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 Oct 2023 MS Anjaan
Nat Lipstadt
“What can a poem do?”
—————————-


”A poem
is a not a tourniquet
when you’re bleeding.
It’s not water when you’re thirsty
or food when you’re hungry.
A poem can’t protect you from an airstrike,
or from abduction, or from hate.
It’s hard to write when our words feel
like they’re not enough—they can’t do
the real, tangible work of saving lives,
or making people safer.”

(see (1) Maggie Smith)

<~>

as is my wont,
I write,
as is my Natted~inhabited,
retiring to the local watering holes of
Cerebrum & Cerebellum,
them regular haunts,
where all requests are mailed, processed, satisfied & marked;
‘return & render to the sender, who’s on a cerebral ******!’
and that request?

‘give me the words’ (2)

those ‘to do’ words, floaters, direct to top of list,
those ‘can do’ words, that can effect the affect,
spare the despair, realize the fungible, concretize cures,
soften hard waters, giving a worsening worn life fabric a
curated baby blanket feel, a 4-ply human tissue of

‘words that tell me everything’ (2)

salve solution verbs that bounty-wipe spills in entirety,
vacuum up spillage spoiling of 17 days of terrible nouns,
uncovered-unknown rages caused by inflicting prepositions
released a hatred rising,
safety rebury it deeper, drug & destruct the sleeper agents,
and let me start over again with

‘telling me everything by saying nothing’ (2)

the pausal silence, the quieted spaces tween the heartbeats,
where ‘reflection,’
the noun,
and its world of alternations,
reflection,
the noun,
look inwards, but shining outward,
this, this!
is where the poem goes to do!
enervating & arresting

its contradictory powers
rock you into wild docility,
possessive and submissive,
contradictory interferences,
smoothing the roughness,
closing the gaps it opens,
healing the caused truthful cuts,
with words that tell you
everything and nothing,
open the holes, filling the gaps,
that is what a
poem do,
in and by
the manner it is spoken…

<~>

“Sometimes a poem is the stone you carry in your pocket—the one you rub when you’re worried.  Let’s fill our pockets with poems.”
(see (1) Maggie Smith)
(1) Maggie Smith Oct. 24
(see link https://open.substack.com/pub/maggiesmith/p/what-can-a-poem-do

(2) see the lyrics  to”In a  Manner of Speaking”
Morning sun
Peaks through
The auburn leaves
Of the red maple
To draw the eye
Away from morning news

Trouble oozes from the page
Words written in anxiety font

Attend to the beauty
Of the leaves
Instead of the letter

What problem
Has your fret solved?

Reject agitation
Select splender
Resting before you
in nature
Standing pretzeled
Hidden among the others
A scattered bouquet
Not wanting to be picked

Wallflowers are seen so briefly
Others skim over them
While reading the room

Wallflowers with camouflage personalities
Long for a low profile

Wallflowers are real
Thinking and feeling
Wallflowers live a life
Of unprojected desires

They blend and bend
To cover the wall
Fearful they will dance alone

Music is entrancing
Still, wallflowers keep their heels
Firmly in place
While swaying to the music
In their heart
Revised
How wonderful to sit beside Phyllis
Fully there
Available, attentive
Unwavering support

She was selfish with her attention
On her search
for “balm for her soul.”

Phyllis would get great things to happen
Between the two or more of you
She could get everyone to be themselves.

Reading, meals with friends,
At lectures and during those unguarded exchanges
with trusted friends
Her life was a quest for balm for her soul

She would also find it
Among the poems, readings,
zoom talks with her children and grandchildren
Yet, she was always seeking more.  

She knew that when she let her mind run wild
and let the raucous kid in her play
She gathered balm for her soul
and became lost in splendor.

We, her friends, imagine that now
She is in eternal peace
Cloaked in balm
Enraptured in splendor

*We can balm our souls and lose ourselves in splendor (Jonas Altman)
Obviously written for a friend
At her wit’s end
there is no destination
other than the road
leading back
to her beginning

Stepping into
her maddening pace
she feels wrapped
with thick, quicksand soup
covering her shoulders

She’s sinking deep,
drifting into severance,
life’s most resounding pain
cut off down here
drenched in warm liquid
molasses —  
her newest home
depression, life’s purpose
 Sep 2023 MS Anjaan
Jammit Janet
I don't need anyone to keep me company
When the Universe is with me at all times
Paying attention
Keeping me accountable
Being present
When I feel lonely inside.
 Sep 2023 MS Anjaan
Jammit Janet
You can control
The quality of your time
With your mood
Nothing has to truly ****
If you can open your mind
See past the 3D
And enter the present groove.
 Sep 2023 MS Anjaan
Jammit Janet
Exerting true power
I bloom
Into the flower
Of the present.
 Sep 2023 MS Anjaan
Jammit Janet
I climb mountains of emotion
Ride the downhills
Trying to sync
Trying to flow
With the unpredictable path of life
On my soul-cycle Of love.
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