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  Mar 2015 Helen
Nat Lipstadt
Hardly Hidden

for Helen,
the High Definition brunette momma among us


there are tracks in your arm
ready visible
to all those
with a personal microscope
if one
optically
examines the empty spaces
tween your poem-words....

the exterior all smiles,
whooping it up,
children, all smiles,
tumbling, breaking things,
ceilings collapsing, winters arriving,
as is the way of the kids
and nature,
inexorable,
occasionally
breaking you to
smile too

Abut to all this
is the contentiousness,
the aboriginal sense of loss
for what once was,
plain out in
in the secret messages sent
and
you know
you own
my all
unuttered utter devotion

we need no qualification
of what we are

we are friends,
not drinking buddies,
the straight out
semi-secret fans
of each other

thousands of miles apart
of simple purity borne,
you warm me
with endless jokes
and familial tales

and I thank you
for sharing, for trusting,
me with that troubling notion
that I am missing
a sorrowful deepening
that is
after a wellness examination

hardly hidden**

but t'is heard around the world,
gunshot to my heart,
come to me when
ever
is understood that this
paean ~ pain ~ poem
is a simple wayfarer's way
of declaring
forever

I know you are sleeping now,
but when  the fall sun breaks,
here is hoping me that you
break into private tears
in private places
like the ones decorating me,
celebrating
the best of what
humans
can be
  Mar 2015 Helen
Joel M Frye
why a poet?
because a poet
hears the words
which sing the
purest harmonies
because a poet
paints their portraits
in pastels
of phrases
because a poet
dances their agonies
into leaps of faith
and pirouettes
of passion
because a poet
sees
the beauty
in the commonplace
and captures
the moment
in a snapshot
of ink and white
because a bloodless world
cuts itself
a thousand times

and the poet bleeds
For my friends here and around the world on World Poetry Day.
  Mar 2015 Helen
PrttyBrd
The bouquet has no flowers
The stems have turned to sticks
There is no scent that lingers

It has long since faded on
Petals returned to earth as dust
Sticks crumble between fingers
121914
Helen Mar 2015
Hey! How are ya?

Yeah...
see those pretty pictures on the front of the card?
I've not really been there!
I've never really left my front yard
I've not pictured Winter
I've never been cold
I may have once been abused
and the story never got told
Buf it was a long time ago
and so the journeys ending

Pictures on a Postcard
can be so telling

Here I go again my friends
on a journey fraught with fear
I promise to send
a postcard now and then
with a picture
and a scribbled
*Wish you were here
for those that remember my Postcard journey I'm off again, to places unknown, gathering stories untold, I'll be back I don't know when, until then I'll think of you all fondly and send you a postcard :)
Helen Mar 2015
as you rise, the East
awakes at dawn, my night time
spawns new horizons
  Mar 2015 Helen
bones
she leaves
everything
on a page,
all her sorrow,
her love
and her rage,
and I truly believe
she will write
herself free
of the jailers
who fastened
her cage.
(can't-sleep-remix)
she lives
inside out
on the page

in secret
but one of  
these days

I truly believe
her words
will be keys

that pull back
the bolts
of her cage.
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