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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.
Hayley Aug 2016
Being normal is so overrated
Everyone's in pain everyone is jaded
The realm of creativity
Is the place to be
Flowing and feeling the energy
Dispense your sixth sense
Onto humanity
If your third eye is blind
You have to open your mind
To the channels we have inside
That connect with the universe and combine
Our thoughts and our words into something divine
I promise normalcy is a sickness
Do you feel your aura?
If there's a thickness
Then you need to clean it out
Speak with a whisper, there's no need to shout
It clogs your soul
And you need to know
How to let go
Of whats not really you
Deprogram yourself, become brand new
Wipe off what society has done  
Face your problems, don't just run
Step out of the shadows and into the sun
Feel yourself and close your eyes
Feel your energy and become more wise
Free yourself for just a moment of your time
Just sit still, stop trying to climb
This present moment is all that is real
No past, no future, no time, no wheel
When I say everything is an illusion it's not an exaggeration
We create what we want with our imagination
If that's the truth, what reality are you making
Are you being true to yourself or are you just faking
The paranormal is more real than what we see
Not believing institutional lies is the key
Be true to who you are
Show off your love and show off your scars
Your clothes are worthless and so are your cars
The realest you is made of pure light
And it flickers and dims when you're trying to fight
No need to resist
Put down your fist
Open yourself to what's all around
Pull yourself up off the ground
Nothing is against you but your own self
Become the books on the library shelf
Full of perspective, depth, and knowledge
Don't be programmed by a government run college
Think for yourself and don't stop growing
Expand as big as the galaxy and don't stop flowing
You're the micro of the macro, which is the universe
Save the world, but take care of you first
You can't save anything when you're drowning in doubt
Your soul knows something is wrong that's why it's trying to shout
It's telling you that what you're doing needs change
Don't you realize you're feeling a little bit strange?
Take accountability for your co-creation
What you're seeing right now is of your own manifestation
You're not a victim, you're actually in charge
If you don't like how you're feeling then open your arms
Give yourself a hug and stop all the hate
Love is always the answer, it's not a debate
Love yourself, the world, and everything around
528 hertz is the life changing sound
The vibration which is the frequency of love
Feel it, embody it, wear it like a glove
Magic happens when you're totally in tune
Come sit with me beneath the moon
We will make a new intention and set it in motion
Make waves of change in this consciousness ocean
Find love within and stay unique
This society wants to mold you and make you weak
Protest them by knowing your soul
That's the most potent power you'll ever hold
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 the destination de jour
graced by thousands of prophets of God!

In the name of Allah she descended
on the Night of the Ascension.
From the Night of Measures unlike the rest
none can enumerate it yet an unnumbered zone
in the perfect geometrised 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, reveals her unique divine relation,
the front burner for sure is ever 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 flocked and mirrored the earth.
Treading across every atom on that angle
perfectly aligned down the Moon.
Until those beneath the skin atoms
bang, explode, on approaching the behemoth,
the vibration beneath Fathima’s foot!

The ocean billows up
feels life on the high
floating on the clouds.
Choreographed like a little dew
hanging low on the rose.
Just to drop 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 is rowing down.
The sleeping beauty wakes up
eyes are on the silver dance.
Eying on every star in the night
the Moon is floating down.
The seven seas sing out in the dark
bubbling with exuberant fireflies
that would gleefully rock the moonlight boat
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 was a woman prophet of God
to the one primitive woman, the leading lady
'Sayeedatun Nessa' Queen Fathima
heaven is no secret, it is an open mirror!
For her heaven is made an open book
the first batch of houris came to be
tuning into the sounds of her toes.
The earth in its primitive water first moved on
bang, Big Bang, soon she drops in it her hair lock.
She's the hidden gem in the secret end of God!

For the planetary ebb and flow on the way heaven
the planet earth is the only stepping stone.
No matter how many times more it tries on
there will still be an unturned stone.
Until the very one woman, the original
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 decimal.
Putting it all on the map ‘as above, so below’,
all in all, like it's in pure scientia scenario.

Heaven will open its grand door
where the queen will stand on.
No more reverse engineering physically
the original, Fathima will step on,
on the last turned stone.
From the one great woman
paradise starts from here on
from beneath the mother’s foot!
Mystic Ink Plus Oct 2018
Whenever we perceive
Good vibrations
Respect roots it’s way

We start to feel the vibrations
Not the name or the color
Not they are, whatever

The same vibration
May change the wavelength
To preserve the earlier respect
It is better
To keep a distance

Let the respect be
The form of energy
We worship

Personally
Genre: Abstract
Theme: Conservation of energy
Sonia Ettyang Feb 24
Sunbeams crack through the tall trees
Birds chirping along the window seals
Wind chimes tunes fills the quiet room
Nag champa wafts in the air

Mat laid flat
Squats and stretches
Eyes closed
In-hale
Ex-hale
Mind in the body
Heavenly flow

Frequency modulated
Easeness
Awareness
Serenity
Bliss
Peace
Silence
Power
© Sonia Ettyang
prana is the universal energy which flows in currents in and around the body"
King Panda Jun 2016
like red lion parts
crotch rocket
nut cup
anything done behind
a dumpster in the dark
yes, always
because you never liked how
light peeked through my thin
hair
or how I squinted
my eyes when I kissed you
“Just close them all the way
*******!!”
of course, I obliged
anything to keep you
away from your mother
anything to keep you
out of the garage
the sulfur smell
the demons in your
drinking marble
but god,
the vibration
the car peeling out
on the driveway and
“Here take this.”
all of me reminded you
of her
all of me
“Rest, darling. Rest.”
and every time the night
ended with unclothed gin
bedspreads like
forts and painted
walls
“Go **** youself.”
and all was lost
my body
my grief
10 pounds lighter
sweat soaked through
the carpet
Jesse stillwater Jul 2018
there are the ones
that feel it climb up
the shadow towards the light,
hesitation on every rung,
each wave of the arising
      overwhelms  unabated ―
and woe betides those
who are on the run
from a storm's deluge


A rousing ocean breeze
stirs inside the memory
of an unframed seashell
lying on the hearth mantel;
heightened sensitivity
lapping soundlessly,
spindrift plashing
the shoreline
of another world's
feigned peace


Perhaps the muted voice
of guilty pleasures,
hushed by their own
hidden truths
Feeling the unfelt textures
of every stifled vibration
left unbreathed


The naked truth befallen
so cold and lonely
Running in circles,
volatile as all those
     unspoken excitations raging ―
and the whispers of those
who hear not
the voices in the wind


An emotionally enslaved  heart
tarries,  marooned high and dry
in a memory on a distant sand bar
     lain fallow for so long ―
stagnant darkness
of an unsated soul
gathered on the back
of a parched tongue
sullied wordless


Rising up through
a dusty hieroglyph corridor
through an unlocked
labyrinth gate;  vestige echoes
from somewhere left behind
in an incomprehensible
abandoned wake


It's getting harder and harder
   for an insatiable soul to breathe ...
   climbing up a tree trunk―
up within the silence
of the listening tree


  Toes dug into
the rough bark furrows ―
fingers reaching upwards
beyond their deepest known grasp


A shadow stranded
out on a hangin' bough
hearkening without ears that hear:
“perhaps they’ll listen now“  
the wingless bird sings
in psalms that fly away
on tattered feathers
over untamed waters roil


Back to nature’s waning youth,
the bough bends unbroken
to taste the freedom
of the wild absolving seas



Jesse Stillwater
June     2018
Notes:                                                                                                          
a friend sent  a link to a deeply thought provoking modern classic 70's song about Vincent Van Gogh and the complexities of imperfection some of us relate .... i'd listened to the words prior but never heard before now.

  Title is last final lyric line from:  "Vincent" (Starry, Starry night) 1971
Writer(s): DON MCLEAN, ENRICO NASCIMBENI,
ROBERTO VECCHIONI
RK Dec 2018
The rain lashed down and the storm didn't abate 'till late next morning.

On awakening after a disturbed night sleep, I noticed a tree had fallen. The sky looked bright and more blue than I ever remembered. The calm after the storm seemed quite uplifting and remarkable.

In the distance I heard birds singing. The blankness of emptiness,
dissipated. My friend, who was working in our garden was whistling, and I swear I saw the wet mud, glistening.

Even the unkempt home and garden on our Avenue looked beautiful.

I imagined flowers growing there!   I visualised the new growth of Spring and the birds KNEW  what I was thinking. Holding my eyes shut, I saw daffodils growing, glowing in the gentle breeze.

Neither looking outward nor inward, I saw new ground. New seeds! The storm left a strong vibration, an opening to new possibilities. The old way seemed unbearable!
Everything is beautiful.

The storm moved me.

Peace
A storm inwards and outwards resulted in writing this poem.
Storms or not , the stillness remains.
Kevin J Taylor Sep 2015
Depths of green—from canopy to forest floor
In streams of raucous livingness
And there, and where about, a sanctuary
Falls in heaps, in stone walls run aground.

And with, nearby, afar, by ins and outs
Through every place (perceived)
Wherever listened for—vibration.

A single voice in Pali—a single voice
Leaping, leading, dancing, sweeping.

Hello. You greet me.
Inspired by (Founder of Scientology) L. Ron Hubbard's poem, Hymn of Asia, and by my memories of long ago.

.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. 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 from common things.)
Sara Kellie Jul 2018
Promise me, my flesh you'll place
'neath a fledgling willow tree.
And as it grows toward blue sky,
It's in its grace you'll hear me cry.
Laden with the heaviest fears,
resembling, reflecting
my darkest years.

A fragile bone was once my arm,
so likened to the willows charm.
It's branches delicate,
could ne'er do harm.
It's soft and fluffy hand like bud,
encased in skin, the willow's wood.

Hold its hand at branches end.
My message, a vibration,
to you I'll send.
Until the death of said willow tree,
reminding you . . . . .
. . . . . . always of me.

Poetry by Kaydee.
The tired and deathly willow tree with stories to tell of debutantes, swinging
before entering hell.
Sam Hawkins Jun 2016
sensing you, i stood myself tall
i stayed and i grew
ten thousand tiny legs or more—

each root foot set upon your shoulders
lifted me among constellation stars

home i had never left, not you

thank you ancestors thank you
for your neighborly attentions
sound vibration spiral strung --

like God’s first word, first and second
generation sun, greening earth,
until everywhere shaping intelligence
this my body finally here

steady and true as weighed stone,
unjudging love is

what you have come to teach me

that i could choose to die to fear
to die to death itself
I know a bit about
learning to dance in the rain
like nobody is watching

but...

I know way more about
dancing like a *****
in the kitchen

despite the warden
standing aghast
eating up his own
billowy firebreath
soliloquy reprimands

I earbud block
shimmy, pivot and pop
raising vibration tornado
toss it a flippant middle
and cheeky smile
without breaking stride

devil dismayed
lips keep on syncing
as if I can hear demeaning
demonic procession

but I already know
what he’s saying

stop dancing like that
in front of our son


you mean…

to the beat of my own pulse
shaking divine creation
diffusing rainbow throes
undulating radiant orbitals
all for my own blissing?

one day that boy
will be a man
who knows

better

than to ever
call a goddess

a ***** in the kitchen
Mystic Ink Plus Nov 2018
If one can’t
Make a child to smile
Wholeheartedly

My apology

That life needs
Some editing
Genre: Abstract
Theme: Vibration never deceive
Mystic Ink Plus Aug 2018
Never trust on
The outer reflections
Yes-to-Yes compliments

Never you will be wrong
If identify vibration of
The inner instinct

Let patience do the rest
Keep watching till the time
When we will witness
Skin shedding

Otherwise We don’t judge people
Their vibration let us
Whom to keep distance
Whom to get close
Genre: Rational
Theme: Vibes
Traveler Jul 2013
Where does happy dwell
In the part that swells?
Not even lust can last
Does it live within a laugh?
Is happy but a thought
Manifest and then lost?
Surely life must know
When vibration grows
When time flows
Slower than slow
Yet where does
Happy go?

If I chase it will it run?
To catch it must be fun
I've seen happy in a look
I've read those happy books
Still  I need a little more
To be happy at the core
And then happily I'd rest
 Smiling more
  Frowning less..!!.
  

...
Traveler Tim
re to 19
Carter Ginter Sep 2013
Sitting in silence
Waiting for sound.
You know it's promised
And soon will be found.
Either the vibration of a gun shot
Or that of my phone,
Will tell me the ending
Here (or not) alone.
The silence is taunting
Then an explosion breaks free
But it's only some fireworks;
Scared the **** out of me.
He is not lying
No, not this time
This could be his end
And mentally mine.
But I feel in my heart
All his hidden strength
I do my best to keep him living
But to what length?
I love him more than most,
That's my best friend
Please don't let him leave us
This isn't the end.
Michael Briefs Nov 2017
It seemed so much had been lost.  

So much had slipped through
A grasping hand,
A yearning heart,
A desperate mind
As mine.

The dull march of days present
Was shadowed by the
Gloom of regrets and
Shrieked by a shrill wind at lonely,
Bitter hours.  
What was mine? What was ours?
Gone for good and all?

My love, it seemed, was only
Ever a dark dream.
In my swelling and stinging agony,
Love was
As a locked door
And my heart was a bloodied fist
Beating against it.  
A wraith-like specter of doubt clung to me
With oppressive raiment,
Scrapping over exposed skin
Like course, mortifying fabric.  

Then, from out of a pristine past,
A voice  
Called out to me.  
The herald of an angel
Rung clear and glad as winter bells,
Celebrant!  
The dark narcissus of mortality was
Driven off!
The burial cloak was split;
The stone was rolled back!  

A hope newly found
Surrounds and soars above me,
As a deep, azure ribbon of
Stretching, unending sky!

I am imbued with cheering thoughts
Of our days gone by!
Glories recalled in a moment relived;
Revelries and song lifted with voices
And hearts, stout and full!

Together,
With my beautiful Eurydician queen;
Returned, she was,
From an underworld of time.
We coax and stir
The memories of first passions,
Innocent, powerful and pure.
We are now bending
The arc of our history,
Rending the precious pearl of affection
From the murky domain of
A love denied.  
Renewed and viewed through  
Prismic fractures of sadness
And through the sharp focus
Of blue eyes, in rapt recognition,
Surprised!  

Today is reborn,
Lived again and again,
With each pulse of the clock,
Each beat of my heart.  
The blood within
Is purged of that familiar poison.  

All is potent and refreshed:
You, your face, your voice, your touch, your scent,
Your vibration pours to and through me, once again!
Oh, true friend,
Tender lover,
Gently knocking at my door.
You return from distant lands
Remote and misty,
Bringing light and love
To my lonely shore.
I approach from my realm,
Far removed.  
Age and ages have chiseled
The shape of my soul.
In part, it is smoothed;
Refined with wisdom, empathy, and clarity.
Also, though,
It is,
In part,
Broken, jagged, and cracked,
As the forgotten sculptures
Of ancient empires,
Renowned
And doomed.

Yet I realize, all at once,
That I am not forgotten.  
I am not doomed
To shadow.
I breathe,
I seek,
I still have hope and
Words to tell!
And I still have my love for you!
My life is now freed from that
Sad spell.  

This breath,
This stony soul
(Sculpted by the Artist of Pain)
And this trammeled heart
Trembles in desire of
Your beauty,
Your touch and
Your presence --
Your calming presence,
Bringing levity,
Reassurance
And familiar stories of
Hopeful remembrance.  
From love recalled,
Comes your unexpected
Embrace and
Sweet sign of friendship.

That time of distress has come and
Gone and we turn to discover that
Our tender connection remains,
True and undefeated!
It rises with the earliest song
Of still sleepy birds,
Lilting on the cool air of the morn.  

This uplifting emotion
Again flows within me,
As an angel granting absolution,
Touching me in a place
As deep as first love.  

Welcome!
Kevin J Taylor Jul 2017
The first poem takes place during the lifetime of Lord Buddha.

The second poem follows in the years soon after Lord Buddha left his body.

The third poem is the mind of the boy (the spirit of the boy in the first poem) in restless meditation. He has yet to attain full enlightenment. There are multiple voices suggested by parentheses and which are whispered words. If you prefer linear thought or literal interpretation this poem may not communicate to you. Just as a painting may be abstract, this poem is wide open to your own connections, thoughts and emotions. If you like, you can skip to the fourth poem.

The fourth poem, in three lines, lies within this portion of eternity that is forever present time.


Boy runner (the first poem)
"""""""""""""
Approaching Gautama where He sat a
boy examined Him politely. (This-that?)
Gautama spoke and there the unnamed boy
who sitting a while with Him that day thought
and over the days ahead returned and
leaving only for food, drink and service
that Gautama would not be distracted
from His goal until upon returning
he saw Him glowing in the morning light
and so began to dance with Him beneath
the tree. A leaf was shed, was gathered then
and the boy, who while tucking it away,
Gautama asked if he would run for Him
to village, crossroads, field, grove, wherever
Gautama wished to speak. And so he ran
and soon arriving announcing thus His
coming, holding high the leaf he carried
and which had never died— living, living
green until Lord Buddha left His body.




Depths of Green (the second poem)
""""""""""""""""""""
Depths of green—from canopy to forest floor
In streams of raucous livingness
And there, and where about, a sanctuary
Falls in heaps, in stone walls run aground.

And with, nearby, afar, by ins and outs
Through every place (perceived)
Wherever listened for—vibration.

A single voice in Pali—a single voice
Leaping, leading, dancing, sweeping.

Hello. You greet me.


And if I split myself and stand (the third poem)
""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""
And if I split myself and stand
At every corner of said universe
On any selfsame summer day
With any selfsame afternoon rain
Will this, though thought, slip
Where densities of interest fail
(Or by failures to perceive)

This leaf-boy-runner
Eight portions of beingness
The full, and fill of prime creation

(Perhaps where life has paused
Or slowed enough to perceive
At any speed
The speed of perception
The true speed of light
The wavelengths of laughter
And of any thing)


While density shifts
Where inertia has failed

(The density of my interest
The shift of my affinity)


There is no doubt
It has velocity
It gives back light
It bends the universe
It has location
From which expands
All space
Not already filled
With the logic of otherness
And even there it bends to will

As (my breadth of vision)
A torrent
An avalanche
A fissure in nothingness
A co-creation of All
This theatre
Our audience
Of stelae
Beacons of lostness
To wander by
In search of wavelengths
Of affinity
Where you might
Where I have
The curves beneath our frequencies
The pitch and roll of their design
Their width

(We have
Each other)


In all that vastness
An ordinary leaf
From this
For that
(I am)
The breathless
Runner


Cool in the shade (the fourth poem)
"""""""""""""""""""""
Cool in the shade
(still) dancing
with Lord Buddha
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. 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 with common things.)
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