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Shofi Ahmed Jul 2018
Dancing the billow in the sea
the cool one will show up
in no time with love.
Deep down from the deep
with the flute on the lips.

Listen to the flute!
The chorus clouds bang out
floating by the river blue,
they sing down the sky as they move.

The sun draws in
from the secret valley
ambling with the wonder light
as if it, the punter sun, in the sky
knew it, knows the flutist arty
rose from down the sea!

Every planet is a flying bee
twirling around the inner music
nothing ever stops in the solar disc.

The waning and waxing Moon
in silhouette and at half-light
swings over the sea full of life.

It all starts from the ground;
it was from our sea waterfront
Him the creative sweetheart in the midst
floated the leading light the bumblebee.
All the stars bubble in the galaxy
they know this ancient story!

Since then the brightest bulb
the sun in the solar ring  
leads the bunch’s mindful
butterfly dance on the way home.
Following the enduring haunting melody
of the pre-design command ‘qun’ be!
A poem from my upcoming book Qun: Love is Unconditional
Kevin J Taylor Jan 2016
I see snowflakes in my headlights
Just one or two—and now a few.

They come dancing from the darkness.
They fly twirling out of view.
.
Driving to work before dawn, along the Trans Canada towards Chilliwack. Perfect.
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
King Panda Feb 2018
the shock
of bodies—
a sound
rippled in
cheetah lightening
to wings of blasted
flowers taught
red
yellow
lavender sky—

butterfly wound
festering pollened
breeze to
where your
mouth
is opened
breath
tongue
and twisted cord—

opaque bee
twirling with
opaque stamen
lit
in a wall of
rushing
waterfall—a
perfect contrast
of forgiveness
she is
gone forever
now, and yet i
find no sadness in
that, even if i try to,
for all she was was a
vapour a thought an idea
a concept a longing and maybe
just a projection of all i hoped for
her to be, for do any of us ever really,
really know much of each other, really, or
are we all just like those half-forgotten diagrams, the
parts peeking outside of the water not even barely beginning
to give any clue to the endless layers of complexity and messiness?

                                                     ­   ღ ღ ღ

                                                              ­                                                 yet...
                                                     ­                                                    you can
                                                             ­                                           trust me,
                                                             ­                                     wow, could
                                                                 ­                           she ever dance

                                                          ­                                     if i ever knew
                                                            ­                                anything about
                                                           ­                             her then, now, or,

                                                        ღ ღ ღ

ever even
once upon
a time, hers,
mine, whoever's,
none of that matters,
just that she almost floated
away into pirouettes over the
shining ice below, just like a vapour
a thought an idea a concept a longing
and even a projection, that's how she would
dance with me, or for me, or for herself all alone,
that is how she dances still somewhere, wherever,
for whomever, maybe just herself... yeah, none of that matters,
just that memory of her dancing, making me smile my truest smile.
memory of monique dancing on a beach under the stats a long time ago

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VQx668eQxmg
Dusting off the rabbity
that squirrely tempo anxiety,
closing in with night.

The irresistible pattern
the irrational illogical fight
a battle with one’s discipline,
mirroring our might.

I make it home a fluttering
belly twirled and muttering,
I tell myself tis alright!

The damage done, and everyone,
I’m just like them and millions more
succumbing at the Devil’s door.

And the taste, the burn,
the healing calm,
the shaking and the thinking gone.

Knock one back, slam out another
night is early, rock it brother,
Tying on a swilly swirling
buzzed-out brain and mind a twirling. . .

“Ahhhh…”

I feel better now, exhilarated,
exasperation falls to stout resound;
I pour again and knock it down!

“Ahhhh…”

Spinning now, not to say I’m spun
but choosey choosing several a pun
I see myself an accomplished one!
Yes, that’s it, that is me,
look upon with thoughts of glory
yank open the freezer for glass that’s hoary. . .

How cool am I? certainly not boring
all night I’m here, pouring, pouring. . .

Buzz subsides, thoughts slow too,
lurid leering, slobbering swearing,
stupid actions and nothing new?

I lose the bottle,
I lose my shirt,
***** on myself,
pass out in dirt.

Another night of drunken hero,
time that’s wasted for kingly Nero.
But who am I to judge myself?

I’m hardly worse than anyone else?
Lizzy Jul 2014
Dancing and twirling
Devilish thoughts
They taunt
They sing
And laugh an eerie song

I know every word
Every down beat and note
I sing a long every day

Catchy tunes
They get stuck in your head
Even when there is no physical sound
It repeats
And repeats
On and on

Like a chanting spell
Like a screaming cry
This suicide song
It won't let me die
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
L B Oct 2016
This room—not his
nor the house, the yard
Though a placard bares his name
it slides out
at a moment’s notice
when the waiting ends
when his old hand stops—
twirling, mindless against the loving quilt

This house-- the same
but different
from a distance
He should be sitting in this still life
an old Sachem
on his lawn chair

This garage—where I stand
still his, strangely

Patient tools
Cherry Chevrolet wait
with work gloves resting...
Cannot bring myself to touch
where his hands last laid them
As if to move a thing
would **** the matrix of the man

His moment rushing toward me....

I can hear their whispers now
Leaves, once forbidden
have gathered in his absence
tangled in his hedges
nestled by the stairs
Chattering together—

“Man with the rake—no longer comes”
My father was not someone I could sit with to have a conversation.  That would be like heading into a storm.  I watched him and admired him from a distance.  I didn't truly appreciated him until he was the old man of this poem, sitting in the Soldier's Home, remembering fishing in the Connecticut River and longing to be hiking in the mountains above it.
Sachem is the word for chief or strong man from the northeastern American Abenaki tribes.
Why am I so dif-fer-ent?
They say I’m out of touch.
Why am I, ple-nar-ily sad?
This life it hurts so much.
And why do they come, come every day?
Shush, quiet now, they’re here.
Those awful tormentors of my soul all cackling and queer!
Whirling head of spinning revolutions,
…feel my stomach ache and pang.
Why will they not leave me alone?
This crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.

I shouldn’t always feel like this, feel such solemn pain,
…troubling and trouble is these birds are driving me insane!
I’m screaming now! I’m mad with rage! Throwing ice cubes at my deck,
“Go away! Yes, go away!” -their numbers must be kept in check.
Blackhole-whirl, flying twirling darkness, their funnel it points to me-e-e-e-!
For too many is too painful and my mind’s a constant wreck!
One cannot think with those infernal be-e-e-asts,
...and the crazy song they sang.
Why do they so punish me?
The crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.

I know they serve the Saturn’s wheel and now they’ve come for me.
What did I do? Oh what great sin, oh the blackbirds from within;

The Abyssimal Sea?

Their whirlpool funnel is all around, as my harried soul, it expiates.
I’m done-in; I’m over now, a sorely victim of the Fates!
They took me, took me away, when the tolling bell it rang.
Why could they not leave me alone?
The crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.

If you find yourself all alone and mired in their thought,
…do not think, extirpate, all the human damage that you’ve wrought.
His flock of fledgling melancholy musical formation,
…will take you away and straight to Hell; the Seventh Circle congregation!
For they took me, took me away, when the tolling bell it rang.
And they will not leave you alone.
This crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.
The primary reason I came to Hello Poetry is that every single publishing house I could find on the internet rejected every poem I sent them. Since my work is deemed to be worth nothing I gave it all to you for free. It seems that in a digital world where people can share this easily there will always be more content available for free than for a fee. One would think publishers would know this. I have seen some seriously good poetry here and some pieces that are extraordinary.
Jesse stillwater Apr 2018
The woman in the window
  Looks out beyond the glass
Beyond the reach of her whispers
  Befogged upon windowpanes glance

Farther  than  the  bounds
  Her own breathe imbues
Out of reach her long fingered touch
  Tracing her murmurs on looking glass dew
Grasping for the shadowed artifacts
  Only time does nonchalantly drift past

Perched alone upon a cloud of silence
  Her thoughts eddy in soundless swirl
Spinning like dizzying shadows
  Swallowed by a thirst for light

The other side of window beckons
  Only she knows she’s looking out through a sigh;
Seeing no one familiar looking back ―  
  For what hidden jewels within abide

She dreams of dancing leafless by daylight
  Twirling beneath the whispering willows sway
Just a step away from being free
  Just a step away from feeling alive

With first step beyond imprisoning hesitation
  Crossing over the threshold of a dream
Through a liberating portal outside the glass
  Just on the other side of the windowsill ...


                  Jesse e Stillwater
13th  April  2018
Bad Luck Jun 2014
Cheated and defeated –
                      my mistakes, themselves, repeated...
A monster made of gluttony;
                     I’ve no option but to feed it.

I saw the writing on the walls,
           But, my feeble eyes had failed to read it.
Still... I’m not convinced that this warning,
        Was chosen by my eyes, not to be heeded.

Perhaps my head was the catalyst
           A byproduct of an acid trip;
           Had split this world in two.
Some for me, and some for you.
Maybe . . . this warning wasn’t meant for me.
Maybe . . . it’s for the second half of two.

“Ye kind-hearted shall not go forth”
                              … is what I believe it said,
But I can’t be too certain.  
                              After all, I’ve lost my head.
Which brings up some emotions -
                               Or maybe, they’re allusions?
But, I can’t tell through the hallucinations
                If these are real or illusory movements.

So the fish hook pulled me deeper . . .  
                       All the while, stretching skin.

                       I knew not about the rabbit hole
                       to which I just dove in.

It seemed a lot more like an alley when I first took a glance,
Once I took a second step, I guess I chose to dance.

               Oh, what a performance it’s been!  
                And we haven’t yet hit intermission!

                 Although, I’m not sure when that is…
                            As I seem to have lost my vision.

The Queen of Hearts shouted,
                              “Off with his head!”
But without a brain to notice,
      I couldn’t hear what she had said.
She said it before the guillotine dropped…
So was my brain already gone
                      When my head hit the block?

I’m not sure where to find the pieces.
                     I didn't know I fell apart.
                     I didn’t know
I was a headless servant
                    To the heartless
                    Queen of Hearts.

Now, without a head,
                   I’m trying to piece it back together.
And I’m worried that this rabbit hole
           just may have me trapped here forever.

So, I’ll trace my steps backward, to try to find my "forward."
But as I set my pace faster, I find I'm moving slower.
Things turn upside down, when you’re this far down . . .
And the carousel just spins – around and around.

Gaining speed, with increasing malice
I hopped right on
        And chose a different path than Alice.

Here we arrive again at choice, but was it one at all?
This is when I found the Hatter – where the bounds of logic fall.
He asked me why I was there.
             He said, “My boy, have you gone mad?”
And as I searched for reason,
                                          I concluded that I had.

Standing on the ceiling,
            we both watched the world, twirling.
Sipping from our cups,
            between the stirs of sterling.
We chatted over tea, and while I was now content with spinning . . .
My content grew simultaneous
with the Cheshire Cat’s grinning.
He looked at me and said,
                                      “Upside down, yet, you seem alright?”
I responded with a “Hm…”
                                        and my spinning turned to flight.

I flew from the table and
       As I questioned if I was stable,
I grasped for the air.
       And for the first time . . .
                                          I was able.

Apart from the question, I now knew that I was mad,
Because I gripped a fist of air,
                             knowing full-well it can’t be grabbed.
I swung through the air…
                                    maybe I flew . . . I’m not sure.
But as I passed over ground, I surveyed it for Her.
I looked for Alice as my guide,
                              but someone took her place:
The "heartless" Queen of Hearts
                                     and her over-sized face.
Was it the face? Or just the head?
                            What’s ahead without a face?
It seems I lost the bounds of logic
                                    upon my fall from grace.

Was I flying?
Or was I falling?
It seems that orbit was my calling . . .
Where, as high as I fly,
   the paradox of orbit keeps me falling.
Maybe I’ll stay out here, where it’s quiet by the stars
And there’s no signs to read;
               no catalysts for scars.  
But did I ever escape?
                Am I still in the hole?
I found among these fragments
          the completion to my soul.

Somewhere between falling and flying,
              I told the truth while I was lying
And found my equilibrium
               between the living and the dying.
"Bad Luck: In a Wakeful Contradiction" is now available on Amazon in paperback!

Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1691941182
Cindra Carr Jun 2011
My muscles tighten, righted after the flight
Goose-flesh ripples as she shimmers past
Licked lips flecked with taste
Hair whispers swishes across the shoulders
Lingering fingertips brush vainly at her arm
She’s already gone
She’s lost among the crowd
Of hopefuls twirling by in the flow
Lost dance in lost lovers’ eyes
Deadened by scent of sweat and alcohol
Lingering touch and fading life
Hard pulses of music flow and ebb
She’s already gone
Lost among the crowd

cc2011
Ruzica Matic Feb 2015
***
there are no more games to play
no more running around in circles
until our heads spun
and our legs gave out
under the weight of our laughs
no more twirling under
the sun at noon
with nothing
but the sounds of the forest
to be our tune

we left it all in the dust
slowly crawling away
inside our under-lived lives
until we were so far removed
from that swirling stream
of long honeydew days
that we could not even remember
how it felt to run barefoot in the rain
Oliver David Dec 2013
Trees standing tall
with green then yellow
red, brown
                                                         leaves
Dancing in then on
the wind. Twirling
cascading
                                              ­           Falling
Past people who have
no time for nature's annual
ball with eyes cast
                                                         down
The waltz falls on
blind eyes and busy
mind set to
                                                         to
Things deemed more
important than a seasons
change from one to
                                                         the
Next. So the leaves
pass unnoticed
falling down to the
                                                         *ground
smell the roses :)
jane taylor Sep 2016
hints of auburn drift creating a soft cadence against the autumn wind
almost heard in lieu 'tis felt somehow awakening souls buried long ago
giving birth to falling crimson leaves tinged with maroon and gold
abandoned dusty roads transform under enchanting spells cast by fall

burnt orange pumpkins standing solitary on wooden porches threaten to reveal
hidden secrets held by dusk’s luscious cinnamon seasoned air
once fulgent sunflowers begin to slumber softly beneath the harvest moon
whilst autumn’s trance brushes all it touches with honey colored hues

i stand pensive as an amber leaf gently twirling falls to the ground
bewitched by thine supernatural powers; thine gifted artist’s hand
who with one stroke turns to butter amber all that once was forest green
and imbues my soul with thine exalted essence forever ripening

©2016janetaylor
Mary Gay Kearns Jul 2018
One each end of a shelf
Victorian figurines
A boy and girl
Like crystalline
With stiff edged lace.
Never fell in love
But still precious
Bought by a Godmother
Who did not have children.

Then the plaster dancers
Spied in a box of my father’s
Given by a poor grandmother
Loved these two
With their net “tutus”
Such graceful arms
Long pointed legs
Felt their life twirling.

The difference between
Two worlds
The rich and stiff
Poor but beautiful.
My bedroom shelf,
With a poster of
**** Jagger,
in the middle,
smiling.

Love Mary x
This was my bedroom shelf in Streatham London.
Morgan Mercury Nov 2014
Have I ever compared you to the stars?
Have I ever described your eyes in ways that resemble constellations?
Talk to me about time.
Talk to me about the universe
in all ways that I'll never be able to understand.
Spin me around like a clock and take me back in time
to the days when stars shined brighter than these city lights.

We don't have to say a word.
Make no noise, not a sound.
Let silence fill our ears.
Let the quiet take over the earth.
Let us float in this peace,
and enjoy the time we have together.

I had a dream, however insane, that we were dancing with the cosmos.
Twirling with the burning stars,
and playing hide and seek with the spaceships.

I know that you have to leave soon
and I know that stars don't burn forever,
but lay with me here on the ground.
We'll count sheep all night until
the sun greets us in the morning letting us know
that the night is dead and gone.

It's not my fault that I fell in love with the world in you.
I see so much life in you
and I think we should stay in this position forevermore.
We will never miss another darting star,
Whirling its way passed us breaking our silence just for a second.
I wrote this after seeing The Theory of Everything.
A+ movie would highly recommend!
Amoy Apr 2018
It’s like walking on air
Floating on sunshine

Sniffing rainbows
Dancing with unicorns

Twirling under sunsets
Always and forever my love
rocking on this swing again
where I crept into the moon
so many nights with
and without you

twirling tongue spells
whispering kisses on the wind

I sat in blackness
sky light communion
praying begging manifestivals
for just the slightest uplift
in your shadowed lids
to peep ignite

while you steeped in other brew
as if I could pry you
from your own entrapments

you employ them
in places you won't let me
because you're scared
to open your hand
fully

dailies distract the knowing
and warm your frigid sheets
then you wonder why
there's no space
for we

I know I'm Sunday mornings
flung swift at your door
requiring all your insides
from turned-out pockets

but I'm also
high-gloss, full-color
edge-of-your-seat
content symph in inter-D
and every last **** one
of the funnies

plus those coupons in the middle
to places you've never been
they kick back everything
you've thrown in
10,000 folds

uncreasing dewy
unto you
underneath it all, I know who I am... and who you are
Deep Oct 2018
O traveller, why lookest thou ahead road,
grave and speculative,
Depriving your eyes such a beatific sight,
See the angelic form that standeth behind
that window curtain,
Come, wait, sit beside me, it’s worth waiting,
We both will sing in praise of her
And linger until she uplifts the curtain.
You say it’s purposeless
Why argue?
Isn’t it the reason our maker gives us eyes?
Isn’t it the purpose of our mind’s evolution
to sing and hail the beauty; at least of her.

You won’t believe my word? Impertinence!
You will be blinded by her shadow
spare her presence; “stare not for long”,
What? You say it exaggeration…
Bon dieu!
If beauty is not exaggerated
where lies its charm.

Look! her shadow moving, she is
growing impatient as if  getting
late to meet her lover.
Yes, she wins heart in a look
and crushes it in a blink and wins again
by smile.
Monarch sleeps in her bed
Life in right, Death in left hand; she possess,
Judiciary in closet
And warriors in purse.
Countries bow, world kneel, universe supplicate
before her.
Stop! Where thou going?
Pardon these adynatons,
I’m drunk in her beauty.

Let us sing then, I’ll lead, you follow

Flowers wilting in chilled air,
Waiting clouds to part
To have a look fair,
Of moon…

Do see the restlessness in that room?
I can sense her ***** heaving, repressed
sighs, and her fingers twisting, twirling
in exasperation,
It must be a lover
who invented song, isn’t it?

A gloomy firefly in this starless sky
Searching his lover
Who has lost the light,
Wait not moon, rise, help him
In his plight…

Look! look! The curtain is drawn
There she, my sovereign,
don’t mistake her eyes for stars.
Have a profound look, but not too long;
this witnesses only fortunates.
What? you lost your vision-
But I warned you earlier.
Now who’ll testify I saw her?
jonni inferno Jul 2018
i met her    
in a waking dream    
as i walked beside    
the sylvar stream    
whose chattering laughter    
shifted suddenly    
into a sylvar pool    
of enchanted silence    
a mirrored glaze    
in muted    
misty
dawning rays    
    
her cascading mane    
a crimson flare    
sea-green eyes    
alluring stare    
my heart stopped    
to see her there    
reposed    
'pon a verdant garden lee 
beside    
the misting sylvar mere    
'neath    
the weeping willow trees    
    
dahlia lips    
whispering desire    
vermilion plunder splayed    
spellbound 
by her charms    
heart pounding    
thundering    
captured    
i stay    
an' wi' faire
lithesome beauty lay    
'pon a lush an' vibrant field    
beside    
the misting sylvar mere    
'neath    
the weeping willow trees    
    
we lay there    
lost in time    
locked    
in the silence 
of kindred minds    
an' i knew her name    
tho she spoke it not    
sipped i then
the misty morning dew    
from precious lips
that from me drew    
all that i    
ever thought    
or felt    
or knew
'pon the grasses lush and green    
beside    
the softly glowing mere    
'neath    
the weeping willow trees    
    
soft sings    
the whippoorwill    
the meadowlark    
an' mourning dove    
their voices weaving spells    
for lover's yearning hearts    
in the meadow    
by the way    
where my love an' i    
do lay    
entwined  
'pon the gleaming sylvan shore    
beside    
the shining crystal lake    
'neath
the weeping willow trees    
    
alas    
the dawning days    
were passing
when came malevolence    
within
a thund'ring tempest    
lightnings flashed
in ragged gashes
'cross the heaven's    
stygian passes
an' from those
gnawing caverns
spewed
a raging
howling
demon's brood
an' down flew they
by the sylvar stream
where my love
and i
entranced
did lay
beside
the mystic sylvar lake
'neath
the weeping willow trees
    
then from my arms    
vile creatures tore    
my lifesong    
my heart's blood    
my one    
and only love
her scintillating form    
they ripped    
her silent
piercing cries    
bleeding    
thru my soul
an' took her they  
far from this    
battered    
desert shore    
as her soundless    
painful    
chorus fades    
an' leaves me
here alone    
to lay    
'pon these shifting lifeless sands    
beside    
this sylvar lake of tears    
'neath    
the weeping willow trees    
    
the meadowlark    
her spellsong sings    
thru ebon winter's    
weathering    
the silver stream    
her laughter froze    
this heart    
once fire    
a soulless stone    
    
so now this raven
winged    
doth fly
to scour the bruised    
an' shadowed skies    
to find my dove    
an' bring her home    
to lay
'pon these frozen brittle stones
beside
the darkened sylvar tarn
'neath    
the weeping willow trees    
    
thru timeless age    
an' dangerous realms    
i followed    
her silent    
morbid    
ravenings    
as her grisly    
mewling pleas    
hollowed out my soul    
'til at last    
i found her    
chained an' bound    
lost    
deep within    
peculiar planes    
an' baneful realms    
far from    
the laughing sylvar stream    
far from    
the weeping willow trees    
    
her lament    
of bitter tears    
an' fear    
sliced    
thru my defenses    
a doomed    
pernicious heart    
she was    
wandering    
thru deepest depths    
where madness reigns    
all hope destroyed    
hell's minions    
reveled
unconstrained    
    
my dove    
called i    
my love    
'tis i    
once more    
thrice more  
time  
and time again    
till finally    
she hearkened    
to my voice    
    
true love    
recall us    
you and i    
dancing    
thru ageless realms    
consider us    
twirling    
under heaven's wings    
she
spinning
at my fingertips

an' i  
drew her then    
breathless    
into my arms    
ambrosia lips    
her sweet alms    
from her dark pain    
i did drink    
of her    
malignant sorrow    
i did partake  
my questing    
thirsting hunger    
willingly  
did i sate  
gathering all    
her shattered pieces    
from those altered    
blighted    
reaches
    
chains    
now broken    
i carried her
'pon wings    
of true love's    
sylvar light    
far from    
these darksworn legions    
into    
the dawning night's    
farthest regions    
    
an' there    
close by    
the laughing    
whispering    
sylvar stream    
lay her gently    
'pon the verdant flowing shore    
beside
our gleaming slyvar mere    
'neath    
our weeping willow trees    
    
under glimmering    
starlit heavens    
sing    
the whippoorwill    
the meadowlark    
an' mourning dove    
whose soulful songs    
compose    
for yearning lovers    
charms of hope    
where pools    
the laughing    
sylvar stream    
whose mirrored gaze    
draws us deep within    
celestial    
starlit    
wanderings    
  
as the wind    
whispering
sighs    
thru our hearts  
as we lay entwined    
'pon a verdant garden lee    
beside  
our misting sylvar mere    
'neath  
our silent    
weeping  
willow trees    
      
p j upchurch
em May 2017
sitting at the kitchen table
crying,
and trying to
explain to my mom
why i stayed
while she told me,
with small kaleidoscopes of
warped devastation
pooling in her eyes
and rolling down her cheeks,
that this is scaring her.
because, it sounds like
i’m the type of girl
who stays,
while her husband beats her.
the girl she raised.
sitting at the kitchen table
crying,
and realizing
that when you ran your hands
through my hair as you kissed me,
you were twirling my future around
your fingers.
this is scaring me
because you’ll be the guy
who carved the hole in my chest
that stays
i know i will see your fingerprints
in all the hands that will come after you.

And I Will Run.
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