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Shofi Ahmed Apr 2017
Just a dew drop, let alone the sea,
and a handful of earth, not the Planet Ge.
Not a shade of blue, save the rose for bee
Purely a clear drop didn’t spill in the core,
because the whole sphere feels the pinch.

Singing chorus rains down, bouncing back
to earth the only open-through planet.
No black hole is as deep as the sun jumps,
dives in the dew on every flower they wet.
Every bird in the trees sings and tweets,
yet one is stone quiet, shouldn’t even hiss.
Shh! shh, the sleeping beauty is sleeping!

Cut above the rest, the unique earth
brimming with the infinite finishing line
by design pans out to the transcended pi.
Pure spring, the waterfront by the Moon,
untouched, unspoiled is her swimming pool.

How she goes by, wetting her ****** toe
Only to bubble high up the transcended circle
If only the sun could rise high in that pole,
for the rest of species could sneak a peek.
She’s there with the capstone of the pyramid!

Shots beyond the fixed circle, netting the eyeballs.
The stars, the Moon on the move for pure freedom.
The thrilled earth did come out, smelling of roses
Off the golden cut pi-decimal-abyss digital spring.
With a handful of earth and a drop of water dew
This is a pure mirroring thanks to the original, you!

At the end of the string apt you lovely took her by hand
and she took it in emptying her heart and soul.
Earth is now too thin on stock, she is no more
Just a shadow, a 360-degree hollow flute!
Oh light at the end of the tunnel shine and show
Play in like in the Night of Ascension once more!
This is a poem from my book Zero and One available on Amazon.
Kevarie O Leslie Nov 2017
Title: Old thoughts
Date: 4/10/17

Wish I could come back but I'm gone
Pain in my heart goes on an on
It's a storm in my heart, feel the rain
If I jump it just mite cease the pain

I wanna live but I wanna die
Thinking to myself like how could I
Voices in my head telling me to try
Mama when I'm gone please don't cry

Kevarie O. Leslie
Ylang Ylang Oct 2018
There was war
or riots everywhere
Fire and fumes in the sky
Shots, screams, helicopters

He shot my girl
in the bar, the spanish bloke
I noticed he was really nervous
beforehand
Silver revolver and
lines of blow
on the table beside him,
      Panic

Gangrene in my foot
The war goes on
We live and breathe chaos

Telephone mumbling
   the time is running out
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
The warmth of life has come at last
to me along this spring time path.
Sweet fragrance floats on morning breeze,
while colors dance on plants and trees.
As orchids peek from under pines
I float off to past years and find
myself recalling days gone by
and always you who’ve said goodbye.

But while this past now flirts with me,
I take the time to let it be
and make a choice along my way
to seek out love another way.
I still recall what’s left behind
and in this heart will always find
a life that took a crooked path,
but now has found it’s own way back.

Time’s given me a second chance
to see life at a backward glace.
To learn at last from my mistakes,
so with this choice a chance I take.
To find another soul like mine,
and with that soul my life I’ll find.
My heart has come full circle now,
from life through death a blessed whole.
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
Alyssa Underwood Jul 2016
O Lord Jesus,
I want to live and walk and bow
in constant awe of You,
but I am so easily distracted and waylaid.
Fasten my eyes and heart on You,
for You alone are worthy.
I am not worthy to even peek at Your beauty,
but by Your own worthiness You've invited
me to dwell forever in Your presence,
yet how often I refuse the privilege.
Why would I ever do that?
What is wrong with me?
How hard-headed and hard-hearted I must be!
Save me from my messed-up self
and from this messed-up world,
for I am sorely helpless and lost without You.
Draw me by the force of Your love
into the light of Your glory and goodness,
awaken me to the healing touch of Your Word.

Capture and change me to the core,
for only You can, my Savior.
Rid my soul of its blinding
filth, muck, rot and *******
that I may freely sing, dance,
swim and soar in the wonder of You.
Cause me to crave You with an insatiable,
desperate appetite that expels my fleshly hunger.
Teach me to ever feast on You!
I need You and long for You, Jesus,
but send the burning, ripping ache
deeper, deeper, deeper until nothing
remains but desire for You.
Come and satisfy me, O Delight of delights,
in that glorious and awestruck place
of endless fascination and total possession
where my will is finally drowned in Yours.
Daan Vandelay Jan 2014
Six
The first meeting of eyes made me see
how cute a particular being can be.
I glanced at her glancing, stared at
her staring, kissed her cheek and saw

every single peek. Soon I knew what
was going on, it was impossible love
in its prettiest form. Not forbidden by law,
but frowned upon and disabled by social norm.

There were other girls, but not quite as
cute, like she was a snake and I played
the flute, but she loved her basket, straight
from the heart and I was just a new part

of a different puzzle, for a different day.
I wanted to love you, if only I may.
I am waiting for the day of love, 22 marching soldiers saluting your ways of being who you are.

I've grown up and stopped behaving like that, thankfully (2019 edit)
Kara Jean Sep 2016
We yell self righteous notes
When we peek within everyone is dying of sin
Broken is the helping hand
Let's pretend to be complete
L B Oct 2017
Andi Balise combined a half page of a short story, “Thanks Going Without Saying” by Liz Balise, with half a page of an essay by Klee, “On Modern Art”, from a book called Modern Artists on Art, 10 Unabridged Essays, edited by Robert L. Herbert. With some small edits and line-breaks comes this miracle of a poem:

Painting a Function Different

I peek out over the railing of reality’s magic
Beyond the porch-floor
Minerva hangs her wash
making the invisible visible
Eighty two and three quarters deaf
she doesn’t notice  
But this is, in fact, reality
Has always been this way—
Bent and bird-like existence  
Balanced on two twigs—always busy—

Her task, is the ******* of space  
Cutting coupons, crushing aluminum cans, ironing
The three phenomena which I must....

Things no one notices—
climbing on the abstract surface of a picture
Switching the curtains  
God! I wish from the infinity of space..she wouldn’t…!

It figures that—
Rusty, her cat, is weaving in fortune or misfortune  
I try to fix them—
Her ankles now
And she curses at accidental quality
from the corner of her mouth
which has only one form
Clothespin or cigarette?  
Long johns and animals and men in heaven
and bureau scarf and sheets—all, non-infinite deities
surround us translucent, contained
  
I decide what to get for her birthday—

We are good friends
through painting a function different

For me?
Predestined necessity.

Minerva?
forgets her manners
and eats like a survivor—

Thanks going without saying.
Thank you to my friend, Minerva for those years we shared living by the river.  And thanks, to my daughter, Andi, for seeing this poem in an academic assignment.

Art is what it is, imploring us to touch its experience.... It asks no approval.  It seldom gives reasons.
Lyn Senz Nov 2013
She camps out inside
and tramps in all night
with her trove by her side
on the stove there's a light
and she claims she can't hide
blaming no one in sight
and I know when she's lied
it's when she says she's alright

there's a hole in the door
she can peek thru
and a bowl on the floor
for the leak to

give its drops from the ceiling
from the roof they won't patch
from the cops she's concealing
all the proof from her batch
still I can't stop from feeling
she'd be a pretty good catch
if she'd only be willing

to change


©2011 Lyn
Mal Jun 11
Take a peek inside my mind.

Are you scared yet?
AprilDawn Sep 2015
holiday
mid afternoon
late
summer sun
played
hide and peek
through sky high
leaf umbrellas
we all scrambled
past the picnic table
for the perfect light
to frame
that young face
just right
her smile
is never really
in the shade
we finally found  
some spots
that made the shots
and marked
another day
of family life
minus
you
in any frame
A labor day picnic , trying to move forward with loss, yet  the undertone of sadness  still  peeks around  everyday corners.
Hannah Hernandez Dec 2013
My heart exhilarates when I see you smile at me.
The way the edges of your mouth coil upward.
The way your eyes squint admiring a crescent moon.
The way your teeth peek through your perfect pulp lips.
Your smile is my drug.
And I'll be hooked on it forever.
Grace Apr 2017
Perhaps you'll find me
Poking out from her pores
Peek a boo
Through skin

You'll be searching for me
Tucked behind her ear
Lose strands of hair
Drawing you
To trace with eager fingertips

A "perfect match"
Will never shed light
To new dark
It will keep you stagnant
For growth is not synonymous
With comfort

But I pray she meets the mark
Tucks tightly into suitcases
To shove into damp closests
To be packed away
Until the time comes
A trophy to be shown off only when you see fit
Erin Suurkoivu Oct 2016
Her novelty has faded.
The stars hang back, distant ladies-in-waiting.
The night sky, their palace, is eclipsed by cities
Exploding with neon lights and grotesque trees.
She is too romantic.
Inch by inch, the black sheath is drawn back,
Revealing her smiling crescent.
She keeps a faithful orbit, and stirs
Blue oceans with long white fingers.

In her full sphere
She is a perfect spotlight,
Turning quiet snowy fields into
Illuminated empty stages.
She plays peek-a-boo, uncovering lovers
Gleaming whitely in the mouths
Of beds.
The beauty of entwined limbs
Exposed in her milky radiance.

She is the sun’s soft reflection.
He is never dim, and the black
Silk bag, a sort of corset,
Is ready to devour her again.
The wine is drained from the glass.
Her smile has become a slit.
The single pearl
Gulped,
Cloaked in shadow again.
"The Moon" is a poem from my poetry book, "Blood for Honey", available at Lulu.com and Amazon.
Moonflower Nov 2015
I've found a home in my bones.
A meadow of the softest grass rests in my center
where wild flowers grow and peek between the spaces of my ribcage.
There is a rushing current that slows to a gentle stream with every bend in my veins.
My heart is a rock covered in moss, not in the sense that it's grown hard, but it rests undisturbed,
There is life here.
My body is an abandoned city that nature has taken over.
I lie down for a nap
as climbing ivy wraps around my arms and legs.
I am home.
A sleepy poem from my sleepy brain
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