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Shofi Ahmed Mar 2018
The material body was yet in the making
The first and foremost luminary feminine
ebb and flow heartily pans out
flawless flow to the finest angle.
Across the nadir to the zenith
Fathima eyes on upon it like it
shapes and forms are waxing lyrical:
The pure masterpiece without a mirror!

Arts on the go Fathima moves on.
Praise be to the Lord she being made
to measure inborn mathematical the pi is her!
(For the perfect circle the circumference is masculine
The pi tends to circle the blank space within is feminine)
She can budge equally in the shadow
in patternless pi decimals and in the open,
in integer into a whole full number!

Hops up her first step she looks for ‘the all’
the complete whole the absolute one Allah.
Time and again she steps up but finds no floor
Her measured step by default lays on 360-degree circle
Scans all things at the first go still finds no bottom!

The first luminary masculine peace be upon him
first looks in the open she takes the veiled angle.
Through the evermore pi decimal micro-hole
She looks on and witnesses the first water drop
surfaces up without a base without a roof on top!
It follows through truly the copy of the original
softly springing around the serene water paints  
of all the maters to be created from this first drop.
Fathima looks at it and veils withdraws her reflection.

It’s still remembered in the sky that follows suit.  
First, a star was born stepping in Fathima’s shoe.
It tried so did the full set of galaxy only to disperse
into a profound constellation never finds a bottom.
Cause amidst this water circle floats the first soil.
Allah called it His house that He first created from it.
Every planetary orb pilgrimage around it in the core
known as Ka’abah up to the heart of the earth it rose.

In the pre-designed world after the first masculine
the first feminine Fathima thus did the first pilgrimage.
She walked the walk did so in the patternless pi veil.

Nature is never uneven on the hidden hand of the pi.
Every little fraction, the small decimal does it count
connects to the dot without showing up a pattern!
Long live, long live the digital charisma is on the rise.

Retracing time and again the sun rises in the median lane,
yet the black box scores it's only a dark chart at the end of the day!
The Moon is yet to moon over an unturned sublunary-dip
It pulls all, the mighty sea that the earth can't
and sync in the feminine water cycle but save only one
with Fathima floating out of the box it can’t link up!

Like millions, ever wonder where Fathima’s grave is?
The earth strived too to the death bite to print her footprint!
Most of the mass visiting Medina look too see the grave of the holy lady Fathima. It has been a tradition since her death some fourteen hundred years ago. There are two graves where she is buried but which one is her is still unknown. Reportedly she wanted her grave to remain unidentified.
jane taylor May 2016
raindrops faintly laughing as they prance
                                                along the leaves
watercress dancing gently twirling slowly
                                                          in the creek
a deer’s neck softly brushing like a whisper
                                                           against a tree
the sun is rising in the forest with hushed tones
                                                             of red on green
a brusk barista whose soul is wounded wants to cry
                                                               but bravely greets
the first blush of sweet dawn's morning ignites resplendent
                                                     ­                             things unseen
                                 

©2016janetaylor
Her heart's a captive Iole,
my hands pressed softly to her back.

Lips a place where I will stay,
to keep our love intact.

And at her lips I shall stay,
to keep our love intact.
Kitana St Cyr Jun 2018
The smell of my fluids excites me
I wait for the day it won’t be from just my fingers,
But on your nose too.

Before I run my hand softly across your face,
Make you wonder wild,
How is my natural scent is so purposefully designed to attract YOU ?

Allow me to make you live for memories before they’re created
And of this one in particular,
My scent
The scent that calls for white wine kids
Let me refresh your neurons.
-your sence of smell
-olfactory sensory neurons
-found in a small patch of tissue high inside the nose
-connected directly to the brain
CA Guilfoyle Jul 2012
Vine maples alight
paths dappled green
forest fronds reach for skies unseen
in deeper wood comes the black of day
red cedars fallen to decay
oxalis spring - softly flowered white
sway, leaning into the light
wild berries burst upon a mossy floor
drink sweet the red wine poured
mouse and bird drunk in their delight
will cozy sleep this woodland night.
Tammy M Darby Jan 2014
The battle ensued
Between combatants heart and mind
As loneliness whispered softly
Of tenderness
In cooing song and rhyme

The brain issued a stern warning
Of heartache and the ache of sorrow
The turmoil of the soul
And the price
The wrath of storms coming

Love ignored words of caution
With little thought of consequence
Forging fearlessly and foolishly ahead
Igniting a small spark
Accompanied smoke trails in the night
Long ago thought dead

Glowing orange blue flickering embers
Soon a smoldering burning fire
Did awaken from memories long sleep
The emotion
Desire

This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby Dec. 26, 2014
Cress Rosario May 2014
I think I finally found
An extraordinary feeling
Like a melody softly beating
A smile on a Sunday morning

It's lovely, sweet, and glad
Like a scent of orange trees
Landscapes of blue and green
Aroma of a sugary treat

This feeling I will cherish forever
A shining love like no other
A love I found only in your heart
A love says you and me will never be apart
Jesse stillwater Mar 2018
A pair of lily white wings
   dangling in the dappled moonlight esprit;
hang entangled as silken spider web
   draped in the sweet Magnolia tree

From beneath there was no way of knowing
   why a pair of abandoned wings lodge mislaid
One could not help but wonder how high
   one might fly with cherub wings

But these callused feet tread far below the treetops
   too high up from roots to climb
No telltale tiptoe prints cavort to be the talebearer
   No feathered traces scattered all around

A hearken say, tickle-footed as a ladybug,
   hold forth in a breeze brushed ear
Not completely undoubtable heed spoken;
   a language bestow from another ether
softly breathe a whisper'd sigh:

"Behold the wings of a fallen angel;
   uplifted by love's amazing grace
Lost alone in a moonstruck blindness
   an angel flying too close
           to the ground

                      ~

                   Jesse
.
            08 March 2018
Sam Hawkins Oct 2013
On the low-flung periphery of the salt marsh bay,
near the twisted beach, an eddy--

Sun low with the tide going up
where softly and under I lay.

For a pillow I was given
a yellow shell.

My ears were listening.

In its restlessness and reaching,
my tongue and its languages
felt lashed and closed.

I shall not leave
my waterworld.

But I must go,
ashore.

Hermit crab
raised itself up.

One silvery minnow played
across my open eyes.

Then, a cloud-blue sky
answered me
with a white seabird,
overhead circling.

So strange and beautiful,
this land of my dream I see--
in my amphibian way.
Jordan Rowan Jan 2016
The night sounds of fallen angels
Building stairways back to home
And the radio plays softly
Like a crooner left alone
As the night falls into the velvet shades
And beats down the bedroom door
Of all the visions that come to me
It's of one I'm hoping for

The postman closes up the station
And the buses get cleaned with rain
The asylum rests and barely breathes
As the countryside goes insane
Prophets speak of peace
On the dim hue of TV screens
Of all the moments that seem real
I still wait to watch my dreams

Imposed upon the westward wall
Are the silhouettes of weeping oaks
Swaying in the wind that talks
But they only tell me jokes
Swept beneath the silver stars
Sleeping on blanket clouds
Of all the space above me
I feel as if I can't get out

Headlights and passing trains
Sound like time passing by
Gone are the hearts inside
Like the years beyond my eyes
Sounds from the suburb city
Blow like sirens in my mind
Of all the thoughts within me
Only one freezes time
Against the navy blue sky
Stars shine brightly in the night
A peaceful serenity

Dew On a wild rose
Petals softly glisten in the morning sun
A perfect picture

A rainbow appears in the sky
The sky god’s promise remembered
After a rain fall
patty m Apr 2016
From the winds they were spun,
notes that formed music, ethereal and sweet,
and from the stars, poetry sifted
into melody creating song.
    . . . How gloriously the blood stag rises.
sniffing air sweet with supplication
each syllable is a warm caress
each scent a flowered note
sifting softly through air.
        She watches them take flight,
shimmering stars or merely embers
falling to earth light as rain?
How easily their touch dispels heartache,
wrapped in moonlight and blue shadow,
anointed with the fragrance of spruce.

A rose becomes a kiss whose petals caress lips
with velvet softness. . .
Silent night, the entire forest is alight with magic fire.

. . . "Yet secret is poem's end,"
she says with a conspiratorial wink,
before running swift as summer fawn
scattering petals in her wake.

Gaia, bless this fern filled home.
ablaze with starlight and magic
the creatures of earth bow to you mother
all earth is green and new,
glistening
Vicki Kralapp Jun 2013
Once I woke to find my knight,
  at first sign of morning light,
  lying softly in the sun's first rays.

Quietly I lie in wonder,
  watching as my thoughts did ponder
  as the light against his face did play

While my mind repeated lowly,
  I began to listen slowly,
  to its crisp and clear refrain;

Take this one and let him know
  how it is your love has grown
  and let him wipe away your years of pain.
All poems are copy written and soul property of Vicki Kralapp.
Lily Feb 4
I have a friend who tells me
that nothing, no one,
and no love

is unconditional.

He’s beaming and bright,
and light like soft rain

But sometimes, I look at him,
and it hurts.

I have a friend who speaks softly
to my hard of heart -
who cracks me up and open.

I have a friend who keeps me strong

I have a friend
for whom I love
even in times
when I have none.
For Jon
Bryan Lunsford Dec 2018
It's that song you used to always play–
Playing, softly, under our words in your old driveway,

I knew you were hurt, and I didn't know what to say,
Though, I vowed I was going to love you the right way,

Time goes by, but some things never change,
As it never mattered, where you were was my favorite place,

You were perfect for me, and I wish you would've stayed,
Though you moved back home–over a thousand miles away,

It may hurt, and this pain might never go away,
Though, I listen to that song, softly, on replay–

Replaying alone, as with this night that's gone astray,
I cry, here, parked in your old driveway
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