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September Rose Feb 2018
Brighter than the blinding flares of the sun, shimmering outward with power of thousands of stars
yet comforting
yet soft.
Filled with oceans crashing and wild, turning over ships, rushing under a powerful storm.
yet still
yet calm.
Filled with wonder and curiosity, yearning for the unknown, desperate for enlightenment
yet wise
yet content.
Eyes so wide, so deep, filled with delicate roses, the power of mighty warriors, elegant as Venus's flowing dress, filled with souls of thousands, with passion, with yearning, with desire.
Filled with beauty
Filled with you.
Cress Rosario May 2014
Brushes and paints can do a lot of pictures
Images inside his head that was once captured
It can speak for a million of smiles
It can reveal us thousands of lies

Even paintings has its own secrets
Hid by the one who passionately paints it
If we could dive through that canvas
We would know the story he wants to tell us
As an artist and a painter, I want to know unseen stories inside every painters hid in their works. We paint for a reason. It's either we are inspired, hurt, thinking too much, fantasize of something, delighted, or we want to wake up the world.
Shofi Ahmed Jul 2018
On the very edge the living earth
dared to replicate Queen Fathima
The Queen of Heaven’s footstep.
That way is graced by
thousands of the prophets of God!

In the name of Allah she descends
on the Night of the Ascending.
From the odd night an unnumbered zone
The Night of Measure unlike the rest
it doesn't geometrised is a transcended location.  

The earth steps in the gap making way for her:
The only asymmetric Golden Ratio.
Slips out to the symmetric prophet flock!
Sequenced in symmetric phi she moves on
in the veil, exposes her unique divine closeness
her golden spiral reaches out closer to God!

So pretty she is the paragon work of art
the sunrise amidst the eternal night.
Her beauty in her shadow is burning fire.
She is 'Zahra' pure light the luminary dynamo
the only one woman had no shadow!

The great women flock mirrored the earth.
Treading across  on every atom on that angle
perfectly aligned down the Moon.
Until those beneath the skin atoms
bang, explode on approaching
the vibration beneath Fathima’s foot!

The seven seas billowed up
floating on the clouds.
Choreographed like a little dew.
Hanging low on the rose
just to drip down on that hot spot
like a cool honey drop.

Even the Moon on the horizon
fancies to sip from this drop.
Ah, the lunar punter rowing down.
The sleeping beauty wakes up
eyes on the silver dance.
Eying on every star in the night.
The Moon is floating down
slices of the moonlight pushing the boat.
Full of fireflies rolling over  
to the cup of this pretty little drop.  
Poetry in motion is a sea on the ground
the same is known as the Moon in the sky!
The storylines jump ever more
on that way over the shady grove.
Painting the colour of the winds
the sky rains down on that spot
singing the sweetest title song.  

Never were a woman prophet of God
nor was paradise hidden anymore
to one woman it was the open shore!
The heaven turns upside down
turning for the earth the last stone.

For the rest of the rocks
it was the stepping stone.
As many times more
the earth may try on
it will still be tangent fluid
until the very one woman
The Queen Fathima steps on.

Her presence connects the dots
the nadir and zenith perfectly line up
intersect into one grand perfect circle.
She will close it with the pi once for all
without a gap spilling new decimals.
At last putting it all on the map ‘as above,
so below’, all in all, a pure scientia scenario.

The heaven will open its grand door
where The Queen will stand on.
No more reverse engineering physically
the original, Fathima will step on,
on this last turned stone.
Paradise starts from here on.
From the one great woman
from beneath the mother’s foot!
His army perched above in trees,
Watching the front become a feast,
Who wins, care not, in the least?

"The cawing clan of Koronos..."

The thousands black they view the fight,
Staying late for supper -feeding at night...
Picking tender morsels in illumed moon-light,

"Swarthy minions of King Koronos!"

Corvid follow Man wherever he may go,
Feathery tomes of knowledge their treasure trove,
The messengers in the House of Jove...

"His static barbizon Aves; Koronos!"

There are many kings who come and go,
Becoming part and parcel in a wicked show,
But none of them will ever match the Crow...

"Engrosser of the dead; Koronos!"
Koronos is a king from the pseudo-historical Hercules accounts by Appollodorus and Pausanias. His name means, "Crow," in Greek. With the title this piece contains 96 words and two types of verse; rhyming verse and verse. Adding the metered count by line number you get 6, 7, 7, 8, and 20 or 48 times two types of verse; 96. So the metered count works two ways as the Greek and Hebrew mystics intended. The Greeks doublet'd coronae with the Celtic Kornus. The Greeks may be word-playing off Coronae saying that the King does anything and everything that is seen as good and bad?
English Jam May 2018
It's........it....'...s..........it's......it.........IT'S.......­..too......tooolate.......too...late

A delicately placed glove upon a hand, mock-gentle and pale
Marks his return
Emerging from the shell of feedback and tortured sounds

Carelessly shattering the eyes of doubters, until they softly thrash for mercy, wailing in an unearthly manner

Taking violent pleasure in crumbling love to a rubble, making the remains march to his fascist regime, his sexualised abuse, his blistering dictatorship

His tongue is dry, his jawline jagged like a ***** of fresh metal, his fingers slender and spidery
  
He strides silently, yet none can miss it, seizing attention in a
heil-ish fascion

His iron grip dredges my thoughts, infecting my hopes with his overflowing venom

He thrusts his black ink that peppers my skin with thousands upon thousands of dots, encasing my body, filling my mouth, prohibiting my free will

Twisting me to spiral downwards into his imagination
I descend into the darkness

The darkness ripped from my most volatile, filthy nightmares

The darkness that laces the web of black holes, that decimates any shred of light it can find, deliberately, harshly

My centre of gravity follows him to the sewers of the abyss, a cesspool of pain and stylised sexuality undiscovered by light

Everything starts swirling around him, revolving as though he is a star and all else is the merest of planets that are his to command

I'm going down now
I'm going down
I'm going dow-
Daisy Marrow May 2014
Lay down your burden.
Lay down your arms.
Hardship is over and all is numb.
You finally get to rest.
You finally get to let go.
Fall down in the snow and let nature take you.
You are not alone, never.
Thousands of bodies are scattered on the battlefield.
They all had lives.
They all had futures.
They all ended too soon.
Go ahead and turn the snow strawberry red.
Your song will be played.
Your name will live on.
We will remember you forever more.
So rest now, my soldier.
Your brothers shall bring the peace.
2014
Lazhar Bouazzi Dec 2017
Make this want wither,
O Rain!

Dig a brook hither
In my vein,

And plant on either side
Of my pain -

Swaying thousands
Of bluebells.
LazharBouazzi (December 15, 2017)
Hadiy Syakir Oct 2017
Kudos to Kaepernick.

I just cannot drown all my beliefs and ideas, even if it contradicts my flesh and soul. When I heard that not standing up to the tune; that has always succeeded on sweeping all of the messes underneath the sad reality, to be deemed as subversive, I know that Rosa would definitely clench onto the seat tighter than ever.

Kneel, my friend, kneel.

To drag our body out there, all over the precious hills and fields, while acting as if the scale has always been set fairly beneath you all this time, will hurt you more than myself. How can a mere matter of things decide our future, our destiny? We shall shape our fate, you shall shape your own fate, and to be judged on the perception biasedly built in the name of order for thousands of years, is a situation that should not be endured by anyone or anything in a tiny dot within this vast universe.

Kneel, my friend, kneel.

And for that, I cannot stand proudly and profess my love to you as of now, even though I will always wear my heart on my sleeve for you to see. To be cheated, to be manipulated, to be deemed as surplus, by those at the tip of the plateau, that cunningly asked us to forget all the tangles and wrangles for the love of this sacred land, while unashamedly distribute everything off the land, off the ocean amongst them, is the last thing that we should allow to happen. I am one of those that can't simply put on the mask on top of our meant-to-be honest faces, to say hail to the thief is worse than the eternal grief. I have never dreamed of burying the hatchet with them, not even for a second and if I ever do it, I shall be condemned and dismissed for forgetting the roots, the fons et origo of mine. To love you does not mean to stand still to the soulless melodies, to love you doesn't mean to bow down to the meaningless piece of cloth that has overseen countless infiltration and bombing over the years.

Kneel, my friend, kneel.

To love you is to fight for the rights of many, by any means, even by not standing up. When black is no longer the symbol of miserable, filth and calamity, we shall then breath with ease, stand on our feet and fully embrace the real meaning behind all those majestic words.

Kudos to Kaepernick.
Marília Galvão Mar 2015
Now I ask you to join me
Now you celebrate
Not being me. Not being you
Only Us for the great

UN
load!
DIS
arm!

EN
large!
OUT
side!

Some steps I will take
Be my guest
Pull your anchor
Out of the lake



We're
In the room
In the building
In the crowded city
In the country with thousands of cities
The country shares the continent with an enemy nation
The two rivals are carried round and round by the Earth's endless rotation
The Earth obeys the master’s magnetic line, burning since uncountable clock time
The sun is blind to his insignificance too, ignoring billions of other star mates, it can’t see through
Immeasurable it seems, magnifying! All of them such tiny little parts in one of Miss Milky’s arms
Some light years away there they are: Pinwheel, Cartwheel, Black Eye, Andromeda and Cigar
Unmeasurable it seems, humongous! All of them such a fading little part of the cosmos

There you are
Floating from a distance
Feel the empty ground
Drink from the fountain of existence

Still blind to insignificance?
Still convinced about the rightness of imposed beliefs?
Still judging others’ defects according to our pretentious and vain mind?
Still punching away the different, protecting the mold?
Still reinforcing illusory antagonism and insignia?
Still seeing only two sides?
Still holding to the pride?

Still
In the ******* room

Am I? Are you?
Let's try it again
“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness." Mark Twain
ryn May 2015
Let me be captured by the night.
Engrossed in the conversation
between the stars.
Syncopated twinkling like...
thousands of fireflies
trapped within sealed jars.

Let me be enslaved by the moon.
As I drink her glow in
greedy insatiable gulps.
Crestfallen...
Her beam with an agenda...
As the landscape she sculpts.

Let me be ensnared by my solitude.
But I hear crickets...
Chirping and chipping away at my
bastion of dreamstate.
Persistent calls
I try to shun
that never abates.

Let me be trapped in my thoughts.
So I could harness...
And immortalise them in
indelible careless scribbles.
Erecting and...
Rebuilding them from the
rubble of conflicting squabbles.

Let me be overwhelmed
by the mess of my being...**
Let me wallow
Then emerge strong from this
decrepit state of mind.
Let me breathe heavy from my
punctured lungs.
So I could heal in time before
true solace
in this dark,
I would find.
Ryan O'Leary Dec 2018
En France il y a
Mille Feuille
(a thousand layers)

William Wordsworth
said about daffodils
(ten thousand saw I at a glance)


In Ireland they say
Céad Míle Fáilte
(a hundred thousand welcomes)


                 <>

This today dear readers is my
(1,000th poem for 2018 since Jan 1st)

                 <>
Ryan O'Leary
40 followers / 20.4k words
Poems
1000 published / 50 drafts
Collections
0 published
Favorites
0 poems / 3 members
Yes, prior to this one, my
poem count was 999.
Nicole Ashley Apr 2015
I'm in a vulnerable state of mind
Static screams in heavy machinery
A screen of the world in a room of thousands of sounds and lights
It's black and white
It's silent and noisy
It's dark and light
I'm in a vulnerable state of mind
But all of it is white noise
Ilunga Mutombo May 2018
If a busy gun takes lives
Then silent leaders do worse
They burn lives, hang knuses on the innocent
Voice your pain or get blessed with a curse
Blood shed Schools
We elected fools
Wrong leaders to lead us
Pushing useless agenda’s
While feeding us propaganda
Halls covered red
thousands of innocent people killed
At the expense of gun reform laws
Watching news with dropped jaws
We sit in silence
while the voiceless die for peace
ConnectHook Sep 2015
†           †           †    

A quorum of biblical scholars
turned their doubts into thousands of dollars.
Armed with Document Q
they revealed nothing new
but the dirt neath’ the white of their collars.

A proud “health & wealth” Oklahoman
was renowned as a gospel-tent showman.
While the scriptures he twisted,
their tithing assisted
his rise from poor hick to rich Roman.

A sexually diverse professor
(assured he was not a transgressor)
spoke only of openness
glossing sin’s brokenness;
rainbows and tolerance – yes sir.

A Mormon, who lost his own ephod
Realized he was running quite slipshod
and invoked Joseph Smith.
(Yes, it may be a myth –
but it’s not like misplacing your I-pod…)

A Christian whose faith was prophetic
held to views that were truly pathetic.
This crazed Pentecostal,
not quite an apostle,
had taken an End-Times emetic.

A sober and staid Presbyterian
was distrustful of thoughts millenarian.
After smoking some bud,
he awoke with a thud;
in his sleep he’d become Rastafarian.

A preacher who fleeced his disciples
overdrew his own balance of scruples.
He was finally captured
(defrocked and un-raptured)
and rent by his destitute pupils.

A sister who waxed Pentecostal,
mistook herself for an apostle
Speaking pure glossolalia
she sure could regale ya’
with prophecy; crazy – but docile.
What's wrong? Too hard to LIKE me ?
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha  

         †           †           †
ellie bean Jul 2018
i sat in the window seat on my
wednesday morning flight,
knoxville to chicago (TYS-ORD--
departure 6:10 am, arrival 6:57 am).

i remember reading once that airports are
one of the few places where
reality feels altered at such early hours.
humans shuffle quietly like
navigating some sort of graveyard and
these are, ultimately,
fleeting moments,
places we leave behind;
they are also places
parts of us may remain permanently,
to meet again if we are to return.

for 1 hour and 47 minutes i sat with my brother,
passing time between shared earphones,
airplane crackers, club sodas.

the bottom inch of my window warped in a way that made
half of the world appear to ***** directly downward,
into or unto itself, in a blur.
we had not yet risen to a height that obscured
humans or houses or cars,
and so I watched people drive towards
the precipice that was, perhaps,
the edge of the world.

we certainly must have reached that end, too,
but proceeded in a different directions.
i watched as our plane headed upwards,
the thousands below me,
downwards.
we ventured to different strata but remained
equidistant from home.
i wondered if we would eventually end up
in the same place.

we reached an altitude where
the particles of water held onto each other so closely,
heaven-bound performance art.
here they were—each one, 2.82 ten thousands of a micron—
and in the precise hour and 42 minutes that we were
in the air, they
connected, in that space,
for us.
how remarkable.

i pointed at a cloud that resembled
a woodchuck.
even at five hundred miles per hour,
it took minutes for us to come
face-to-face,
and just as we had, we were already
miles apart.

when we landed, we were closer to home than before,
but still hours away.
it is odd, i think, when we fly above the earth for
long enough,
that we might cross the boundaries of time,
by losing it or gaining it,
grasping at it from such great heights—
it is wonderful, i think, that we might
live this way, too.
extremely rough draft--still working on an ending
Stella Oct 2018
a day that never ends
fears, pressure and fake friends

playing with teenage hearts
seems just like playing cards

thousands of sleepless nights
and absolutely no rights

but where´s the education?
Scarlet McCall Feb 2017
They came for us with tanks and guns.
We stood our ground—the old and young.
All our troops had mustered round
our Capital--Sacramento town.
A New Republic, we’d declared,
and its defense,
among all would be shared.
With the Bear Flag flying high
we all came to fight and die.
Young men in their combat boots
repelled the dictator’s first wave of troops.
Civilians came from South and North
to resist the fascist ruler’s force.
From Frisco and from San Jose,
from San Diego and L.A.,
from Calistoga and Marin,
thousands had come pouring in.
Then US bombers burned the city,
for the orange Fuhrer had no pity.
They won the battle, but we all know
from history, how these things go.
An occupation cannot last
against a people whose strength holds fast.
The tyrant’s troops will tire, while we
will fight on, until we’re free.
It's inevitable. We aren't all the same country anymore. A country of 300 million cannot be a democracy. California has more than 30 million people and can grow its own food. Why would they stay?
nadine Sep 2017
sweetest dream

i always see your eyes at night,
in the dark, they shine so bright
when your gaze landed softly on mine
your twinkling eyes found my dreamy eyes screaming my desiresㅡ screaming you.
It was a sign.

the fire of our lamps was so close to ignite
you were so close,
but it doesn't feel right.
and then i blinked twice. thrice.
and almost thousands of times.
nothing has changed.
only the stars have welcomed my sight.
suddenly, a bitter smile was painted on my face,
it was right afterall.

in reality, you're a star.
you were close enough for me to see you glow
but not close enough for me to see upclose.
in my dreams, you are real.
for you are all the good dreams
my reality couldn't bear to hold.
maybe this was for my kpop boy
this has been
nadine.
It is like a door.
With hundreds of thousands of people,
knocking and hammering on it all at once.
They kick and abuse the door until it is run down and beaten:
damaged and unreparable.
And although it's driving them insane,
still,
no one answers the door.
And likewise,
I am unresponsive.
And until someone answers that door,
they carry on knocking.
And again,
Until I speak for myself,
those thoughts wont be put at ease,
they will continue nagging
and making me crazy,
until I get the help I need;
silencing those thoughts for good.
King Panda Jan 2018
the wicked queen of morning
greets you with
clutching shore

little pebbles in the stream
rob red rubies
from dead fish bellies

on a rock
there are some feathers
a broken beak
crunched bones

your attention is cut
with the dead kiss
of a woodpecker

you are bound
to relive the death
of thousands of forests
bound to kiss
the stream’s mojo
laughter

listen—
the stream is still asleep
its floor is falling through
the weight of its slumber

nothing can contain it
Elah Naldo Apr 2017
sunkissed skin and vibrant skies,
warm season was always the same
but when i met those summer dazed eyes,
i knew that trouble just came

he had lips that kissed wetter than the ocean
he had arms like waves that swallowed me
he filled my summer with cuddly flirtations
he filled thousands of sunflowers within me

but just like how summer came to an end,
he left and autumn arrived with tears to shed
and just like how abandoned flowers would be,
they slowly died inside together with me

that summer was more than fifty shades of love
but all turned into an endless waves of misery
just wishing upon the tangerine sky above
that tides will bring him back to me
an entry to a summer themed poem writing competition
Mohamed Nasir Aug 2018
It wades, it stands still, it's very clever.
White heron patiently wait, wait and wait,
Till a fish darted by, reflection on the river.

****** its bullet head it's time to deliver.
Beaks sharp as spears strikes accurate,
It wades, it stands still, it's very clever.

None disturbed nature stays as it were,
No news of any fish that the heron ate,
Till a fish darted by, reflection on the river.

They flock in by the thousands I wonder,
No reduction in fish they don't annihilate.
It wades, it stands still, it's very clever;

It takes what flowing water has to offer.
Teeming with migrants to each their fate,
Till a fish darted by, reflection on the river.

To its chicks it'll provide it'll ensure,
By the banks spear fishing till it's late.
It wades, it stands still, it's very clever,
Till a fish darted by, reflection on the river.
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