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Left Foot Poet May 2020
no plea here tendered,
long time are we past
the boundary of cooling
cooing brotherly tenderness

reason has been Joseph sold into slavery,
nary a Moses, who talks to God, is answered,
be seen or heard, to reconcile the divisive souls
of our fratricidal words

a morning’s reflection,
soon to be gone, passing,
of two pockmarked differing clouds,
scratching this morning blue drenched sky

a white, rotund cumulus rose,
one gray, rough, tumbled, worn,
ill tempered, of rain possessed,
but both clouds, each purposed

but this Sabbath day,
as this pale land reopens,
to bitter cries, minor rejoicing,
wise counsel, foundering, ignorance prevailing

forbearance, a weighty silence, circumscribed,
daytime highlights, disregarded, heads closed,
nowhere to found, just, a colorless pallor, a rasher
of fratricidal words
Left Foot Poet May 2020
I was never told about the sorrows

Bill of Goods,  after 5 beers confesses
that ‘hopes and prayers’ was his boss’s construct,
making a ***** business, an easier swallow

the born babies soon forget the special instructional
video they watch before departing for the lower earth
that reminds of the bi-polar nature of  being human

the script pre-provided each descendant gets rewrites,
because of choices, false described as free, yours, for
there is nothing free in the decisions, each costly difficult

did you ever wonder where the next line comes from?
create it, you mislead only yourself, because you were
told about the sorrow, but just forgot, too too painful
  May 2020 Left Foot Poet
Nat Lipstadt
~for the (young) fathers~

Sunday.

An ordinary Sunday, with blue sky accoutrements.
They say, mostly sunny, with a high temperature of 75 Fahrenheit.
The children in the ever-shrinking bed shout Yay! Gesundheit!
when they hear me say Fahrenheit, ensues laughter belly originaheit!

The mother sleeps drowsily through the morning event planning,
content that as Mother’s day nears, she’ll wait for breakfast in bed,
but until then let’s all pretend she is sleeping late with three kids
decorating the plateau where their notional was celebrated+conceived.

The father reviews the day which has been quite full, even though
not yet Nine O’clock has to make an appearance. Last nights dishes
washed and shelved, breakfast made, puppy fed, hard boiled eggs peeled, muffins with Frenchified pear mermelade have magical disappeared!

His coffee needs a rehearsal reheating, but never mind, lukewarm will
be just fine, for the warmth of an ordinary exquisite Sunday suffuses
his chest, and the breathing heat of a mess of bodies roiling and rolling
is so more than sufficient, he whispers ‘thank you’ to no one in particular.


Sun May 3
Left Foot Poet Apr 2020
cheating life

when that day comes, officially,
maybe, anyway, someday here,
yo! made it through the pandemic,
y’all backslap and affirmatively robust
announce: dude! you cheated death!

maybe I’ll smile, maybe cry, maybe, nah, surely
both, cause we now be practiced in arts of survival,
I’ll reply the real trick is not to cheat death,
that don’t require much, just careful preparation

my file still not closed, and will be unsealed,
seen both what was done to me, what I did,
on my own, insufficient smiling, inadequate crying,
everyones imbalance cain forehead-charted

so when you examine your empire on your face,
think not you cheated death, you’re a stud,
no siree, think about how you cheated, cheated
yourself out of life, with insufficient risk taking

don’t be stupid, don’t mean going out w/o a mask,
ignoring social distancing. that’s just common sense,
what I’m talking ‘bout, taking that chance, falling
in love, and doing it again and again, before you


cheat yourself out of life...
thurs apr 30 twenty twenty
nyc, epicenter of death
9:37AM
Left Foot Poet Apr 2020
<>

i know you got a gazillion on your plate

know that i think of you often

how u r doing

juggling  just a few huge

balloons,
(that when the kids slap them up to the ceiling)
metaphorically meteors don’t travel in any foreseeable future path,
you’ve coulda predicted

be well.   and if needed,
      just ask
  Apr 2020 Left Foot Poet
Sally A Bayan
ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭ ̀ˋ

Bull frogs have no voice this rainless night,
crickets are done with their song...
no contentment reigns in this warm silence
where human fears reverberate, in the
still of this crazy summer month...

t's a foggy scenario, for these health workers,
they're white shadows
witnessing silent struggles inside hospitals,
outside houses, amidst crowds...even in places
frequented by homeless people...

white shadows know despair felt by the
sick, separated from families and friends,
white shadows know when anxiety and fright
settle in the air...they feel when death is nigh...
they conceal their worries, their fears,
well behind their masks......yet, no one is
invincible...........white shadows die, too.

i strain my eyes...something flickers
in this dark, navy night...

"Come, fireflies...
be with us, though briefly, in this
moment of uncertainty......tonight,
i see your shy, quivering dots of fire,
braving the darkness...just like these
selfless white shadows, struggling to
overcome fear haunting their hearts,
come fireflies...
share your magical glow with them,
may their faith and hope never wane,
may this heavy fog melt, and fall like rain,
may this plea stand strong...be not in vain."
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
::::::::::::::::::::::::
:­:::::::::::::::
(it's hard not to write depressing poetry,
when days and nights seem an eternity...)


Sally
©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
   April 13, 2020
(in honor of our tireless, selfless front-liners)
Left Foot Poet Apr 2020
months do not diminish my
curiosity

you ask brave questions
and are answered in
works harvested
from
my fields

ah!

you went away to fall in love!

no?

illness?

a course correction?

I’m a-live in New York City,
where almost 800 persons die each day.

my perspectives have altered.

what are your questions now?
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