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John Keats
On The Sea
It keeps eternal whisperings around
Desolate shores, and with its mighty swell
Gluts twice ten thousand caverns, till the spell
Of Hecate leaves them their old shadowy sound.
Often 'tis in such gentle temper found,
That scarcely will the very smallest shell
Be moved for days from whence it sometime fell,
When last the winds of heaven were unbound.
Oh ye! who have your eye-***** vexed and tired,
Feast them upon the wideness of the Sea;
Oh ye! whose ears are dinned with uproar rude,
Or fed too much with cloying melody,—
Sit ye near some old cavern's mouth, and brood
Until ye start, as if the sea-nymphs choired!
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Wallace Stevens
A Rabbit as King of the Ghosts
The difficulty to think at the end of day,
When the shapeless shadow covers the sun
And nothing is left except light on your fur--

There was the cat slopping its milk all day,
Fat cat, red tongue, green mind, white milk
And August the most peaceful month.

To be, in the grass, in the peacefullest time,
Without that monument of cat,
The cat forgotten in the moon;

And to feel that the light is a rabbit-light,
In which everything is meant for you
And nothing need be explained;

Then there is nothing to think of. It comes of itself;
And east rushes west and west rushes down,
No matter. The grass is full

And full of yourself. The trees around are for you,
The whole of the wideness of night is for you,
A self that touches all edges,

You become a self that fills the four corners of night.
The red cat hides away in the fur-light
And there you are ****** high, ****** up,

You are ****** higher and higher, black as stone--
You sit with your head like a carving in space
And the little green cat is a bug in the grass.
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Alli Michelle Davis Jun 2016
Paint
Paint me a way home
I no longer want to be alone.

Use your yellow paint
And engulf me,
Into a beautiful world
Without any restraint.

That blue can be used
As the new sea,
Full of life
and full of being.

I will no longer be afraid
Of the wideness of the sea.
I will be comforted by the brushstrokes
Of the new beginning.

Paint me a home
White, with no mistakes.
No smudges
No gray.

Most importantly
Will you paint me?
With no mistakes, no smudges
A pair of new eyes
as blue as the sea.
Paint me and my being.
Make me feel yellow.
Make me happy.

I don’t want to feel lonely.
I want to be painted lovely.
#poetry #paint #depression #lonely #alone #happy #beautiful #art #blue #sea
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AW Oct 2014
Barcelona
The boulevard knows I don’t care
My hair’s messed up sometimes
These cobble stones remind me
That roughness has its charm

I turn a corner, find myself
In a whole new street of dreams
The fountain whispers to the wind
That nothing stays the same

As I wander unknown alleys
Each junction poses questions
Every showcase I walk by
Displays what life could be

Each passerby’s a promise
A sample story to be lived
The hilltop view reveals all
Of the possible paths to take

Strolling squares and avenues
I am searching to get lost
To find what I could never find
Where shortcuts are the norm

The cathedral proves to be the x
On my worn-out treasure map
The stained glass lays a mosaic
Of nuances on my heart

The arches paint perspective
Into my constricted reference
Their majesty lifts up my head
Compels an upward glance

The wideness resonates a truth
That shakes me to my core
The carillon sings an anthem
That accompanies new strides
#lost #search #wandering #city #barcelona
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Salim Sulaiman el Dec 2021
Poem of the Beloved
O! Beloved, O! Beloved who created the sun,
Created the atoms, and made the stars.
When we are united, Beloved, I will see your light,
Majestic than the sun, and I will be free of my desires
As the morning sun frees the lilies from the night.

O! My Beloved, I was not in existence but then You
Fashioned me and brought me to witness Your
Beauty. I am in awe of Your beauty, o! Beloved.
They say it is a gift, but you said it is a test.
O Beloved, guide me in this test you put me in.

O! My Beloved, O! Beloved that is not imperfect
I have been conquered by my ego yesterday
But to you I return and bow to purify myself,
Praise upon you after marveling at your beauty and mercy,
Your Mercy that is greater than the milk of a mother.

O! My Beloved, O! Beloved who said and wrote the first,
There is a longing inside me that all the wideness of
Life can’t give an answer to. O Beloved, I await
For my meeting with you to fill me,
As you fill the bellies of the birds, but eternally!

O! My Beloved, O! Beloved that is forever infinite
I have known but so little, expand me, my Beloved
As you have made the seas so wide to contain the
Liquid. So that I will know you more and contain
More of your love in my expanding self.

O! My Beloved, my beloved, break me if that will
Open me to you. A seeker of light will accept
Everything that has come to cleanse him of his
Darkness. For your mercy, give me soft cleansing
With the water of kindness, and breeze of love.

O! My Beloved, Beloved, with questions comes wandering,
And it is with wandering that then come answers.
The more I wander and seek, the more I get closer.
O! Beloved, I long for the taste of the moment when
I will arrive at the hall of those that have arrived.

O! My Beloved, O my Beloved that guides the seeker
If I get all that I seek in the moment of a wish,
Then there wouldn’t be all the wonders of seeking,
But you know, guide my way, O Guider of wayfarers,
As you have done to the path of those You have blessed.

O my beloved, I am like a river, O my beloved!
My existence is like a river and you are the Ocean.
I am flowing from you, and then back to you,
Accompany my flow in daytime with the sun of Your
Love, and at night with the moon of your mercy.
Here I tried capturing a 13th century dervish poem. They refer to God as the Beloved.
#poem #thetraveller
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Ariane Aug 2013
Trace
I want to trace the veins on your arms.
A map of where life goes on.

I want to trace the lashes against your cheeks.
Little fluttering (butterfly) wings on your face.

I want to trace your lips.
The softness I want to feel with my own.

I want to trace your cheeks.
Rub away the tears that have fell against it.

I want to trace your eyelids.
To feel the barrier, the beauty of your spirit hides behind.

I want to trace the prominence of your jaw.
That gives shape to your beautiful face.

I want to trace your shoulders.
Where the world sits upon.

I want to trace your fingers and the spaces in between them.
Interlock them with my own.

I want to trace the longness of your throat.
The beauty of a voice from where it erupts.

I want to trace the wideness of your chest.
To feel the beat of your heart under my fingertips.
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Brianne Jones Dec 2011
Your Guilt
It's just your guilt talking,
out of the sly corners of its mouth.
The *****, shame filled face, 
with its dark sad eyes.
It's just your guilt talking 
my love,
lying through its crooked teeth, 
bending and swaying like a rotten tree in a gale. 
Its story never the same, 
never with a hint of truth or of sense.
It's just your guilt talking,
worry rusting its bones
Regret.
Remorse.
 
Eye contact, 
what is eye contact? 
It has never existed 
in the dark eyelessness of your guilt.
Fear, my love, 
fear of repercussions, 
of my assumed hatred, 
of confrontation. 
It's just your guilt talking,
trying to avoid the thought 
of me, 
of what we had, 
and the way you threw it as far away as possible.
And now you will never be able to find it in the wildness, 
and the wideness,
of your guilt.
 
Your guilt,
a field of crumbling stone, 
of parasitic weeds. 
With a black yet rainless sky.
Stealing your life,
your heart. 
******* it down into the toxic earth,
of your guilt.
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Koubashii Oct 2012
Under the night sky
Let the breezes shake your breath

Let the sky fall into your eyes

Let the night drown you in its wideness

When stars start to glow

It gives nothing but coldness

How beautiful they’re dazzling in your eyes

But emptiness just can’t stop stabbing onto these hands

.

A hope rises underneath this night sky

But can you hear it, sky?

Or will you just pass by again

Till it drifts away?
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Windsor I Guadalupe Jr Jan 2016
Subterranean / Transatlantic
falling into subterranean sleep, I notice such blackness
   bypasses a pinprick of light; dreams are avenues
   to enigmas presenting themselves as someone forgotten.
sleep laves labyrinths with incandescent sequins.
    everybody is strange here, interlocutor commune,
still yet nothing I can understand – better be braille, or
    contrapuntal dance, but still you uttered nothing;
your locutionary silence seeks no contentment.

                                           i have never heard such riot
of laughter toss me out of sleep. perhaps it was our undoing,
   our deepest, secretive entrails unloosen us in such fashion
   worth depicting as obscenely courageous, the width
of arm-span the size of outstretched islands, and stepping into
   that particular wideness, are my small feet traipsing
   swiftly throbbing in the heat of choosing:
to go      or     to stay – cyclic spectacle that eschews
            dailiness that I know I may have forgotten you in faces
of lampposts, the pared skin of onion, the gleaming washlines,
     the white feral on the rooftops, a blank piece of paper,
            a munificent Bulacan sky, or any sky at that since
they are all bleached and they arrive not with wind but
    with lashes: the color of white that flagellates, that blinds,
        that oscillates in space which is then reduced to the
     back of my hand: I know this. I know all of this.

                                                we were not naked, yet something
         buried in the skin reveals itself disarmed, mumbling
             an earnest palaver of questions I have no answers for.
                     what happened? where are we? should we just – die?
                                   an echoing reverb, or simply a song – a metronomic
          carousal of swan-song I have heard before persists
                            and maybe all this time,
                                                       we have been awake, in separate cities.
#love #dream #poem #poetry #sleep
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Julian Dorothea Aug 2011
anis
I loan my heart
to anis mojgani's hands
thin and perfect
with a wideness that can hold the moon,
the earth,
a word.

their quiet rising
and falling
their cannot-be-bottled-
up fidgeting

mesmerizing.*

that I too may learn
to express
myself
no shame
no fear
no doubt.

just me.

certainly.

with conviction.

my heart's beat
will thump
thump THUNDER!

I don't care who stares
It won't shut up,
I won't let it.
let their brooms bang on the ceiling
send for the cops!
call my parents!

I don't
care
I'm gonna shout *******

I"M GONNA SHOUT!!!!
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Raj Arumugam Jul 2012
Sansu inmuldo (picture of a man in the landscape)
Sir, most honorable one…
It is not in fear or disgust
or in disappointment or revulsion
no, Sir, it is not of such causes that I have
sought the solitude of these hills and rocks and trees
and the lake that whispers ever, even as I lie down to sleep;
but O most revered passer-by -
in the hustle and bustle of our lives in the capital
and in our cities, even there I found an embracing silence
that I could not ignore;
and I saw the shallowness of activity
and I saw the ambition of superficiality;
and let it be what word philosophy or ritual or religion
may call it, whatever labels Organized Thought revels in -
that Silence I found nameless and formless -
and even in the midst of activity
I found inactivity
But Sir, as you ask,
the Impatient saw Rebuke in my Silence
the Virtuous found their Guilt in my Quiet
the Enlightened glimpsed their Darkness in my Stillness
And so it came to be that natural outcome,
society receded from me
Most Honorable Sir, it was not I that left it…
And ah, here you find me now,
insignificant, part of the whole, still, and as content
as the dust that you might find on a blade of grass
amidst the natural wideness that is here…
Poem based on painting “Sansu inmuldo” (“the picture of a man in the landscape”) by Jang Seung-eop (Owon), 1843-1897, Korea, late Joseon Dynasty
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Mary Ederline Mamburam May 2017
The Scent of You
The musk scent I smell in your body,
In your hanky and the clothes you wear
Lingers in my memories

I bathed it upon me to see and feel the nearness of you.

Sans distance
And we are lovers
Across oceans and where our mind and hearts could flow
Connecting that olfactory sensation, the warmth of your body
In the wideness of your shoulders and the thoughts of it
Just the thoughts of it,
Makes me linger to your sweet caress.
The kiss of a thousand songs of forever.
#scentofyou
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Coffee with Cream Nov 2020
The Grey Fence
A Black House and a White House,
       Lived on opposite ends and worlds,
Were merely divided by a Grey Fence.

The Black House made bricks of unknown,
                  So the Grey Fence was taller,
The White House made bricks of misjudgment,
            So the Grey Fence was wider.
The White House dug trenches of resentment,
                Then the Grey Fence had depth,
The Black House made bob-wires of pride,
                     So the Grey Fence had spikes.

The Black House and White House
Made improvements to the Grey Fence,
Until it was insurmountable, but hence
Came at the expense of the land of their houses.

They went back to living in their own worlds.
Settlers saw opportunity in the Grey Fence.
Doors, windows, furniture made it into house.

The Grey House was the tallest,
Wideness made it the biggest,
With trenches and bob-wires as protection,
The beaut besting between the three.

The White House got a sour sledgehammer,
The Black House an envious ripping bar,
The White House a jealous jackhammer,
The Black House a beguile bulldozer.

Both houses were going hammer and tongs,
Trying to demolish what they had built.
Minutes, hours, day after day and beyond
But the Hate, the Grey Fence, was rock solid.
A fence can stop things from coming in but can keep things- influences, ideology, beliefs. I know alot of won’t read this poem because it’s “lengthy”. However the message sticks. What fences have u built? Why? In future will u need to demolish it?
#powerful
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Faleeha Hassan Apr 2016
My Mother and Father
My innocence nudges me
As she points to the creases of my bedding on the ground.

While the bed itself, with the imbecility of its sheets,
Lies rejected in the corner of the room.

My parents’ smiles widen with the stupidity of the covers.

They alone, and the bed
proved to me my innocence and the idiocy of a tidy bed.

Even if I inherited the furniture, children
And the creases under the eyes,

Every time my bed rubs in the carpet’s weave,
I am still baffled by the wideness of their smiles,

As I lie between my children
On a stupid, tidy bed.

By Faleeha Hassan
Translated by Dikra Ridha

© Copyright 2016, by Faleeha Hassan. All rights reserved under the Copyright laws of the United States of America and international copyright agreements.  No portion of this book maybe reproduced in any form, electronic or otherwise, without written permission from the author.    Email:  d.fh88@yahoo.com
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Cody Edwards Jul 2010
O
I could see the stars tonight; three of them.
Half-turned from the face of the moon, one
Could just barely make out what they were
Maybe thinking.

It was as if they were reading out their own
Transcripts of all the good nights I have ever
Had: bullet list format, possibly written on
Index cards.

Small though they undoubtedly are (if they
Are, because I’ve never seen one up close)
They make the wideness of Everything feel
So poor.

When my evenings were read out in their
Starched mutterings, the sphere of the sky
Was delineated utterly to me: one club that
No one joins.
© Cody Edwards 2010
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Thandiwe May 2014
Words from my heart.
Foamy waters crash against my dry skin, millions of tiny sand grains make their way up my heels.

I take in the wideness, broadness and unending blue ocean, it's color burns my heart, bores into my eyes...causing them to cry.
Shed warm tears that join the to-n-fro waves.

I take in the majestic power that lies in these waters, I soak the sun with every blink and wonder about the Hand that put all this water here.

He must be Great, out of this world, unimaginable.
I sense the wisp slaps of droplets telling my soul I have all I need.
There's no place or need to worry. I have no more ways to express the awe of this vast sea.

Area immeasurable and a home to thousand of billions of creatures. Unfounded and found, unseen and seen...all living beneath the depths of water.

Each to its Creator invaluable in His sight.
#love #poem #heart #water #melodies #creator
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Leigh Aug 2015
I am lovely
Your skin, dusted with cinnamon and glowing with sunlight,
is precious in His sight.

I won't write a generic poem
seeking approval and attention and
fame and fulfilment.
I have these all already,
given to me by my lord Jesus.

I'm here simply to tell you, you
with your sweaty hands,
your ugly toes,
your bad hair day,
the bags beneath your "washed out" eyes and
the wrinkles above your eyebrow
the too-wideness of your hips,
your broad shoulders,
your pale skin

Yes. You Are Lovely.
#acceptance
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Isa Jun 2020
suicide thoughts
what's it like to have a gun to your head?
the feeling of the cold barrel pushed up against your hair,
knowing that inside that barrel is a future that rides the line you didn't always think you'd walk.
the wideness of that barrel, you can feel it's exact measurements on your skull.
the gaping hole in the center of the tube, that weightless piece against you,
but only physically weightless.
the heaviness of the weapon becomes
as heavy as your heart.

is it the part of the power in the trigger against your hand?
or is it the knowledge of the chemistry inside that gun,
that's pushing against your hand,
like your palm and finger with that gun have a newfound power?
is it a horrifying power?
is it peaceful?
is it aggressive?
loud?
is it as quick as your instincts?
the flip of the coin,
as quick as your mind changes?
is it as exhilarating as you wanted?
or as deadly as you thought?
is the weight of the bullets as much as the potential you have,
that you so easily dispose of?
so easily reject?

which is it, Isa?
it's not worth it.
#dark #death #weapon #depression #suicide #anxiety #heart #gun #scared
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PK Wakefield Feb 2014
Untitled
through what body of flowers does your kiss move,
its muscles softly more

where palm tightens against neck
titanically blossoms

your breath
in leaping heaps of strenuous hurt.

hurt that loves to.to
come against me
the forking of its river, its

wideness of thigh, and the plying
of my open fist

to splay the dirt

and plant amongst your dying earth
the heat of

                    infinite

     Spring,



                        .


          '


            ­                              ,
  





.




                   ­   
                                 '
                                 .
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Postman Aug 2017
Brighter Side
On the balcony I stand
and let my eyes sway
to the sandy waves,
swathing in the moonlight.

The ancient empire that was buried under
the suave sand had been witnessed by
the moon of mountain from a distant land.

The endless tract of greenlessness
under the sparkling platinum moon
is brushing with the hands of air
and making the magnificent dunes.

Mind widens as you witness its wideness
unlike the sea it presents you with quietness.
If you are seeking happiness
this rough terrain will show you,
life isn't after all that hard for you.
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Qynn Jan 2018
Horizon
There is a point I come to every day on my walk to work. An outlook, messed and marked by tall grass and weeds. You can see beyond the valley there, to the low rolling mountains of the Allegheny. Sometimes when the sky is just right, you can even see the smoke stacks of the power plant near my old home.

Most days, I pass by this vista.
I can't bear to look it in the eye.
It reminds me of the wideness of the world, the fear that touches me when I speak of leaving. The dreams that I have spent like breath - time and again - departure from this life.
To leave the job that kills, the friends who've forgotten, the lover who cannot remember how to love.

Most days I walk past.
I will not lift my head.
But the vast emptiness of the space between me and the world, the openness, the cold and absence of safety, with no promise of home... it calls to me.

Like the angry seas to young sailors, it cries my name. Something unsure. Something more.
Something that will nurse, something that will drown.

It beats me down.

And I will let it beat me til I break.
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L B Apr 2019
Music for the Road and the Great Sachem
Massasoit and me
driving under signs
from the spirits
that should have warned us...
what was to come
that Cotuit got Pearl Jammed for...
"one great brass kettle seven spans in wideness round about,
and one broad ***.”
Read as you need

From Wampanoag:
“she lies and says she's in love with him--
Can't find a better man...”
Perhaps she can't
Perhaps she can't?
Read as ya need

495 South
on-- and out to sea
“You don't have to live like a refugee”
Not when ya got
Music and the road


sachem: great leader
cotuit:  place of the council
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wampanoag#/media/File:TribalTerritoriesSouthernNewEngland.png
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John Edward Smallshaw Dec 2018
Before the dream began
Do you hear me?
can you see me?
and if you do
would you listen like you used to do?

are you there with those painted hands
that run through your long and silky hair?
can you hear me now?

It's like the echo that reverberates
the longing for and how it aches
how long it takes

can you hear me?

the change of pitch,
the plaintive cries
the wideness of an ocean
that I see behind your eyes
and if I drown in them
what then?
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Shivpriya Jan 2020
My habitable heart is all yours!
Dear artificer,
You are so wide-awake!
Look at the
wideness and come
even in the speck
to listen the entreatingly
ostinato of my heart!
The palatability
is not meant for any
confoundedness but
your tangents
don’t answer my
noes and yeses!

I think of idolizing your
earnest attempt of withholding
the passage for delivering your
correspondence to me
but, most importantly, I think I should be
praying for the enfolding supportiveness
of your words for facing the hollowness.

The sunken feelings always
reverberates and they yearn for your
affection in its booming resemblance.

Shivpriya
#shivpoetesspriya
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Bijoylakshmi Das Jun 2021
IN THE DREAM TWILIGHT OF THE SOUL
IN THE DREAM TWILIGHT OF THE SOUL
(Bijoylakshmi Das)
Life flows fast but journey infinite,
Do not lose your goal: Wisdom’s foresight.
From Blue to Brown and Brown to Blue,
Your aim- the celestial Beyond that reckons the blissful hue.
Wedded to the airy wideness of a flawless felicity,
Trusted upon the unwavering call of the steadfast certitude,
Your journey begins from the womb of flesh and blood
It has to reach perfection of the boundless beatitude.
Alone in the serene tranquility of the inmost depth,
To breathe the air of freedom from long-lost time’s immemorial quest,
Like the winner of the game of clambering steps
Oh Sons of Eternity! Do reach eternal loving breast.
The wild wanton play of greed and unwanted desires though dance all around,
But you have no role to play in the fictitious play ground;
Let the world go mad in its self-made insane uproar,
All is its own creation, it has to suffer.
You are the unique voyager of the sublime height,
Do never interfere, Reach the timeless Beyond: your one and only Goal.
Your thoughts transcend the limits of the mortal mind,
Physique no more slaves to desire of the senses blind;
Enraptured by the Sweetheart’s myriad-hued ecstatic embrace,
You are one with Infinity merged into its infinite grace.
Sit solemn in the inexpressible heights of the expanse blue,
Your beauty enlivened with blessedness’ heavenly hue;
You are the blazing effulgence of the brightest sun,
Also you are the calm moon-beam delight of the most refreshing rays of the earliest Dawn.
Harbor not despair in your heart, you are no part of it,
You are the inhabitant of the kingdom of mystic magnificence with no territorial limit.
The indwelling Godhead in each and every mortal chamber:
Creation’s cherished embellishment of the highest divine order.
Oh incarnation of Bliss! Do not ever grieve,
Bliss is thy birthright and in Bliss you do live.
(26th June 2021)
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Safana Aug 2021
Take the photons
Just dive into the
stream of refreshes
and think, not to sink...
in the deep ocean of
dark dullness, see and
take the photon on your
hand, just to blow it up
to the sky of wideness...
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— The End —