation
every direction is a miscalculation
every direction is a miscalculation


every direction is a miscalculation
every direction is a miscalculation
every direction is a miscalculation


every direction is a miscalculation
every direction is a miscalculation
every direction is a miscalculation
*

I
fall
Steven Cole Aug 2018
If I could be a better man
I'd have enough insight
To always come up with a plan
In times of trouble, danger, or distress
I'd keep my emotions under control
And never run out of rational sense
No circumstances would ever drown me
Or rise above my head
Because I'd know how to swim the currents
And land on solid ground instead


If I could be a better man
I'd have the courage to follow through
With every noble goal I set
And every appeal to selflessness
I am tempted to forget
There'd never be a task
I couldn't undertake
Even if it meant
My life was at stake
Money, time and resources
Would never grow on me
But I'd give of these objects endlessly
And at the end of the day
I'd still know how
To be completely and utterly free


If I could be a better man
I'd never fear the entity of change
But embrace this shrewd reality
Unhindered by its pace
I'd keep a face like solid flint
When revolution
Threatened to derange
At will I'd change my emotions
To better fit each phase
Each chapter of life
From page to page
I'd wire my brain to electrically flow
Smoothly and flawlessly
Everywhere I'd go


If I could be a better man
I'd never struggle with uncertainty
But always know what choice to make
No matter the options that lay before me
I'd never have to second guess
Overthink, obsess or stress
The presented realities and decisions of life
A special wisdom I'd possess
A knowing in my gut and heart
Of all that is my destiny
And all the steps I would have to take
To get to where I want to be
How each occurrence
And aspect of life
Fitted this picture
I'd also see


If I could be a better man
I'd always be a man of my word
Letting my actions always
Positively confirm the things you heard
I'd mean every syllable I spoke to you
With fiery convictions I knew to be true
I'd always know how to communicate
And wouldn't let grievous words
Separate
Relationships so vital and true
The stuff we're made for
And shouldn't undo


If I could be a better man
I'd be a fountain of virtues flowing
Ever going
Like a rumbling and roaring
and rushing waterfall
Dazzlingly Tall

Wisdom

    Prudence

   Diligence

  Patience

Courage

  And Emotional Intelligence

     Faithfulness

   Rectitude

  Purity

  Relentless tenacity

    Fortitude

      And overall confidence

                                            With surety


If I could be the perfect man
There'd be one thing I'd always know how to do
And that is, my friend, in all sincerity
Faithfully loving you


But since I know
I am far from perfect
I will do the best I can
And though I fail now and then
I will get back up
And stand
I will seek forgiveness
Down on my knees
Ask God for strength,
Grace and Mercy please
My weaknesses I'll count as blessings
And thank God I don't have to be
The Savior of the world
Superman
Who for comfort, has no need
Paul Hansford Dec 2016
If I could be a super-hero,
I would be your Bee-Man.

I would fly over continents and oceans,
over forests and gardens,
until I found you,
my Rose Queen.
My super-powers would detect
your pink petals
from far off.
Down I would fly,
drawn to the exquisite beauty
silkily emerging from the heart of you,
your blushing petals
unfolding for me.

Gently but firmly
my long, loving tongue would press
between those dew-moistened folds,
unable to resist the perfume
overcoming me.

Tugged in
by your intoxicating scent,
your nectar I would sup
until I could drink no more.

Then, transforming
the sweet nectar
you had so willingly granted me
into my rich, creamy honey,
created especially for you,
I would penetrate
between your soft petals,
find your hidden depths,
and to repay you for the delight
your fragrant nectar had given me,
magically inject my honey into you,
to fertilise you again and again,
penetrating to the essential heart of you,
until my store was empty,
and we would both feel
the most exquisite joy of all.

I can only hope that you dream of it as I do,
that you wish it also,
and that some day our dreams can come together
as we would.
King Panda Dec 2015
I reemphasized myself again
this time straightening my back
to become as tall as possible
to intimidate and deliver the
words like heat seeking missiles
aimed for earth’s ever-beating
heart and before I could begin
I heard a baby giggle
this made me giggle
and the whole bowlful of crowd
laughed along with us as I let
the doves flutter out of
my hat
Čortoloman May 2018
A: Don't you find it irritating?

Z: Hm?

A: Don't you find irritating the human need to feel happiness?

Z: Isn't that only natural? When you are happy you feel good. So
you will want to feel good when you aren't happy right?

A: But that's not natural. Being happy is just a state you can be at. It's not the state you were at before or after. Being neutral is a state you came from and will go to.

Z: So should I feel the need to be sad when I'm happy just as I have the need to fell happy when I'm sad?

A: No, that does nothing. You shouldn't feel anything at all. Or have a need to in the first place.

Z: That makes no sense. Life is what the living does. You can't live without a need to feel can you?

A: Well maybe being alive is not a natural state to be at as well! If it was you wouldn't die or be born.

Z: What do you mean?

A: Well maybe life and death are also just a state you can be at, but neither are the natural states...

Z: Ugh... Third state beside Life and Death?

A: Yeah!

Z: What would that be?

A: Well for that to work I guess there would have to be a third party involved, like a soul or something, then we could say that it's only your body that is alive or dead. Your soul is then just a presence that trough a medium called body is collecting experience.

Z: What about emotions?

A: Let's add another body in the picture! Call it „emotional body“. Emotional body is using a physical body as a medium to get experience from the world and then there is a soul that is using the emotional body as a medium so we get a perfect being!

Z: Isn't that a bit of a stretch?

A: Who knows.... But then we could say that there is finally a natural state to be at. It is called „Soul state“. In this state you resonate your three bodies (the physical, emotional and soul bodies). In this state you are not „Alive“ or „Dead“, you are not „Happy“ or „Sad“, you are just a presence.

Z: And how would you get to this state called „Soul state“??

A: Well you should ask yourself why do the other two bodies exist in the first place?

Z: Hm.. Well to experience things right?

A: Yeah..

Z: Ohhh! So the soul is a presence that trough the two bodies experiences things! So once it has experienced all there is to see and feel. It will finally enter the „Soul state“!!

A: exactly!

Z: But isn't there just soo much? We don't really have enough time to experience all there is...

A: well who said you live only once..

Z: Reincarnations?

A: Mhm.

Z: But why don't we remember things from our past lives?

A: Well it would be rather easier to experience everything if you think you have only so much time. That way you will use all of the time given to you to live at your fullest!
Story I came up with to connect the puzzle pieces together in a way that i feel comfortable with XD
Austin Sessoms May 2012
here's to a package of
Marlboro Reds
in the hands of
someone other than
the Marlboro Man
standing in
for those slack-jawed outlaws
my heroes now lack jaws
tongues
lungs

I swear it's been too long
since I inhaled manhood
The Great Darrell Winfield
rolled
packed
and filtered
into the only thing I know
that makes a man a man
the essence of
cowboy boots and farmer's tan
in every drag

see, I inhale my heroes
all the dusty red-necked
cowboys
Darrell Winfield
and my dad
men whose lives
went up in smoke
to coat my throat
in my own self-righteousness
I'm frightened this
is all that I'll have left
of him
lung cancer
and the lingering stench
of cigarettes

he always smelled
of cigarettes

he'd pull me into these
firm embraces
he held so long
that he'd suffocate me
in tacky business
and cigarette smoke
masked only
faintly
by a poor man's
cologne
still I breathed him in
until I'd start to choke
it was too much man to handle

my grandpa told me
“smoking doesn't send you
straight to Hell,
but it sure does make you smell
like you've already been there”
he was
a grown man
cursing
crying
lying
dying by himself
trying to drown out the inferno
with a case of beer
but sobriety finds you sometime
and I'd rather suffocate in cigarettes
than lose him altogether

and even if he smells like Hell
at least that means he made it back
He is there but nobody sees him
He speaks but no one can hear
He lives his life in confinement
And no one ever comes near.
To watch him He looks rather lonely
He is lost that is perfectly clear.
Once a child in the arms of his mother
And his father would always be near.
But parants don't last forever
And soon they are no longer here
Now there  is nobody out there
To chase away all of his fears.
He walks to his flat he has no one
Loneliness his only friend
Is this what he really lives for
With nothing to show at the end.
Let's start from the very beginning
It happens in this day and age
Take note of this lonely stranger
Invisible in so many ways.
Watched a documentary a couple of years ago about the amount
Of people who live on their own it was amassing. Although this poem
Is a true case of a man who really was let down by the people around
Him saddly he was like being invisible  in the eyes of the world.
He just didn't fit in with others .
ryn Oct 2014
You're the Wacky Wolf-man,
Tearing through our pages with a single huff.
Breathing life into us little piggies,
Blasting your way through the daily fluff.

You're the Word Wizard.
Leaving us in awe and in dribbles.
Waving your wand,
Conjuring magical and spellbinding scribbles.

You're the Living Legend,
Almost like a deity of some sort.
Garnering shiploads of admiration,
Through words of encouragement, banter and retort.

You're the Bad Boy Bard...
Never mincing your words.
Unconventional, you howl amidst the flocks...
You never did chirp like the birds...

You're the Minstrel Mobster,
Shooting your Tommy, never missing.
Flicking forward your fedora,
Strung lute ever smoking.

You're one Cool Cat.
Fending off haters with a bat.
Everyone just wants to be that.
Like a superhero whose symbol is a bat...

You're a Gem Generator.
Cogs and gears churning the jewels laid
Machine malfunction! My system's jammed!
Well I guess that's just it... Enough said!
Image of someone we all know...
We're all secretly thinking...
Even if it hasn't come to show
I chose to put it down in writing. :)

Hope this works!
Kemy Sep 2018
Umm, the presence and scent of a man
Magnetic attraction where his feet stands
His natural body charismatic aroma
Element of charms, seeping to awaken a woman out a sensual coma
Is it his eyes, the soul behind his life’s mysteries
Flirtation in his smile, tells me he has an undercover ****** history
It is his nose that smells out my charms
An enticing deep baritone voice, his spoken words, which turns me on

Is it the erratic heartbeat he has for a woman, his passionate relent
Stealing my breath, as he tenderly seals my lips in an impassioned moment of content
The strength in his biceps
His triceps
Strong, yet such comforting arms
An epitome of steel, circled around a woman in winter life’s storms
In the cold of night, his body providing your heated warmth

His chest, a hard pillow to tell your doubts, your uncertainties, your fears
Pulling you closer onto it, his reassuring words eradicating your tears
His intellectual mind to think as a man
A stimulating, slam bam and thank you ma’am, or your personal grand slam
His weakening love, taking your body beyond the stars
Woman from Venus, my handsome Man for Mars

His groin, and his family jewels from which it springs forth
Erected compass of his wand now pointing North
A woman’s reservation to tease, please, stroke, or allow it to choke
His loud murmurs shadowing your moans, echoing in the wind
****, I love the presence of men, and his undulated carnal sins
From the first taste of honey dipped Butter ***, me

As his giving oral fixation is traveling free
Freeing the elixir of juices that deems to flee
His hairy legs as he stands to lift my weight
In the shower, no wait, as I anticipate
Hooking my twerking bait
His physique in general…Oh, God thank you
Without the scent of a man, we women would not know what to do

Your presence to a woman is our earthly food
Our je ne sais quoi for our every ****** mood
Rather you are standing, lying still, or upside down
The blissful 69 number conquered as we’re fooling around
My Dream Weaver
My distance heartbeat receiver

His dripping sweat
Droplets to my skin have been met
The presence and scent of a man holds me throughout the night as our eyes finally rest
The best smell in the world is that man that you love.

Jennifer Aniston
Jordan Rowan Jan 2016
I'm not a smart man
Which is good
Because love is stupid
Josiah Israel Jul 2017
Deep in a magic forest, with big old magic trees
And all the magic creatures that live inside of these

There is a magic island, upon a magic lake
And on the island stands a stool, the like no man could make

And on the stool from dawn to dusk, resides a little man
Who spends his days in deeper thought, than any mortal can…

How does he think so many thoughts, well you must realize,
That though the man is small, his head is twice the normal size.

And as for food, well first of all he quite likes eating bugs
Beetles spiders, grass hoppers, slimy snails and salty slugs!

Inside his beard he keeps a hive, so honey he can eat,
And sips the dew from roses, which he grows atop his feet…

And when the night time brings the cold, the old man doesn't care
He simply covers up, with all his long and tangled hair!

Regardless of his oddities, the man is still renowned,
For being quite the wisest man, who never can be found.
This poem was told to me by a young Fairy on the road to a Wishing Well near my house.
Vivian Alvarado Mar 2017
right in front of me
but out of reach
windiness

tests upon tests
you teach me
patience

i’m weary
but i keep chasing
and i just don’t know
if i can reach the top

collecting pieces
of facts like rags
i shape opinions,
secrets map

trust impasse.

i may never know
the mountain shade
unearthed in doubt
from years of pain

but for it all
i love you more
you teach me
strength

and i’ll plant my flag
and print my foot
drag my wooden,
peg-legged soul

lose my voice,
foretell my wake
altitudes high
and immense

please believe
what i can see
let me teach you
acceptance

everest man
i am
shrinking

as you hide the sun
behind your back
as you hide the sun
away from me
emily mikkelsen Oct 2016
I fell in love with a broken man
thought I could put him back together again,
but instead he made me broken too
that's the last time I entrust my heart to you.
everyone makes mistakes sometimes

but I never thought you'd be mine.
onlylovepoetry May 2016
wondrous words,
shades of colorations,
this pain,
artfully slow, steady stalking,
finale staking into
my hardened heart

with tireless twinges
of loss and constant regret,
painstakingly plinking away,
leaving pockmarks of bullets shot
at the concrete ring-fencing,
failing to protect me from just another,

oh god not again,
have no mo' time

for jes one mo' time

love's aftermath regret,
bitter acid wash,
that cleanses nothing,
for you are already nothing
when love loss wrenches/rents your
soul's garments with knotholes of
unfashionable distressed
distress

better not to have loved,
better, better, better,

than this battering silent hurricane
invisible thunderstorm internally,
than respects no seasonality,
for which the meteorologists
can predict neither its path or its
final cessation

painstakingly,
did I build my walled shelter,
only to fail-fall to the siege machines
of beauty and desire,
and
once conquered,
with fire and heat,
they burnt me
from the outward edges inward,
and I am not a
Phoenix


see the stooped slow white walker
more than dead, yet alive enough
existing to be witness to
his own devouring,
his hands wrapped round
the stake in his chest stuck,
painstakingly
protecting it,
lest its removal
be one more undoing of the
painstaking man
laura Mar 2018
feeling kind of fruity
touch your skin up and down
kind of silly funny
breathing waving fanning
panting pajamas on the floor
*** and then talking about pokemon
and programming all at the same time
what a helluva time to keep the tumor
of existence lowkey

scooping blood instead of depression
out of my heart whenever i check
why im feeling so giddy
GreenTrees Sep 2018
Man is hate.

Man is discontent.

Man is  ****.

Man is malevolent.

Man is ******.

Man is death.

Man is fear.

Man is pain.

Man is wrath.

What kind of Man do you want be as asked God?

The man answered. I do not want to be a man.

I want to be a God.

God answered.

You are neither.

You can be a God.

But First you must learn to be a Man.






COPYRIGHT 2018
Karl von Mecklenburg
DW Jan 2015
He watches the world through tear streaked eyes,
At the people just living their lives,
There was no one who cared or was even aware,
That their society was founded on lies,
It was the cruelty of man to man's fellow man,
That caused his young heart to break,
It filled him with sorrow to learn that tomorrow,
There was no difference or change he could make.

First there's the teen with no hopes or dreams,
Who holds the gun to his head,
If only we had heard that four letter word,
"Help" and he might not be dead,
But parents ignore a child's implore,
Move along there is nothing to see,
Then comes the day when he's taken away,
Pushed over the edge by the bully.

The starving young pup who lies all beaten up,
By the teenagers too cool for school,
They've come to learn that next it's their turn,
Drunk fathers are awfully cruel,
Or perhaps the poor homeless just hoping for kindness,
And ends up completely ignored,
We can grumble and shout from our comfy warm house,
That most likely, they're all just big frauds.

Then there comes war the thing all Governments adore,
They can line up their pockets with gold,
The war against terror? Or just the oil endeavour?
It doesn't matter soldiers do as they're told,
"An air strike for peace" is the press release,
As civilians are rained on by bombs,
Can they really believe that what's been achieved,
Is greater than the innocent lives that are gone?

He watches the world through tear streaked eyes,
At the people just living their lives,
There was no one who cared or was even aware,
That their society was founded on lies.
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2013
(Inspired by and dedicated to John Edward Smallshaw, and his "Spice")**


I am a summer-man,
Because I'm blessed to sit by the sea.
Let it and the other two Musketeers,
boon companions to me,
Sun and Wind,
erase my discomposure as I
reside in the Poet's Nookery.
Let them have almost
all that troubles,
but not all.

I am a summer-man.

On the bay, on the beach,
I see birth, I see death,
osprey nests, carcasses of mussels and horseshoe *****.
This, somehow reassuring,
the cycles,
this circularity,
the tides and inevitability.

I am a summer-man.

Student of languages seasonal,
Peaches, plums, cherries, poetry
and loving Woman.^
This, the  summer alphabet-soup of my multiple tongues.

I am a summer-man.

Sancerre and Pinot Gris, super cold,
Paul Simon, Nina Simone, with proper aging,
getting  hotter,
Salsa and Afrikaner hints, super louder,
Even "Still Crazy After All These Years,"
that-who-wud-be-me,
chills outer.^^

I am a summer-man.

When ever this lad's writes appear,
it proves once again,
there is no truth that his  
name was once Dr. Seuss
In a prior life, even if
each is signed by
Ogdiddy Nash

I am a summer-man.

Disrespectful of the calendar,
if I can, try to make
summer season stretch-marks from
May to October.

I would add April,
but the IRS is already ****** at me.^^^

Though the cherry blossoms of May
now gone away,
the lilies of June
arrive, but but for a week or two,
soon, like my mom, withered away.

Acorns in August^^^^ have arrived too swiftly.

This summer, beloved,
and love of summer, deep-rooted.

Season of my Peter Pan Poetry Galore Festival.

A love,  incapable, impossible, of ever
growing old, ever growing cold,
it cannot wither.
It is summer heat reminders exposed,
how it misses its man,
that hide in the flames of
the teasing, popping, reminding
Winter fireplace's crackling pops.
^ See "The Summer Alphabet of Woman (I Speak Woman)"
August 23 2013

^^ See "Made the bed backwards"
August 24 2013

^^^  See "Caesar Has No Authority Over The Grammarians"
August 22 2013

^^^^ See "* Acorns in August (Sonata for Summer Cello and Fall Piano, No. 3)" August 19 2013



* Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel

April come she will
When streams are ripe and swelled with rain;
May, she will stay,
Resting in my arms again

June, she´ll change her tune,
In restless walks she´ll prowl the night;
July, she will fly
And give no warning to her flight.

August, die she must,
The autumn winds blow chilly and cold;
September I´ll remember.
A love once new has now grown old
Hisham Alshaikh Jul 2018
I will be honest like every time or at least most of the time
I do not even know where to start or begin

I rather to say I do not know where this journey would end
The graveyard or the warm heaven’s arms

I still do not know if I want to fight and hold my weapon high
I am still wounded from some of previous fights

I am currently kneeling with my sword exhausted and tired
On my knees scarred because of battles only god knows

I’ve a feeling that I want to stand up with my sword raised up high
Turning obstacles and differences into triumphs

What a strange feeling I get when we are even a little apart
A feeling that motivates me to pick this novel fight

Not sure if I’m trying to build a one-sided bridge between hearts
A bridge with destination of nothing but a pool of fire

Everyday I wish for hints, clues or whatever helps
I just need to know that this is not just a vacation’s play, cause I'll pay

There will be no hurt feelings every journey has it own lessons
Things that need to be known in the beginning of every such journey
stopdoopy Jul 2018
(In a vacant church Little Girl and Big Man sit on a parish
a few feet apart, in between them lies a book titled"My Feelings".)

(The curtain opens. Little Girl sits staring at Big Man. Big Man gets up and goes to the statue of himself in front of them for a closer look.)

Big Man: Will talking in person really make a difference?

Little Girl: I like to think it does.

Big Man:  (turns to look at her incredulously.) What wishful thinking, you're so naïve.

(Little Girl opens her book and starts to read aloud.)

(Big Man cuts her off with a noise every time she starts to say something until she falls silent.)

Big Man: Just as I thought, it doesn't change anything.

Little Girl: But you don't-

Big Man: (cuts her off again.) You just can't let things go, that's your problem. I told you I didn't want to do this, yet you dragged me out here. It didn't accomplish anything!

Little Girl: That's because you don't even want to listen or try to talk, you just want to yell and blame me!

Big Man: That's enough, this conversation is over. (Walks off stage right.)

(Little Girl screams in anger and throws "My Feelings" at the Big Man Statue.)

(The Curtain closes.)
I wanted to try something a little different! I've never written stage directions or a play before but I thought this would be a nice change. I didn't really convey the raw anger or passion, nor was it the scene what I originally wanted but maybe it's a step in the right direction. Trying out different styles is neat. Not happy with this piece though but... oh well.
Joel A Doetsch Feb 2012
He owned books on many subjects
leather bound, with complex concepts
on which he'd ponder and reflect

He had it all, in some respects.

He could lecture quantum physics,
English literature and economics
He was renowned in academics

Though many found him quite eccentric

He explored the world only to find
That there's more to life than a brilliant mind
That there was a piece of him...undefined

See, He had never loved. He'd never pined

He knew all the math, knew all equations
He'd been to every corner of every nation
He'd learned 28 languages, knew every translation

But he was distraught by this realization

The pain he felt was too great to bear
He sank into the deepest and darkest despair
His heart was in need of dire repair

Finding love was his only prayer

He bumped into her by happenstance
and what began as an ephemeral glance
became a sucker punch from romance

She thought he was sweet, so she gave him a chance

That's when the world's smartest man finally learned how to dance
Somewhat inspired by the Dr. Who episode "The Doctor Dances"
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