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Little so little i see this light
Its afar i see from a blinding height
I see im barely catching my breathe,
As its when death might knock my door
The door of life my chamber holds
A frail and Fragile tis' a hollow shell
An empty flesh ,An Hour glass
The time drifts like sand from my hands
Slowly and gradually escaping my grips
Of my mind Of my soul of my nerves that would bind
This rotten flesh left to die
I feel this cold sowing this seed
I felt it growing beneath my feet
Its vines adorned with prickling thorns
Slowly wrapping my arms and bones
I feel imprisoned by this darkness
But still that light lingers afar
Sometimes hovering above my eyes
But i see it never ,i see it never
As death still creeps near beside
Near my bed Near my body
I see my time might be near
But this sticking soul never lets go
This rotten body of flesh and bones
Freezed and shivered with frosts that froze
The tips of my fingers still feel too cold
I might never know when ill see my home
Im left alone all alone
This darkness that wraps me whole
This light still lingers just beside me
Whispering my name singing my songs
But still this thought haunts my mind
I might not live ;Not anymore
Any passing second;These eyes would close
My soul would drift to the lands of yore
Wishing and Bidding me Farewells ;Oh Lord!
Thats when i cry;
Take me Lord!
Take me Lord!
Take my body ,my very soul
                         _tsuki no ume.....
prayer of hope, for young and old, who suffer from the slings and arrows sadness and the loss of love; I offer up this prayer of hope and offer you my hand around your shoulders until you no longer require it

more than once,
for lengthy periods,
by events, other people,
my self was eradicated
and limping from day
to night, and J faced
absolutes, choices choking,
alternating alternatives that
offered zero, or even less
than zero, and the inkwell
wasn't refillable, and I could
point to nothing yet encouraging a mystifying purposed existence

then came a woman

who asked nor proffered
conditionals
pre, prior post or otherwise
and
offered up the miraculous
drink, human kindly notice,
snd it
drained the bitters,
began fluid replacement,
and slow resuscitation

and then
poems rebirthed me,
 liberated the angry sacred
gory sadness words devoid of glory,
with a reworded score, and
the eyes could write without
a patina filter of jaundiced hatred,
and whispered private internally
many times a beloving
hallelujah

and when ever the remembrance of
the near misses are crackly occasionally appearing, the surge dissipates intact quick
into a netherworld for suppressing
and bid "away with you," and a
thin lipped smile part sneer
for having survived
even
prospered when
                    then came a woman

and the self, the my self,
returned
after an absence of destructed
decades...deadening decades

and I smile when
the grandchildren tell me
knock knock jokes
and gently knock me on the head,
to make sure I'm alert,
then came woman
who had already~all ready
knocked me on the
heart
lipstadt  reflections of self
Nat Lipstadt Jun 18
when you poem me,
and the sudden tumble
into a mesmerizing moment,
is a felling of a tree, that
everyone can hear, anywhere,
forest everywhere,
suddenly, I will know you,
no introduction required...
to be with you, and save my
day, my heart stolen, and to my
captor, I hereby surrender,
capitulate completely, quick quiet,
and we are three thrilled together, a triumphant triumvirate,
for each other and a unity of
1 + 1= 3

is a new counting,
a unique
formulation
a formidable forming

a mutual following,

a fellowship

nml
Weds.
June 18 3025
In the sunroom
Nat Lipstadt Jun 17
the isle is surrounded,
one if by day, and
too by night,
a thickening paste
of fog, condensed humidity,
and the mind smiles that
interloper explorers would sail
past by us, unawares,
for the waters are merely a
dirtier shade of green grey,
a "path" to follow and we
would be spared the noisy
pollution of politics and
and injections of identity
that divide, the tirades of
the overly righteous chest
beaters, who never question
their certainty, their compasses
always broken pointing their
"only one way"

sail on, sail past. this piece of
quiet tranquility, a place that
has just one of everything, a
sufficiency, a rejection of excess,
and the only melancholy is
the finality of passing of
the day lillies,
b u t,
the multi-colored irises, the
flowering of azaleas, rhododendrons, and the brevity
of the cheery cherry blossoms
of those;
secure, safe we are, assured that
their peaceful return is guaranteed
by the firmament and its secrets,
that, along with the overwhelming
greenery of this spot, for the
pleasuring enjoyment of all,
even the fog's quietude,
its surround sounds silences the anxious rapid heart beating,
slowed by one thought only:

Here,
herein is,
here within
lies the truths of
shelter

S. I. 2025
1DNA Jun 14
Fully cooked batter,
Sprinkle of half-baked sighs.
A recipe of truth —
Never a lie.

Throw out the salt;
Add aged cheese,
A dollop of sugar,
A dash of chilies.

Don’t mention the sweat,
Nor the quiet cries.
Because
It’s the recipe of truth —
Never a lie.

Serve the truth,
Or leave it dry.
Maybe a pinch of water,
But never a lie.
My life slogan
1DNA May 30
Once upon a time,
there lived a family of four.
There were always disputes and quarrels
behind the door.

All four brothers
stood firm and high,
while the father looked back at them
with a sad little sigh.

With all failed attempts
to resolve the fight,
he would teach 'em a lesson
to set them right.

"Go fetch a bundle of sticks,
just near the cattle!
Lemme teach you all a lesson—
a lesson to never battle!"

As they trudged along their paths,
under their breath they mumbled,
"Now what are these for?!"
They groaned, and they fumbled.

In the house, the father
told them to break the lot.
They tried and tried and tried,
but in the end, could not.

Then the father said,
"Now, break a single one."
In just a matter of seconds,
it was already done.

Now this is where they realize the moral of the story...

When we are together,
we are strong and hard.
We have the gift of unity—
thank the Lord!

When we are divided,
we are easy to break.
But when we are united,
a good team we make.

"Now do you realize
the mistakes you've made?
Now do you realize
the values you can take?"

"Yes, we do—
we're proud to say!"
My first poem, dated back to maybe a hear ago!
1DNA May 29
Stems of memory
sprout from the roots of our heads,
nourished by cleansing rituals and events.
As we mature, so do they—
a young, shaggy tuft flourishes into thick threads,
looping at the ends like grapevine curls.

Some strands grow weak and brittle,
corroded by storms of stress,
waves of sweat,
droughts of heat,
and floods of chemicals.

Eventually, they loosen—
too exposed, too old to thrive alone—
and slip down the drain in scribbles of ink,
pulling along unfinished stories and thoughts,
leaving gaps, holes,
blank spaces in memory.

In time’s wrath,
what once bloomed and burgeoned
wilts and withers
into dry, forgotten clumps—
until one day,
no roots, no memories—
only silence.
Hair and memories go along!
Bardo May 24
Like a lot of Irish people born back in the 1920's
My parents came from off small farms down the country
Usually their parents died when they were very young... just teenagers
When the parents died the house was usually left to the eldest son
And when he took a wife then the other siblings would have to leave the house
They'd usually have to go live with a cousin
There wasn't much work in those days, there was an economic war with England
And there was no social welfare either, no government support
People often had to emigrate to England or America, they had no alternative
My mother went to live with some relatives
And to learn dressmaking
One of her brothers though had gone off to America (the U.S.A)
He sent her a letter and told her to come over to America
That it was a great place, there was plenty of work and great prosperity to be had
She went on one of the old Liners/ ships that used cross the Atlantic in those days
She probably saw the Statue of Liberty in New York harbour
She loved America, she told me a funny story once about how she liked to eat bananas
There mustn't have been bananas in the shops back home
Or maybe they were too costly
She got a job in a biscuit factory Nabisco, on assembly lines
She couldn't get over the big medical test they gave her before she started
And then when she went to work she said she was working with people who were half blind
She loved going out with her girlfriends to the dances, there were lots of Irish over there from back home
They'd have parties, celebrations, go to the beach, go to the movies, eat out
It was the 1950's, a time of optimism and growing prosperity
She met my Dad over there and they started dating
She got this lovely grey fur coat, probably as a gift, a present
It was like something you would have seen Marilyn Monroe wearing
She loved going to the movies and reading about all the big movie stars
My Dad though wanted to return home to Ireland, he was getting homesick
So they returned home, Ireland was still a poor country then
Hadn't opened up to the world and allowing foreign companies in
There was still a lot of unemployment and finding work could be hard
At first my Mom used wear her lovely grey fur coat to Sunday Mass
But she probably received a lot of funny looks as if to say
"Who do you think you are, a movie star with your big fur coat, some rich *****"
Very soon my mother's fur coat was consigned to the wardrobe never to be worn again
When she passed away my two brothers came down to the house, they were telling me I should get rid of all her old clothes, they then seen the old fur coat in the wardrobe
"Oh, there's Mammy's old fur coat, you should throw that out as well"
I was looking at the coat and it reminded me of the old Red Indian movies
Where they'd be sleeping with a big bearskin over them
I'd taken to sleeping on the couch in the Wintertime in my TV room where I also worked as it was lovely and warm
I said to myself "No! I'm not going to throw that out, I'm going to use that as a blanket over me, it's like a big bearskin just like the Indians"
One day at work I was telling some of my work colleagues the story of my Mom's old fur coat
I was embellishing the story a bit
Instead of saying I was using it as a blanket over me
I said I'd put it on sometimes as it was lovely and warm
One of my colleagues was shocked by this, she said "What!! You wear your dead mother's fur coat !!!
I smiled a funny smile and said "It's a bit like that old Alfred Hitchcock film, isn't it ?
Yea!...  ******! LoL
My mum once told me that her own mother before her had been to America (the USA), that would have been around the turn of the century (1900's) which
would have been only a few generations removed from the time of the Famine (1845 -1852), makes you think.
A pounding heart, veins alive with speed,
Grief weighs heavy, yet hope plants a seed.
Even blindfolded, the thrill remains,
Like the endless sky, shifting and untamed.

It burns red, the brilliance of the setting sun,
Yet lingers soft, like spring air just begun.
A maze of echoes, of past and new,
Do I chase the end—or lose mys helf in view?
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