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 Oct 2020 Just Grace
as his majesty, father sun
cast his loving gaze toward
her highness, mother earth

with her frosty mountains
and snowy plains
her frozen canyons
and crystalized skies

she blushed with
soft pink affection
in the light of his
glowing devotion

inundating the silence
of a frigid-blue dawn
with their lustrous love
10/23 - their need for each other was palpable this morning.
 Jul 2020 Just Grace
We leave parts of us in the words we write
For our present selves to live and believe in
For our future selves to wonder
For our past selves to be remembered

-- Isn't that beautiful?

Writing lines like conversations
That live on as long as they're read
Never washed away from the imprints of history
The greatest things left unsaid

Reading minds from long ago
A place no one else will know
But see, in writing you get to be
Yesterday, today, tomorrow and forever

-- A legacy.
My hand aches to write.
It never gets old,
Even when the injury is nothing odd,
We never get used to it,
Its even worse when you can't even move to your favourite beat,
All you can do is just lay down on a seat,
Brings about anguish,
One which you can't really distinguish
From the previous one,
Because the feeling never gets old to anyone,
Makes us mad, >:O
And our loved ones  sad :(
Despite all this,physical pain
Is way less than emotional pain.
I'm not in pain now,but hey we've all been there..I guess living requires more than strength.
I smoked to fill my lungs
to **** the flowers that grew there
the ones you planted last december
 Jul 2020 Just Grace
Nat Lipstadt
all I've learned from love


for the fedora man, 10/29/17 10:34am


another song done me wrong on a Sunday morn,
so much due to do, a list not for compilation/publication,
including poems promised and weighty deadlines overdue,
for its tedium would still be lbs. heavy in weightless space

instead a lyric plucks my attention, of course beeping,
insistent chirping a chorus of, write me right now,
immédiatement dans son français de Montréal,
this is the item that needs to be list topping,
now whispering a messenger-angel name dropping
a request formal from the fedora man dressed in black

all I've learned from love,  
a listing doomed to comprehensible incompletion,
a listing to the right as new reasons in-come
constantly from the left, each heart beat a
remarkable reminder that the list grows longer

every day, the repeating seasons, proffer suggestions,
disguised as a newly revised ten commandments,
obedience to which is a wish list for
attaining grace

all I've learned from love is its duality, essential quality,
a human single cannot attain the commingling required
for the visioning a peak season of life colorful,
its sad corollary, leaves falling exposing the body bare-****** of the soul linear alone

all I've learned from love is its shining skin is an agreed upon
indefinable nature, other than we all recognize how our
definition personal exists in that Ven diagrams space where
our circles intersect, when A breaks the skin of B, creating

all I've learned from love is without it no matter what
somewhere inside is a desperation pocket that is
an inquisitive irritant, a brain burr, a pea under the mattress,
a high and mighty 1% of disarmament incompetence that rules the imbalanced balance of my bottom line on the top of my head

all I've learned from love that it appears on its own timetable,
in surprising trains and planes and baseball games, sitting
alone in a theater or in front of a Rubens, on crazy disastrous
first dates in foreign countries at cafes or non gender
specific bathrooms amidst alternating currents of
this is crazy and this is infinite and ever so sobering
wondrous possible

all I've learned from love is it never shoots straight,
but will always end in a holy bullseye

*Tout ce que j'ai appris de l'amour, c'est qu'elle ne tire jamais directement,
mais se terminera toujours dans une sainte bullseye
 Jul 2020 Just Grace
what does it feel like to be held
not by another body
not by a set of limbs, a chest, a chin
by another soul

what does it feel like
to see truth in another pair of eyes
instead of hidden intentions
instead of absence

what does it feel like
to hear a familiar heartbeat
resounding next to your own
reaching through skin
through bone
two rhythms

what does it feel like
to write poems about
a love that exists
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