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Written by Azimuth in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Grief's Groaning

Sounds of sorrow,

the low whistle of a train

Echoes back and forth

Between the heart and brain

Moaning deep and low

Through boughs and limbs

of thoughts and words

It trembles on their leaves

It's low pitched tones

shudder window panes

until at last they leak

And these eyes begin to weep

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Written by Azimuth in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Grief's Groaning
Sounds of sorrow,
the low whistle of a train
Echoes back and forth
Between the heart and brain

Moaning deep and low
Through boughs and limbs
of thoughts and words
It trembles on their leaves

It's low pitched tones
shudder window panes
until at last they leak
And these eyes begin to weep
#poetry  #grief  #opinion 
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Written by Azimuth in portal Poetry & Free Verse

The Dipper

Into the indigo of night

dips a bowl bejeweled with light

It lifts away the dark 

with a handle, diamond sparked

Casting dark away

from the final breaths of day

Pours the gems of heaven

across earth's night again

Oh, to take a sip

from that Dipper's deepest dip

and quench with heaven's wine

the thirst of earth's repine 

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Written by Azimuth in portal Poetry & Free Verse
The Dipper
Into the indigo of night
dips a bowl bejeweled with light
It lifts away the dark 
with a handle, diamond sparked

Casting dark away
from the final breaths of day
Pours the gems of heaven
across earth's night again

Oh, to take a sip
from that Dipper's deepest dip
and quench with heaven's wine
the thirst of earth's repine 
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Define what it means to believe in God. Pick a God, any God, or pick several if you wish. 100 coins to the very best
Written by Azimuth

To Believe

To believe,

for many,

is to believe

in the "God ideal"

But a few

standing

on Red Sea banks

have seen Him revealed

When drowning

was sure,

with that rising

and bloody tide

The Pillar of Fire

ascended

over frothing

waves to divide

So what can I say

on the other side?

If I have seen Him,

can He be denied?

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Define what it means to believe in God. Pick a God, any God, or pick several if you wish. 100 coins to the very best
Written by Azimuth
To Believe
To believe,
for many,
is to believe
in the "God ideal"

But a few
standing
on Red Sea banks
have seen Him revealed

When drowning
was sure,
with that rising
and bloody tide

The Pillar of Fire
ascended
over frothing
waves to divide

So what can I say
on the other side?
If I have seen Him,
can He be denied?
#philosophy  #spirituality  #opinion 
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Written by Azimuth

Reflections with The Rain

I see reflections 

of myself

…distorted, 

shimmering in those 

drops of rain 

clinging 

to my pane

You see duplicates 

of yourself

…almost… 

swimming in these 

haunted eyes 

clinging 

to the pain

I see reflections 

of distant 

stormy skies 

etched upon these 

drops of rain 

shimmering 

newborn Suns 

Who will let go 

first? 

You or me? 

To fall upon 

a brand-new seed?

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Written by Azimuth
Reflections with The Rain
I see reflections 
of myself
…distorted, 
shimmering in those 
drops of rain 
clinging 
to my pane

You see duplicates 
of yourself
…almost… 
swimming in these 
haunted eyes 
clinging 
to the pain

I see reflections 
of distant 
stormy skies 
etched upon these 
drops of rain 
shimmering 
newborn Suns 

Who will let go 
first? 
You or me? 
To fall upon 
a brand-new seed?
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Written by Azimuth in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Worth Breaking In

A heart that can be broken

is a heart that can feel

Empty hearts hold nothing

worth breaking in to steal

Though my heart may break

by the thieving of trust

I'd rather it broken

than hold nothing but dust

If it's bruised and bleeding

in the agony of breaking,

Then at least I shall know

It held something worth the taking

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Written by Azimuth in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Worth Breaking In
A heart that can be broken
is a heart that can feel
Empty hearts hold nothing
worth breaking in to steal
Though my heart may break
by the thieving of trust
I'd rather it broken
than hold nothing but dust
If it's bruised and bleeding
in the agony of breaking,
Then at least I shall know
It held something worth the taking

#poetry  #opinion 
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We are a literary agency seeking fresh talent. In 200 words or more, demonstrate your writing talent. We will be in touch with any and all promising participants throughout the rest of this quarter.
Written by Azimuth in portal Publishing

Holding The Door

Her breath whistled in and heaved out, each time with a rattling moan. Above her rumpled sheets, the curtain billowed in and then out with the breeze.

Poised in the sacred silence, family and friends huddled 'round.

Each afraid to disrupt the last notes of this her final song.

Like droplets and flecks of pure gold, dust particles danced in the light of the window.

My friend's hazel eyes stared fixed on some distant view, far away.

Her hair lay soft on her shoulder, untouched by the aging gray.

Cancer had hastened her crossing by stripping away the shortened years.

Two days had gone by, and no words had passed over those parched, cracking lips, when suddenly she lifted her head and said, "Someone's at the door. Please open it."

We all glanced around at each other, and her daughter then opened the door.

Only the billowing wind passed through the grassy field.

Closing it softly, she turned, "Mom, no one's there. No one at all but the wind."

"Just hold the door," she breathlessly said; "They're coming through."

So the door swung open again.

With a smile, she lifted a hand and her head, then waved "them" into the room.

Then turning to us, she wiggled her fingers, and with one last sigh she departed...there through the open door, onto the billows of wind.

And we all rejoiced that we had remembered...our manners to, "Please hold the door" once again.

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We are a literary agency seeking fresh talent. In 200 words or more, demonstrate your writing talent. We will be in touch with any and all promising participants throughout the rest of this quarter.
Written by Azimuth in portal Publishing
Holding The Door
Her breath whistled in and heaved out, each time with a rattling moan. Above her rumpled sheets, the curtain billowed in and then out with the breeze.
Poised in the sacred silence, family and friends huddled 'round.
Each afraid to disrupt the last notes of this her final song.
Like droplets and flecks of pure gold, dust particles danced in the light of the window.
My friend's hazel eyes stared fixed on some distant view, far away.
Her hair lay soft on her shoulder, untouched by the aging gray.
Cancer had hastened her crossing by stripping away the shortened years.
Two days had gone by, and no words had passed over those parched, cracking lips, when suddenly she lifted her head and said, "Someone's at the door. Please open it."
We all glanced around at each other, and her daughter then opened the door.
Only the billowing wind passed through the grassy field.
Closing it softly, she turned, "Mom, no one's there. No one at all but the wind."
"Just hold the door," she breathlessly said; "They're coming through."
So the door swung open again.
With a smile, she lifted a hand and her head, then waved "them" into the room.
Then turning to us, she wiggled her fingers, and with one last sigh she departed...there through the open door, onto the billows of wind.
And we all rejoiced that we had remembered...our manners to, "Please hold the door" once again.
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Written by Azimuth in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Roses at Dawn

Velvet lips

A ruby hue

Panting for

The mist

Of dawn

The scent

Of life wafts

On her breath

Thorns of passion

In her

Grasp

Painted with

The brush

Of beauty

Mingled with

The shadows

Of suffering

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Written by Azimuth in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Roses at Dawn

Velvet lips
A ruby hue
Panting for
The mist
Of dawn
The scent
Of life wafts
On her breath
Thorns of passion
In her
Grasp
Painted with
The brush
Of beauty
Mingled with
The shadows
Of suffering
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Written by Azimuth in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Senses

I sipped the blue

of a Winter sky

tasting life's ambrosial

memories

in the wine

I scooped up

the dirt of earth

and heard the music

sifting through

my fingers

I breathed the

silent, silver scent

of the moonlit frost

settling on

dew-dropped fields

I've touched the

smoothest, shiny satin

on a maple leaf

whose fragrance speaks

into my fingers

I've seen emotions

roll out a rainbow

across Memory's

stormy skies

through transparent tears

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Written by Azimuth in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Senses
I sipped the blue
of a Winter sky
tasting life's ambrosial
memories
in the wine

I scooped up
the dirt of earth
and heard the music
sifting through
my fingers

I breathed the
silent, silver scent
of the moonlit frost
settling on
dew-dropped fields

I've touched the
smoothest, shiny satin
on a maple leaf
whose fragrance speaks
into my fingers

I've seen emotions
roll out a rainbow
across Memory's
stormy skies
through transparent tears








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Written by Azimuth in portal Stream of Consciousness

Escaping Mortal Sod

There's only one addiction

though it comes in many shapes

That thrashing, restless seeking

to from mortality escape

You numb it with the bottle

and think that transience gone

Till the frozen dragon wakens

with the rising of the dawn

Mask it with a needle

rise on wings of drugs

Until you waken in an alley

beaten black and blue by Thugs

You climb successful ladders

Above mere mortals to ascend

To find that they are leaning

On nothing more than just the wind

Constant entertainment

endlessly occupies

keeping true attainment

always in disguise

Addictions, addictions blinding the mind

So that all will be seekers and none will ever find...

...Perhaps that passing breath of God

Can lift us from this mortal sod?

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Written by Azimuth in portal Stream of Consciousness
Escaping Mortal Sod
There's only one addiction
though it comes in many shapes
That thrashing, restless seeking
to from mortality escape

You numb it with the bottle
and think that transience gone
Till the frozen dragon wakens
with the rising of the dawn

Mask it with a needle
rise on wings of drugs
Until you waken in an alley
beaten black and blue by Thugs

You climb successful ladders
Above mere mortals to ascend
To find that they are leaning
On nothing more than just the wind

Constant entertainment
endlessly occupies
keeping true attainment
always in disguise

Addictions, addictions blinding the mind
So that all will be seekers and none will ever find...
...Perhaps that passing breath of God
Can lift us from this mortal sod?
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Why Do You Write? As a writer who understands the multitude of reasons why people have started to become writers I really want to know what makes you want to write. Consider this a way for me to get to know more about you as a writer!
Written by Azimuth in portal Nonfiction

The Supernatural Word

In the beginning was the Word

Creative force and power

Like an eagle in a dive

into the realm of time

Spoke into existence

Your universe and mine

The resonating sound

Contained within itself

Shapes, sounds and worlds

Breath of life, that Word

The voice that took a form

Glides through darkness like a bird

Oh the power in that word!

That we have broken down

Cacophonous clichés

Mere consonants and vowels

The word became mere letters

With no creative power

But just beyond my reach

My fingers brush its edge

Hovering in the void

An echo, I have heard

The form and living shape

Of the Supernatural Word

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Why Do You Write? As a writer who understands the multitude of reasons why people have started to become writers I really want to know what makes you want to write. Consider this a way for me to get to know more about you as a writer!
Written by Azimuth in portal Nonfiction
The Supernatural Word
In the beginning was the Word
Creative force and power
Like an eagle in a dive
into the realm of time
Spoke into existence
Your universe and mine

The resonating sound
Contained within itself
Shapes, sounds and worlds
Breath of life, that Word
The voice that took a form
Glides through darkness like a bird

Oh the power in that word!
That we have broken down
Cacophonous clichés
Mere consonants and vowels
The word became mere letters
With no creative power

But just beyond my reach
My fingers brush its edge
Hovering in the void
An echo, I have heard
The form and living shape
Of the Supernatural Word
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