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sundial iris Oct 2020
Love is

a good thing

when frosted coated with

passionate kisses.

Without them kisses,

it’s like kissing your parents

on the

lips;

meaningful but not pleasurable
  Sep 2020 sundial iris
fearfulpoet
wrestling with angels

slept three hours max, my brain is a stew le ragout,
***-au-feu, a *** on fire, my dopamine is dope,
and seeing ladders, escalators going up and down,
angels all want to try wrestling with a protected poet
beating this poet a  internet-fast way to fast fame!

one who dares to tell the Boss to f
k off, who takes
none of the deity’s lip, mock imitates His deep pomp and
circumstance voice, gets away with poetic saucy disregard,
cause poet worked his way into a corner of His affections

all just because the poet keeps telling Him to stop
this tortuous interference in human affairs, to lay off
the string pulling in lives for His amusement and
satisfying a reality TV craving, why can’t He change,
the channel to Lifetime and get tears vicariously, like
an ordinary minor deity, nah, not Him, he loves His
wrestling so, even though, everybody knows that

wrestling is so fake.
  Aug 2020 sundial iris
Nat Lipstadt
"همه جا" از حافظ / "همه جا" توسط لیپستاد


Hafiz                                              ­           Lipstadt
(1320 ~ 1389)                                            (20th ~ 21st century)
——————                                           ———————­——

Running                                                    Si­tting
Through the streets                                 On the sidewalk curb
Screaming,                                                Ob­serving,

Throwing rocks through windows,     Rocks falling all around,
Using my own head to ring                  Striking my head, ringing in
Great bells,                                               Great waves of thought,

Pulling out my hair,                               My hair stands straight up,
Tearing off my clothes,                          My clothes’ fibers come alive,

Tying everything I own                        All possessions, the poems, yet
To a stick,                                                Unwritten, less valuable than,
And setting in on                                  The air that feeds the flames of
Fire.                                                         Their burning.

What else can Hafiz do tonight        What else can Lipstadt do tonight
To celebrate the madness,                  But acknowledge the truthfulness,
The joy,                                                 The madness,

Of seeing God                                      In~Exhaling God in each breath
Everywhere!                                         Everywhere!
<>

the supply of words is not inexhaustible

neither are the combinations thereof;

what is inextricably true, of these two linkages

that is not exhaustive, is my endless delight,

in finding the ones that I’ve yet to contemplate

till you brought them waving to my eyes,

so as far as I’m concerned, you originate

delight daily, and that is the spark you create

making every day, the eighth day of creation of the world.






Sat Aug 22
2020
sundial iris Aug 2020
Subtle

~for Sally~

there is no escaping it.

to write of subtle,

one must be blunt,

forthright,

direct,

write with no subtlety.

there is no way, impossible, to capture the fine single threads required
to weave a tapestry of bold and delicate intertwined, of depth and
surface, of a droplet of water shining outstanding in a sea of harsh
blather.

there is bold, there is pale. they can coexist, perhaps even
heighten each other.

but subtle is a delicacy, a single thread, a standard rarely achieved.

which is why this poem makes no pretense at subtlety.




Aug 21~22
2020
  Jul 2020 sundial iris
lmnsinner
no fame, no claim, no name


who shall we say is calling?

I am a man of
no fame, no claim, no name,
an average sinner, absent glory


a few seconds of rustling bustle.

did you ever write poetry?

once. but everything of earthly substance,
destined to fade into the ignominy of forgotten
vaults, where time takes it time and erodes all
into dust.


here, every word preserved. there is no time
in the dominion of creators, and you are friend
are numbered in their midst, enshrined in many
hearts and eyes, and with every reading, each
reimagination, you are a reincarnated being
.
  Jul 2020 sundial iris
Nat Lipstadt
भारत के युवा कवियों के लिए (For the Young Poets of India)

<>


क्या कोई ऐसा प्रांत है जहाँ कविता पहली भाषा सिखाई जाती है?

शायद, सभी में कविता जीन का जन्म हुआ है?

मेरा इनबॉक्स बैंकों के प्रेम और आत्मनिरीक्षण की कविताओं को पछाड़ देता है!

तो यह है, इसलिए इसे जारी रखने के लिए, कि एक समय और जगह में एकीकृत,

हम पहले से ही एक ही भाषा बोलते हैं, जो वर्णमाला के लिए मायने रखती है,

वह भाषा प्रेम है, कविता सिर्फ वाहन, एक जीभ सभी धाराप्रवाह हैं!
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