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The autumn wind
Blows chill this morn
On the hill of Sanu
Where you should be passing:
My garb I'd lend you, if I could.  
 Nov 2013 Sub Rosa
NV
Untitled
 Nov 2013 Sub Rosa
NV
"And the sky poisons herself with impossible promises to always cradle the moon when she's down, but it isn't the moon who is often blue."
 Nov 2013 Sub Rosa
Kevin T Norman
I love too much, but not too often.
My heart gets broken, but I keep going.

I am transparent, iridescent like glass,
So when you strike with the force of a hammer you leave more than a crack.

My heart is fragile, a bird with a broken wing.
I thought you would fix it and make it continue to sing.

I stand tall and confident in all my feelings,
Something that’s scary to you who is not used to these dealings.

I feel shame for the way I am.
Feeling love and passion for you that I wish I could bury in the sand.

A treasure left for you to uncover,
Not something I should have exposed to you undiscovered.

I tend to frighten away the one my heart wants to hold,
Do you see me as crazy, uncontrolled, too bold?

I often take broken loves words and wear them as scars.
Reminders of lessons unlearned and love unforetold by the stars.

I try their words on as an outfit of choice.
If I can change who I am, maybe for once someone will appreciate my voice.

But often times it’s too late.'
My true self exposed in revelations of hate.

No matter how hard I try to mold and bend,
I can’t change who I am, I can’t please every man.

But for some reason I never stop trying.
I can never give up my mind and hearts constant fighting.

I literally drive myself insane for a chance at true love.
I let my mind run wild for an ecstasy that will never come.

Because if I am changing who I am to achieve what I was fooled to see as true,
I’m mistreating myself and I assault my love leaving it ****** and bruised.

It’s funny how the world can constantly build me high,
But it only took you to send me crashing through the sky.

And when I fell and hit the ground,
The armor I built was shattered around.

Underneath it all I could finally see,
The only thing that remained intact was the original me.

I, myself, am my greatest force of nature.
And when I try to change who I am I’m in immediate danger.

The second I wear a mask to fool someone I love,
Is the second that my love is broken, recanted, torn up.
It’s not love if I’m not myself.
It’s not true if I pretend to be someone else.

I’m done being a victim in your insecure schemes,
But I’m also done pretending I walked away perfectly clean.

Yes I am hurt, and yes I wanted our love to be,
But I won’t sacrifice myself for you I’d rather let you go free,
Because somewhere, out there, there’s someone who wants me.

All my imperfections and everything you made me see as faults,
I consider beautiful, rare, a gift to make someone’s world halt.

I’m not sorry for the way I express myself.
I’m just sorry it has to be for someone else.

I love too much, but not too often.
My heart gets broken, but I, I keep going.
 Nov 2013 Sub Rosa
Morgan
you've got a fresh pack
of cigarettes you wanna
burn, i've got some old
bridges ready for the same
the tank is full, our hearts
have been running on E
so let's get lost in this
bright day until we
remember how to
find our way
 Oct 2013 Sub Rosa
Nat Lipstadt
How I Observed the Day of Atonement

If you are unfamiliar with day and its observance,
See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yom_Kippur

In a place of perfect solitude,
No crowded synagogue within to hide,
No cantor to intercede on my behalf,
I spoke words of mine own creation
To my creator who wisely empowers me
To judge myself, for knowing, none harsher,

We two,
Old travel companions,
Upon worn grayed, adirondacke thrones,
We overlooked,
A natural prayer place,
Bay and breeze, white-clouded and sun-laced.
Only the full time inhabitants, the animals,
Grayling butterflies to match and contrast,
Eavesdropping on our Greek dialogos, in this,
Palace of Perfect Solitude.

Amiable did we chat,
I of family, this and that.

He, wearied from recent travel,
To Syria and India,
Was glad for a day off,
For he had little to do,
But wait for twilight,
To then close the books.

For us no formality, easy the going,
No prosecutor no defender in residence,
For we exchange these roles intermittently,
The incriminatory, the penance, all deeds displayed,
No adult games of winking eyes, and
Hidden heart, secret chambers,
Rabbinical or angelic intercession.

He does so love his Bach,
Adagio on strings,
My soothing gift to him,
This music more than divine.

He returned this courtesy.

Warming sun to expose my chest,
Cooling genteel breeze offsetting,
The bay emptied of wayfaring skiffs and yachts.

A cooling beverage proffered,
But sighing, he said that he had yet to find
A beverage that his kind of thirst could slake.
For his eyes, tho shining, did not effervesce,
As when we shared this day in years past.

Too much killing, this year,
It tires me so to tabulate human excess,
Spoke not a word, for my critique would
Comfort him less, if at all.

Thanks for Kol Nidre, he plainted,
So I too can disavow,
The best intended oaths I took and take,
For each year, I fail more than the year before.

If only I could sit with each,
As I do with you,
Where what needs saying,
Is said, understood, undisguised as praying.

A schooner to the dock did appear,
For him it attended, for him, it waited,
Sails, both black and white.

He stood to depart, my arms-grasped, taken, he graphing,
Measuring my fortitude, my strengths, my divinity.

I do so love this day in your company.
I shall sit with you again one year on,
Bach sweet when next we meet, please.

Soft spoke, as almost I should not hear,
Your time is nigh, no thing I create is forever.
He spoke with such sadness,
For well I knew, the intent, his meaning.

He, for-himself, saddened, for he loved
Sitting  beside me in this manner,
Since my inception, never deception,

Only He resting easy, when he atoned before me,
And I gave him his absolution conditional,
As he gave me,
mine
September  2013
 Oct 2013 Sub Rosa
Nat Lipstadt
When I was bad,
I mean young,
The summers in the city were
Mean hot,
Ran with the bad boys.
Not bad bad just teenage bad.

So the cops came and got us
Where we were hanging,
Took us down to the precinct,
Till around midnight.

Came home at one am,
My pop heard me come in.

Asked me where I'd been,
So I told him that I'd been arrested.

He thought for a second and said,
"Good. Now go to bed."

We never spoke of it again.

A thousand years later
I figured out why.

I had never seen my formal pop
In his underwear till that night,
And never saw him that way again.

He was more embarrassed than I.

Considered the matter closed and
My heart, full, finally, now.
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