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I can't stop thinking about you. Since the first moment I met you you're a constant in my head. Why? What is it about you that leaves a lingering effect? I don't want this. I keep dreaming of you, it isn't always the same. You're the closest thing to me in some, in others you're the furthest thing I can see that's still in focus. Round and round and round and round you spin in my head. I don't even know what exactly I'm thinking of when I'm thinking of you. I spend my time thinking about not thinking about you and I'm caught in a loop of you. I hope you're ok, I hope you’re safe, I hope you've eaten today, I hope you sleep well, I hope you're healthy. When will these feelings and thoughts fade? How can I spend so much time thinking about someone to whom my existence is much too much to even acknowledge? I don't hate you for this, but it still hurts. All my 11:11's are spent on you. I wish clarity, I wish stability, I wish happiness, and I wish love for you with whomever or whatever it is...

celestial Apr 2017
i dreamt i kissed you that night: once, then twice,
with my trembling arms circled around your neck,
while i clung feverishly to your shielding embrace,
as though you might leave me, and i would break.
i pressed my lips against yours again, a third kiss,
lingering and hesitant, like i knew it was goodbye,
and i captured a photograph inside my thoughts,
of the glimmer in your eyes, eternally in my mind.
i will miss you and love you for eternity.
Shofi Ahmed Oct 2018
Painting shades of blue
the tinted clouds
over the rainbow
jumped away.

Now it's a diving black swan
somewhere down the all
clear lapis lazuli blue sky.

Only one is left behind
wish I was with my butterfly!
Jade Oct 2018
Heart skips
like a warped record,
trembles over scarred vinyl
until "I love you"
tastes incomplete:

(I)                love                 you

I                  (love)               you

I                   love                (you).

My Swan Song mewls off key,
cascades across the
marred terrain of my soul
in a thick lacquer of tears.
Notes flatline
in unison with my
waning pulse
(waning, like the face
of the moon on the night
of my eighteenth birthday).

My breath
resigns to static,
dances in slow decrescendos--
sputters its way
towards nothingness,
slipping rapidly from
my consciousness until
I no longer hold
any recollection of the music
(or the poetry).
Don't be a stranger--check out my blog!

(P.S. Use a computer to ensure an optimal reading experience)
Shofi Ahmed Oct 2017
It broke through the black box
shining down the sky
the first light touched
the bottom of the night!

Yet the sun sets, flies away.
Didn’t it catch the black swan night?
zsazsa Oct 2016
The good
The bad
And Me, The ****
I'm not the first nor the last to be bullied
For years I let that stick in my head
Doubted myself
Pills! I tried to end this life
But I'm growing
I like her
I like the girl in the mirror
I like her long face
Her brown eyes
Her dark, small lips
The scar on her thigh
Her tiny waist
Her coffee skin
What is that?
Oh yah I know, the world
The world is ****
But she

A lively debate
that inside I create
A seemingly
simple state
But this state
of affairs
Is like a ****** affair
The details
I wish not to share
don’t stare
For inside
I’m scared
Am I prepared?
Do I have
the ***** to do
what I really care?
Or am I going
to stay on this ship
of self-despair
I can scream
my lungs ******
into the air
But does anyone care?
Do I even [email protected] care??

Maybe a life spared
but spare me the
retched [email protected]

of self-pity
I’m self-giving
It wreaks up the air
It’s noxious scent
is not one I care
to ever encounter
or fair

Let’s “clear the air”
and take on
what I want
from now on
No longer a ****
who is living the tired
of some pathetic
love song

is my “Swan Song”
Where I belong
This [email protected] is ON!

Climbing the mountain strong
Bellowing a chant
a song
That’s been so deep within
for so long
It can only come out
Because “wrong”
does not belong
This virus
is airborne

No longer forlorn
All the darkness
is gone
You have been
Are you ready?
Because it’s coming
Sounding the horn
the firstborn
The “storm”
Once icy and cold
Now simmering warm
Going to bubble into
volcanic ash scorned
This Oath
hath been sworn
Tattered and torn
**** cloth
all that is worn

But forward my path
What’s behind me
My ***
The past
Worn out,
and shriveling trash

All that
is gone
as I head
towards the dawn
Through the darkness
I’ve trekked
The Sun rises ahead
And with it
My song

My Swan Song
I am reborn
withered and worn
But still strong
I belong
I am one
with the Universe

The path before me
is brightly lit
with happiness and joy
No more patheticness
All the grit
and the spit
Broken teeth
All that [email protected]
It all meant something
It was THIS

Every bruise
Every brake
All the “wrongs”
and “mistakes”

Are what it takes
You can call it fate
or simply short of fatal
but since
through this day till
Every day
I thankfully say
“Thank you”
for showing me the way
Because now I have
A love that stays
A true love
One that can’t
get away
Because I value Me
One ‘hopes’ or ‘prays’
But like a house
Each brick is laid
Onto the next
Foundation made
A sturdy house
Can’t blow away
Hard work put in
Made it this way
The same for me
The price I paid
But end result
A saving grace
Written: December 6, 2018

All rights reserved.
Navigating the morning migratory commute
      Mother Luna, Venus Magus, Jupiter Rex
      and little cygnets of pink appear
            —just for her

She hums a few notes
      from her Hildegard repertoire
             in memoriam
      to a mostly recycled paper cup
      organic hand-roasted coffee, fair trade
      brewed by a kid, her favorite barista
      because he can quote Albert Camus

She soars on a plain of existence
      Alto Cirrus Allegro
      where gods kibitz in several languages
            —at once
      on topics that span the gamut
      of not-so-trivial pursuits

My Pen, at her desk, preens her brand
       though this is the season of her last days
       an executive where money
            is unapologetically—God
       where women are hens
       recognized holistically
             as the large fleshy area
             that surrounds the ******

It's difficult paddling upstream
      in that sewage
      when you are a swan

That's why, I, her Cob who surely,
      surely by true gods that fly
               do not deserve
      such a precious spirit feather as she
      calls to her, waddles my mating dance
            —just for her
      spreads my wings
      to flap scents of sky in display for her
      cranes my neck to honk
      across interstate traffic
            and elevator gropes
      to bring her back here—home
our pond of still water
for LoML
Shofi Ahmed Aug 2017
Come bask in the summer sun
     let’s slip out fly with the butterflies!
         While white fluffy cloud-swans  
              dip in and rise, surge and fly
                 up the rainbow arc sway away
                    come down the blue harbour
                       ambling along shady lanes
                           cast your glance treat your eyes!
Shofi Ahmed May 2017
It’s a coloured and shaded broad daylight.
Bring me my hourglass, my paintbrush.
Keeping a timepiece, how soon my brush
strokes become finer it is not the task.
Try once more, strike a fine chord in time,
ever ticking but doesn't make a sound!  

Let’s read the small prints, the shadow lines
on the pitch of the slit sun shines!
A dark spot in the light, some dotted lines
on a blank paper, however witty you might
describe it, count on the tweeting birds
short and cute, singing in the open air.

Light and dark the two tallies, ins and outs.
The times come and go, flowing fine.
For now, let’s take a look inside.
Tint and shade nor tone them now.
Zoom in and out, just watch them as they are.

This cool sleek shade on the sunny slate
is it a shadow, or some quivering curly hairs
or are these reflections of flocking clouds,
diligent sea eyeing deep down on the ground?
Read the small prints, shadows in the daylight,
before the show is wrapped up.
And down the evening pool, the sun
parts away with the black swan.
kevin hamilton Jul 2018
i woke again already gone
with one hand to the sky
swan dive
toward the faceless dark
cold knife inside of me
sold blood, blackened sheets

never to tire
of finding the same hells
in different people
we were entwined
i was disarmed by your sincerity
and your face was kind
SøułSurvivør Dec 2015

shivering stars with horn
moon trumpeting like
mystic swan sailing
the scintillating
scintillating the
sailing swan mystic
like trumpeting moon
horn with stars shivering

(C) 12/11/2015
Dedicated to Jeffard Stier... I so much appreciate your support of my poetry! Happy Thanksgiving!
I saw the Silver swan
Open her wings, glistening
On the top of a white stage
It was noble, stately, nightly
And the stage a circular pond
Let me flow softly, smoothly
Watching the Silver swan glide
Mysterious, beautiful
Silver swan I will swim to you
For with you I am entranced
Mounting a lovelet of songs
Under a starry sky.

Love Mary
Written in hospital just recently.
So in this Month your Heart begins to press
For Good October promises your Due
Thinking of Delight and Travel Costs less,
And finally meeting her through and through
Her arm must have healed, given Time's duty
No more must such Fortress wall you apart
Her, Blessed Pronoun who cheers you truly
On her own Springboard she performs her Part
As you guide Witness to her own Unique Craft,
That Guideline which does greatly Inspire
Now look! Her Swan whips the Air; And the Draft
Begs humbly deep its legs to retire.
Your Hug was her Reward; Then the Flannel
Covers your Cheers on the Upper Panel.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
L B Jan 6
For Henrietta Swan Leavitt—

dark-eyed darling of the night sky--

A Swan
who sails
the heavens
deaf with lights
that pulse across your mind
In photographic plates
that number
many thousands
You see the differences in light
You swim the curves that grace the arch of heaven
between the cloud and pinwheel galaxies
You measure
their exquisite wakes of distance--
Become the glittering timepiece of the farthest stars--

Bestowed forever in your hands
the clock and keys of all existence
You know the bends of ages
You heard the voices of the light
of the angels
and of man

I hope you've found true happiness
gathered to your love
forgetful of the pond of space and time
and all that hopeless pain and counting
of perfection
and of loneliness
to which you were assigned

that in your hands unravel all....
The secrets of the universe
white and gray in motion...
brilliant beyond all measure
by which you were forgotten
and unvalued by design

Eulogized only--
as loving God
and as being kind

*copyright Liz Balise 2019,  Use only by permission.

Her colleague Solon I. Bailey wrote in her obituary that "she had the happy faculty of appreciating all that was worthy and lovable in others, and was possessed of a nature so full of sunshine that, to her, all of life became beautiful and full of meaning.”
I used to teach research to the seventh grade. Rather than argue plagiarism or whether Beyonce was a worthy topic for " American Women's History," I created my own little library of articles on 35 acceptable people so I could control their work and learning of the process.  They were all mad copiers-- literally taught to be that way.  I told them they would not fail for grammar struggles or poor technique-- only for copying and lack of citations.  I told them I wanted to hear THEIR VOICES and what THEY HAD LEARNED, except for actual quotes.  I was all over cross-checking sources, summary, paraphrase, and direct quotes.  You would not believe how hard it is to unteach wrong teaching and wrong learning.  

My little library offered such women as Rachel Carson, Georgia O'Keefe, Mary Fields (Stagecoach Mary), Elizabeth Blackwell, and Henrietta Swan Leavitt.

Hope ya like it.  Took all day.  I post no poem before its time.  Time now for wine and wood fire.
eng jin Apr 2018
The wetland is in its daylight beauty
the calm water mirrors the still blue sky
upon the pond among reeds and cattails
are two elegant, wild white swans
mysterious and graceful, reflecting
the charm of Thailand and her people
Kenya83 Feb 3
I never thought much of angels before today
Then I saw moon-light in the light of day
And the majesty on borrowed wings
Of piercing white
More than just the sense of sight
Bowed in prayer among the still
Is this to believe in the supernatural?

How, like a...God
he comes

taking the shape
& the form of a


who having had
his wicked way

to be

on his
merry way.

But, wait
...what’s this

he can’t....shake

feather upon
downy feather

locks him
into the costume

he had put on
& now...can’t be put off.

What magic
can this human woman


& now
having been taken

takes great pleasure
in having her servant

a giant of a man
among men

****** the swan
& be gone.

And once
the God

is well & truly

he’s plucked
of all

the finery
of his feathers.

Behold, the God
standing in the ****

shivering & ready
for the ***

the final twist
of this fatalistic plot

...his beautiful

That night
she dines upon

the subtle delicate
breast of swan

served in a creamy
pepper & garlic sauce.

She even has
an extra helping

thinking she can
always exercise it off.

Alas, poor Zeus
wishing he had chosen

to pose
in his usual tour-de-force

a shower
of gold

but thinks too late
(thinking even as he is eaten) .

And now, she burps
(“Oh, pardon..! ”)

& dreams

of a God
fit for a dish.
In as much as I tamed the Infidel
Baptism pokes her Holistic White Tongue
Such that if you try to flip the Role-Model
For which Hypocrisy had said and done
You do not know me. If Duty must care
And stand accused tackling my Man to like
Your Mass does not shrink me; And if you dare
Take a Pied Contest and taste the First Strike
Yet in fairness your Swan-Form does exist
As billed by Tom's Twin circled in craft
Now may I come in? Or should I resist
And Boot my *** on the Beach by the Draft?
Those Stripes were hostile from a Few Years Past
Enjoy Iberia Minor; Healing can last.
The cygnet scorns the swan
And swims in ever wider circles.
Downstream roars the waterfall
And overhead a falcon swoops.
Ahh the perils of a teenage daughter spreading her wings.
Nancy E Tracy Mar 2015
Gentle ballerina dance
dance your way around the world
with bold precision dance
with graceful arms unfurled

Tip toe to the passion of the tune
whirling, leaping maelstrom of romance

existential exercise of poetry unwritten
fluttering, a butterfly of souls unduly smitten
with love of life and dignity stirred all up into one
resounding splash of destiny
the last breath of a swan
for my world traveled, ballerina friend Marilyn on her birthday.
Brandon Conway Aug 2018
As my gaze shifted down below
my eyes, how did they behold
all the little ants going to and fro
as if they were mind controlled

Can't they see what is happening
to and fro, to and fro, to and fro
day after day, day after day, day after day
and for what?

Cheap plastic that eventually breaks
blue lights shooting up dopamine
dreams of scratch off sweepstakes
costly cups of muddy caffeine

Lets show them what being free is all about
J                                      N                        ­          F
U                                                    ­                     A
M                                                              ­           L
P                                     O                                  L
I                                                               ­             I
N                                                 ­                        N
G                                    W                         ­        G

Watch clouds shrink while ants grow
their busy bodies stop
as they finally lift their face up to show
the horror in their eyes drop

following downward along
this exciting free fall
this beautiful swan song
that I sing for all

I can hear them now
how angelic are their cries
I can see their sickly brow
the whites in their putrid eyes

Fleshy hail from the building above
came crashing into a yellow cab
spirit fleeting like a mourning dove
a body crimson mangled and drab

I leave my mark on this city
my final piece of art
I hope they find it pretty (and not pity)
this perished bleeding heart
Lazhar Bouazzi Sep 2017
I am the quill that marks
The water-walled history
Of the sea as it may -
A swan, be it, or a black-backed

I am the pariah who
Failed to posit his load on
A hill that hung low, like a
Sunless moon, but who can still
hark the dark
Rumbling of repetition.

I am the Quixote who took
On the wind who made the mill
Sob like a bronze leaf in grief,
Seared by the passage of
A sluggish summer.

I am the pariah, the
Quixote, and the historian
Of the rainbow runner.

©LazharBouazzi, August 5, 2017
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