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Lazhar Bouazzi Apr 2018
As I look back into my life
I think to myself:

"I sped when I was a boy. I sped
To out-distance time."

But now when I look at the dark-green rocks
In my neighborhood, by the trembling docks,

I say to the rocks: "I go, you stay.
You stay for the winds to breathe upon thee."

(c) LazharBouazzi
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2013
Blown by a warm south wind, I sail off to sea,
that's the path it seems that life has had for me.
Adventure whispers in my ear and calls me out it seems,
and gathers me along with all my hopes and dreams.

I dream of all the trips I'll take when life is simpler still,
and I wait to walk on beaches until I have had my fill.
I gaze into the eyes of my true love who stands here by my side,
as I watch for the rising of the sun and of the morning tide.  

I hold on to the hand of this true miracle of men,
and I'll keep him in this heart of mine until the very end.
The man I speak of truly was a gift from up above,
and I cannot live without him or without his gift of love.

He came to me a stranger, then became a steadfast friend
and led me from my misery and helped my heart to mend.
He guided me with his hand to be the woman I am now
and helped me to the place that started with a vow.

Now as the trade winds ******* I cannot help but think,
of the beauty by my side and the love that doesn't sink.
When adventure calls to me and whispers in my ear,
I cannot help but hold your hand and pray that you'll be here.
All poems are copy written and soul property of Vicki Kralapp.
Tanay Sengupta Aug 2018
Cold winds, unheard whispers and a lonely street light.
For a small town, it is such a typical night.

This calmness and this warmth,
All like the silence before the storm.

A few hours, just a few hours more,
Ships don't always have to sail to some shore.
Let it sail now on this ocean of silence,
Without a sound, without any violence.

Let there be only sounds of heartbeats, deep breaths and whispers.
Just heartbeats, deep breaths and whispers.











Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2018.
All Rights Reserved
This is rather recent, I hope you like it. Happy reading!
elaine Sep 2018
The winds whisper to me
Keeping me from slipping away.
They blow ‘round, carrying me place to place, showing me lives of all the lovers, fighters, and loners of the world,
Showing me what it’s like to live.
They give me snippets of lives,
Distracting me from my own.
They dance with me when i am down,
And hold me up as i start to fall.
I owe the winds,
But how do i repay this inanimate friend of mine.
I'll live my life repaying you, for you have been the only friend I even need, and will ever want.
Lil lotus Nov 2018
The wind weaves through the trees
Singing its unique song  
The leaves dance in the trees and on the ground
The forest creatures cant help but dance along

Soon after, the flowers start blowing
and cant resist singing along
To the Winds special song

The coolness of the wind
as it sings
Its speaks measures
It feels so Alive

Its sings so Happy and Lively
So mournful and sad
Such feelings flow through this special music

But like every song
It must end
Dont worry the wind will sing again
Maybe not Tonight
But tomorrow perhaps

You know the wind will sing soon
When everything in nature
Seems to shout for the wind too
Listen to it every now and then
Im telling you
Its beautiful
You wont regret it
The Chill from the wind will make you feel alive
it will speak to you
And sing its special song
Inspired by :https://youtu.be/FQx4cEwKD5E
CK Baker Feb 2017
There were dividing lines
between springfield
and mariners gate
soft, subtle lines
that spoke of origin
and code
and biting union

it was all
the reason
for being;
alive and living
dead or dying
deep in a pack
of pint size resistors
**** bent on the
marsh crow
and cannabis tower
jumping the rush
with *** shots
and anchors
and tribunals

camouflage creepers
and transient floaters
marked rebellion at the gates
(skullduggery and taunt
high on their favor list)
jack straws and flat paddles
for the evening charade
beakers and flailing hands
from the foot washing baptist
(the pleasant street conservatives with their
own something to say…“there’s gonna be **** to pay!”)

there's a
lingering effect
to this sentiment
(evident in the pump house stride)
the river winds
blow gently
into the night
as the huddling packers
and **** backs
chase the evening hours

it’s a bitter sweet
end of an era;
those traction bars
hood scoops
and nickel bags
will always
be the rage
Waynepatrick Dec 2018
Neptune's winds  come lift me
Any place but here is better,
Life me up to greater heights,
Blow all my being away,
We'll make a deal,
I will be your guest as we move from
Crest to crest,
We'll pass through the doldrums,
As our hymns we sweetly hum,
And if there should be fright,
I will cling on so tight,
In your knots I will drown,
Into the horizon we will go,
Those who gaze at use will have awe,
Further we shall proceed,
Till the memories off we get rid.
Vexren4000 Aug 2018
Lost winds blowing,
From ancient seas,
Forgotten kingdoms,
Tucked away in the trees,
A wind that carries,
The whispers of history,
Ancient knowledge,
Hidden in the subtleties of the wind,
A wind of time that blows,
Over everything.

©BAS
Mark Sep 2018
The breaths of fall have swayed the ochre glow
to age the meadow's sheen - with humbling form
then swirls the leaves in whirling wistful blow,
the rustling whispers hush - I too deform.

For I have withered - since the seasons past
as swift as tempered winds have flown my years,
I linger now between my summer's cast
to neath my coat of winter's icy fears.

As tho' to trees like oak I cling to life
in winds that gust and reap from twig and limb
and I, a dangling leaf in breezes rife
awaiting mine; own fall and hue to dim.

From autumn's mulching patter; I derive
my heart's own cease of seasons, will arrive.
CK Baker Feb 2017
it falls through the glow of the wintery trees
building a cover under the breeze
luminous lights sparkle and hatch
snow pack high on the briar patch

pine cones fall from majestic fir
squirrel and robin rustle and stir
sitka spruce at tunnel bluffs
ravens roost on cedar rough

dusted peaks at hurley pass
snowline cuts the avalanche
fox and lynx are on the prowl
hollow eyes from spotted owl

cool winds up the valley trail
whirling snow from diamond vale
chilling flakes in candle hands
moonlight shines across the land

northern lights in krypton green
the sounds of verve are bitter sweet
curtains hang on a cold dark sky
counting stars, a lullaby
zen Oct 2018
When does the window shut?
when the wind ceaces to weigh?
or when it gets too cold?

here i am a catylst
of a console in creation
in the mind of minds of the mindless

in the seas of self i find the solemn soul
swimming to a coral reef
in rage of remeberance.
Eva Aloezos Dec 2018
There are winds,
ones whose lure takes the form of hollow whispers,
from a life time prior

a blurry past,
an illusion I can almost grasp

yet,
with my flawed human qualities

It slips through the cracks of my mind
Peter J May 2018
I had to reason with my heart
she had left her mothers side
to explore ancient times.

She yearned to travel among
desert winds and feed the wild
tenderness above the grave of love.

Her fear and loathing of those
who made her cry a drowning heart
would drive words out and share their pain.

Yet if I were a wolf, tall with crooked bones
would she trust my jagged smile,
purity would fall from swallows wing
and I find and feast upon her star
gently as if she were a wandering fawn.
#something like that, hope you like it. ❤️
CK Baker Jan 2017
( i )
I lucked out
on table 4 last night
window seat
baseboard heat
with intimate passages
from Ginsberg
in his purest
and most evident form

Cover-all Carl was draped
in his usual garb
turning pages
of yesterday's news
animating, culturing and bantering
on the fate of the
Greek barber
(in an accent of which
I'm not so sure)

His cronies
looked on
with a twisted conviction
countering
with their own tales
of ingovernance and woe
did you know that Panasonic
lost 5 billion last quarter?


The evening moved
in time lapse
with painted winds,
streaming lights
and a host of
high school girls
running cold

Maleah passed
on her late shift
(checking the pile and trough)
patronized the boys
and called it a night

( ii )
The bald man
is back at it again
bickering at the till
something about
a cold free coffee
or 99 cents
or the coloured guy
behind him who got it hot
a kind Filipino
is trying to get it done
at 8 bucks per,
losing her cool
and shedding a quiet tear

Wonder what the Purewals
or Haitians or Cossacks
would have to say
about this grim public reminder,
wonder what
this sad f*ck
will do tonight...
without his
bus pass
or sling sack
or broken Turkish stems
Aaron Combs Dec 2016
My beloved, tonight it is more than perfect, the zephyr winds sing
sweetly your name and the crystal stars shine like your earrings.
As the White Mountains glint gracefully, and the wind speaks
over our fingers, upon our balcony, let’s dance, my beloved.

Now over the thousand streams and star crystals in the air,
You can see our prayers fill up the milky rivers in the sky.
Below the lights of Christmas, before the blue rivers of stars,
let’s dance like the shadows and the circles of the moonlight.

Now dreams rise over like the wind and shine so easily
But time falls quickly, and worries fall away so slowly.
So let the rage of your fears dance around and under your legs.
For the world is falling asleep, calling for the colors of their dreams.

So let the tresses of your hair fall freely,
And the wind of your perfume
Soak up the flames of your heart.
Spinning like the starlight, tasting every feeling,
Let the steel blue sky and its stars fall all around you.

Dance wildly, my beloved, let's dance like the songbird who sings,
let’s dance forever, until we wash into the skyline of our dreams.
A Daily Poem
CK Baker Jan 2017
cedar planks line the dim lit hall
morning snow begins to fall
sepia print in a chip wood frame
embers spark from the franklin flame

rustling sounds from bunks below
records play in a tight alcove
bacon grills on the iron sheet
gloves are warmed by baseboard heat

bean bags tossed on colored ****
papka placed as a punching bag
red brick wall with mounted poles
windows filled with glacier bowls

whiskey jack on the southern rail
a frozen patch of wine and ale
pine cones fall in gathering white
brothers bathed in firelight

sleighs are on the table top
canyon road is at a stop
northern winds that bite the face
lines are up the gondola base

cornice clipped on gully goat
the rubber man appears to float
alpine depths are on the rise
peaking sun through parting skies

triple ropes and nordic luge
honored guests from baton rouge
gelande jumps on rainbow drive
nostalgia’s light and warm reply
ryn Jan 2015
•    
i've
   witness-
   ed the others
   fall over several
sets•leaving you alone
shivering on a spindly twig
•the winds of autumn had whis-
pered their threats...•to sweep you
off your perch into the world so big
•the season had almost gone to make
way for another•answering the sum-
mons of winter's call•had anticipated
the coming of your departure•...i had  
sworn to myself to catch you as you'd  
fall•for a brief moment, i had turned  
away•to tend to commitments that  
came with dawn...•i returned to  
stay and wait another day...•  
but the wind had come  
while i was
g
o
n  
e•
    
.
CK Baker Mar 2017
the walls of inside passage
look the same
from sound to straight
tugs and plugs
dot the coastline
as the quartermaster rolls
giving time for evening glare  

pods are in sequence
and the high tail smashes
and jaws at the krill
white bellies and sea cows
bob and weave
as bow heads glide
over haida gwaii  

northern lights dance
and tlingit chant
as the tide settles softly
on savory shores
their getting hungry in hoonah
as the blue back and beating drums
mark the life blood of the sea  

driftwood nets
and sitka spruce
surround the cook house
ravens and tinhorns
man the scullery
kerosene lamps flicker
as clam shells roast on open flames  

villagers stroll
on pebbled sand
…in the harbor of souls
where ships set sail
on might and mass
into the steady winds
of the golden skies


ice fields (to the north)
of kryptonite blue
cutting hills at
a glacial pace
knuckle clouds
above the snowline
where warlocks
craft a hidden trade  

trappers, skinners
muscle shoals
grizzly feast
in kodiak bowl
determined pilgrims
on dead horse trail
in search of gold
the holy grail
LeoGreene Jul 2018
Never what you were,
my retina dulled your rays.
Optics adrift in poetry, prose,
charity shop sweaters.

I spoke of dreamed ambition.
You nodded, morose.
Eyes chasing space.
Never what you were.

Bookshelves, potted plants, a bicycle bell ringing.
Coffee steam clawing New Zealand winds.
This and more flickered in our hazed tethering,
only snuffed when the tap of illusion ran cold.
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!
Steven Williams Aug 2018
Some winds that blow
In the sweet summer
you know
Are soft and gentle
Like a kiss
of vibrancy and bliss
Or a breath of life
For my heart and soul
Causing me to feel alive and whole
Exhaled as a mist around my body
Setting my spirit free
Refreshing all my precious memories
Saturating them like the sea
Touching my heart like a firm handshake
Reminding me of who I am meant to be

Free
Released from the prison
Of an anxious and fretful mind
Like an eagle
Soaring and gliding
High into and through
The sky
Living above my worries
Leaving my fears behind
Letting the light from the loving sun
Dispel all darkness
Even after day is done
ryn Jan 2015
.
             *the *future is...a tornado of uncertain-
          ty• a swirling vortex, in its centre is
me•such power and speed, can ne-
ver see•can never foretell, it's hid-  
den debris•like clockwork, it will        
   make contact•by the second, bra-        
cing for next impact•the past is...      
  yet another•wild winds that echo      
     my mistakes as reminder•this twis-         
      ter within...tearing with no remo-    
           rse•destroying confident strong-
             holds, breaking feebly boarded
           doors•can't ease the rage...eat-
    en from the inside•won't stop
until...my beating heart had
        died•the present is...only this  
   frail little body•fighting huge 
battles that come incessantly  
  •fending off the future, con-        
    taining the past•not know-            
ing how long.......this disas-       
ter would last•but I'm still      
   here.....still holding integ-         
   rity......•still fighting this       
war waged in history's        
folly•will i be settl-
ed? will the winds
ever abate?•
will i ever
      come to    
terms...?
will i
ever
    acc-
          ept
                     fa      
                 t
               e
             ?
             •
aL Feb 4
the richest man has cheapest regrets
the loneliest eyes see reflection of love
picky lover finds the one who's worthy
a shrink heard too much for his day
a master, just like his slaves, also knows how to suffer
even a *** could buy a thrill
and why could not i try to stretch a perfect smile
for a loving lady like you? some why's winds can't answer
and for me the most beautiful flower is the one who grew in wild.
she moved out of town
she said i should always smile
now i got more reasons to be down

they say you are creative when you are relaxed.........i am kinda poetic when i wash the dishes. XD
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