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 Aug 2017 betterdays
Nat Lipstadt
Note to Self (and Grace)
____

the simplest bottom line that tops off,
a writ that begins and ends
with its title of
perfect clarity.  

in my brief unremarkable existential passage
the enemy within needs our greatest concentration,
the floods, the pretty ravages, that come unannounced,
from outside creeping in
time-slow and life-sudden,
can't do much about

but the friendly enemies residing in the places hiding
where we have'em close kept, so handy for an instant
royal summons,
thems the apples poisoned we got to worry about,
the ones we grew from a tree planted from seeds in a package that came with a friendly note from the
Surgeon General saying,
"burn the contents of this container,
you'll never finish paying if you let them get planted,"


and yes,
it is 1:54am wide awake and still dying slow
a bit daily,
laughing that I entered myself in a race crazy,
where I am a
a guaranteed loser

so we end where we were born,
let it go.
survive, the (dis)order of the day
and it is
2:10am on just another Thursday,
that will end in the accord
of its own discord

<£>

2:14am

"just one phone call from our knees."
Matt Kearney
for Tascha

deep in the pond of unhappy, swimming,
drowning the next contemporaneous
depression thought quickly swallowed,
desperation in quick glances everywhere,
dawn is no consolation but just another
daily drawing tighter of twine cutting
disillusionment


dear god, commences every thought,
delayed answers have yet to arrive,
**** the deity's non-responsivness,
dare not say out loud lest,
deserved fates be worse, be realized,
didn't know? how can that be?
disguiser par excellent, I am the original
deceiver

But I never think about

death or dying, for that would be
defeat finale, a statute to, a status of none, a
destiny some wick spark, still insists can be
deferred

differed always,
diffidently, but grasping yet at the
double entendre that is my
dark vision of a future already past

May 2015
may 2015, back when I could write...
 Aug 2017 betterdays
Poetoftheway
cannot find true rest,
all the tumult in this world,
writ both large and small,
saps my upraised arms
alternate
flexing angry fists eager to strike hard
my revived new **** enemies,
and gods inexcusable and conspicuous absence in
Barcelona, Finland and my own
Charlottesville,
and
to quiet comfort commiserating, and storing
all the pain of individual souls I've acquired willingly

and the sunset comes quiet,
trying to sooth by adding
a gentling cream of cooling breeze,
the squirrels eye me suspiciously,
sensing the amiss within,
and all perfect sailboats voyaging past,
yet none stopping at the dock
to offer condolences or solaces

my watch ticks louder

each tick,
a worrisome cursed reminder
this real life seems to be endless struggle
interrupted by small comforts of little voices and
promises that escape is inevitable

each tock,
a fresh notification
the week's approach will contain
another visit from
Hamlet's ghost,
warning of warring factions
battlefield clashing
in a chesterfield plain
between two of mine shoulder blades

constantly reminded how lucky I am,
makes me grow quiet and put pen to one side,
and try to balance accounts, using this time,
pencil and erasure

I need a break and some glue
I need reparations and a battle plan
or happily learn to surrender
and accept being a
dumb terminal,
a slave,
that doesn't ask for
peace of mind
and knock off this poet of the
no way
 Aug 2017 betterdays
Still Crazy
~for Pamela Rae~

you cannot amend reality by passing a law.
if we could, then we should have one requiring society to
guarantee a happy childhood.

every **** time I propose to myself a resolution
that I am an ok poet, I stumble on to a poet here
of whom I was unaware, and you were, correctly aware,
that brings a good light into the world,
vowing to throw in the towel,
the I'm ok resolution never passes,
voted down 2 - 1;
Against:  Myself, I
In Favor: Me
which necessitates try try again
Einstein's Insanity Theorem fool
proofed.

Exclaim! what a goodly word.  
If we ex'd our claims (need, due, want) more,
walking in quiet contemplation,
we could climb on our roof (I can) and proclaim (silently)
glory glory hallelujah and it would not matter to
whom  (which diety)
we are
addressing.  

Outstanding! what a goodly word.
If I could satisfy the claims against me outstanding,
still unsatisfied, while I am yet among the living,
especially the one that are self-propelled,
that would be
outstanding.

I would rather the simple monetary motived corruption
of a dishonest businessman, than the cowardly silence
of the fools we elect to govern us, and gravely pretend
to know what is good for us. I call this,
My Theory of the Greater Corruption.

Word Salad: making crazy combinations of words,
i.e. eggplant smile, vegetable sunrise etc.
hell, I just can't make any up,
it is
cheap and lazy crafty no craftsmanship, craftwomanship
but very self/satisfying and tasty too,  I'm sure,
and authentic 100%  b.s.

The apocalypse is always nigh.
Ironically, very true.
Let's keep it that way.
neigh neigh neigh.

I write many more words than I speak;  
by a very wide margin;
this pleases me,
by a very wide margin.

complexification
(yes, it is a real word) and
glorification
rhyme because they both end in
shunned.

In heaven, the following are outlawed:
yoga, exercise, dieting, crying; denying and lying.  
the latter obviate the former.
glory glory hallelujah and hot ****

>•>
4/18/17 2:43am
 Aug 2017 betterdays
Nat Lipstadt
for Harlon Rivers

the river potion,
the river portent,
the river potent

it is all of these and not one

he is bank sided,
observing the false idols,
the image mirrored
in the glass of the river

transfigured molecularly
he becomes something ferried frothily, forcefully

as if a twig
or a small thing of human manufacture,
an object tossed up airborne-repeatedly

his poetry:
the clash of particles at the many junctions
of objects and water, eddies and the currents,
ceaselessly circumnavigating,  
searching revisionary pathways

directed,
but randomized,
prisoner of the flows,
servant to the wind's directives and the
earths magnetic indivisible undulating waves

thinking,
this life,
its unsteady gait, 
the irreverent wavering of drunkenness
resultant from potent potions,
portents of inopportune position

in him,
my own histories, 
my poetic recordings
also become
water borne,
watermarked,
replayed back for me,
for erasure, censure, closure
and rededication

this River
is a tapestry,
a torn map,
drawn on broken shards
of slivered water,
living with all the others

but we,
are the untitled,
we,
are the un-entitled,
and he is the
Rivers

<•>
Oct. 20, 2016

harlon is one of the best poets here
if you are new to his writing, be sure to tell him honestly what you think...

his work can be found under
https://hellopoetry.com/harlon-rivers/  
Uncover him, and discover yourself within

2013
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/444023/dear-mr-harlon-rivers/

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1020738/winter-whispers/

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1913140/in-the-river-of-good-company/

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1855694/the-slow-death-of-a-poet/

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1995383/traces-of-youa-fathers-tribute/

2014
Harlon Rivers:
http://hellopoetry.com/-harlon-rivers/
my personal call sign, Poseidon
Poseidon was very fitting with Harlon River,
due to the symbolic nature of the water in their names.
I have only read few of this gentleman's work,
But I can assure you his work is very much a gift to the audience,
And like Poseidon that gift is fire to humanity.
Dawn of  Lighten

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1833151/a-walk-with-tonya-maria/

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1924604/ode-to-a-brimful-poetwith-a-twist/
and of course<
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1954256/drinkin-mr-coffee-and-cheap-*****/
A cat's aggressive call,
sound of feathery wings
beating on the ground,
noise of wriggling..silence!

few grey plumes and red beak
strewn around, bear witness
to nature's own methods
conflict, resolution, surrender.
Concealed depression is
Buying water proof mascara
So you won't have to reapply makeup
after each daily breakdown.

Concealed depression is
Laughing at everything
so they won't question
why your eyes always water.

Concealed depression is
staying up until 4 a.m
because it's the only time
you can ignore the world
and no one will notice.

...Or concealed depression is
taking three melatonins
in hopes you'll sleep deep
enough to keep the terrors at bay.

Concealed depression is
Staying consistently busy
So your mind will be too exhausted
at the end of the day to fight you.

Concealed depression is
the impatient selfish monster
that burns bridges as you cross them.

Concealed depression is
feeding yourself lies like
"I'm fine" or "I won't cry".

Concealed depression is
the uphill battle that you don't get to win once;
it's a mountain you're forced to climb every single day.

Concealed depression is
silently screaming, hoping someone
will have super sonic hearing,
swoop in like a bat,
and carry you under their wings.

Concealed depression is
never hugging too tightly
or meeting a gaze too intensely
in case your guts may slip
out before you can catch them.

So when they accuse you of changing,
when they accuse you of rage and indifference,
of violence and apathy,
when they ask why you never called,
when they ask why you never told them,
all you can say is that concealed depression
is like an overbooked hotel and there's only room for one.
All you can say is that you were afraid
Your darkness would drown them too
and then there would be no one left to save you.
 Aug 2017 betterdays
SG Holter
You checked my pulse
If I slept too
Silently.
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