Shofi Ahmed May 2017
On the day
or in the night.
In the dark or
in the light
black or white.

Whatever.
whichever way.

You got a choice
how you look.
On the flip side
or the other side,
any side of the coin.
Down the sun
or down the Moon!
Valsa George May 2017
On the bank of a rushing brook
I sat for hours watching its course.
Peered into the clear gurgling mass
That cascaded down from a mountainous source

Like a slithering snake, it slinks and slips
It babbles downhill night and day
Rolling and gliding through plains and dales
It winds its way to the wider bay.

Dipping my fingers in its icy chill
How my hand got repelled as from a shock!
In its ripples stirred by the kissing breeze,
I saw trees, clouds and the jutting rock-

All floating in queer, fanciful shapes,
Shuddering, trembling and standing still
And the fishes leaving zigzag trails,
Swishing and swimming in the winding rill.

As I quietly watched her speedy flight
With her bosom rising in mournful heaves,
In my ears fell her whispering soft
Orchestrated by the rustle of quivering leaves

I hardly knew the time speeding by
Nor noticed the birds’ homeward flight
Or the Sun moving to the west end side
And the Sky reddening at his sight

As the brook thus continued her headlong ride
To be mingled finally with the ocean wide
I walked, brooding over man’s relentless stride
To be merged eventually with the Cosmic Guide.
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
Lazhar Bouazzi May 2016
Writing is
the frozen music
of an ellipsis,
the silent song
of a lonesome poet
who sings in the dark
among howling winds
crossing swords
in the white shades
of unseen things -
a winter on the Pole
on whose  obverse side
there's Rio,
and dancing
and mirth
and the sun's critique
of hegemony.

© Lazhar Bouazzi, May 31, 2016
Chris Neilson Jul 2016
Attended a dinner party with poets departed
secured a place in a fantasy scenario self created
Dylan Thomas did not go gently to the event
discussion with Yeats was heaven sent

Conversation with Shakespeare was bawdy and lewd
even brawling Brendan Behan found him crude
Wordsworth wandered in as lonely as a lakeside cloud
faced with his eloquence before me I bowed

John Cooper Clarke's showing brought mouths open wide
Jim Morrison spoke, "You've broken on through to the other side!"
The Salford Bard looked dead so they let him in
as refusing him entry a gratuitous grave sin

Heaney was asked for his views on Brexit
a number was taken for dear Seamus to text it
"Here come some women poets?", exclaimed Sylvia Plath
as Browning, Dickinson and Rossetti walked up a path

When I shuffle off this mortal coil
with relics scattered in suitable soil
eternal musing with all the above
would bring evermore everlasting love
ME Jan 2
You are not the only one
I fell in love with
I wrote poems for
I’d make you promise
I love you
as far as my life goes.

You are not the only one
I imagine my future with
our little family
you and me
we fill our lives
with laughs and joy.

You are not the only one
I yearn to kiss
to hold you tight
in the winter nights
I wake up with you
by my side.

You are not the only one
I’ve dreamt all of this
You are the only one
I ever wish
it would come true.
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