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lmnsinner Jul 2017
Man who made the Cubs world champs 2016 Series winner, named best leader.
Upon being named greatest leader in the world by Fortune, Theo Epstein, president of baseball operations at the Chicago Cubs, had this to say to an ESPN reporter: "Um, I can't even get my dog to stop peeing in the house. That is ridiculous."
<•>

humble,
lives in the spaces in between our toes and eyes,
where a nightly miracle occurs,
linty dirt returns magically of its own free will  

we wash our mornful faces dailies,
off with the night's crusted leavings,
gifts of The Elfin Elusives,
who come and go unremarked and uncaught,
with a kind of kissy poke in your navel 'n eyes,  
a finer reminder,  
don't ever get a prideful notion of a clean start - ha!

the stubble assiduously removed morning prior,
returns with a scratchy salutation,
"good morning and ***** off, you ain't the boss"

just in case you think u got it rightly wrongheaded,
by a passing stray notion filling your
grateful deadheaded,
master of the universe, egotistical bred

YOU,
the
greatest leader in the world,
go back to bed, it's the weekend  
but only after you have walked the dog,
Mr. Master of the Universe,
or suffer a
humbling reminder"


<~~~>
  Jul 2017 lmnsinner
betterdays
tag
in the cold puddles
concentric rings play tag
with the sky flannelled in
shades of grey, soft from
the wind and granite from
the anger of shouted thunder
arguments, the tree's shake
losing what little cover
they have left and stand
stark naked and dripping
on the muddy floor.
the river flows high and
unchecked vomiting brown
bile and wreckage out into
the sea, only for it to become
a puzzle of detrius on the beaches edge
leaving junkheaps and carcasses for
treasure hunters to find....
and still the puddles play
tag with the cold and weeping sky
  Jul 2017 lmnsinner
Oni Olusegun
An unusual creation of mine,
will it be good enough?
imaginative, yet a piece of my heart.
will it be good be enough?
Short and concise,
will it be good enough?
stanza after stanza.
will it be good enough?
whatever it is about,
will it be good enough?
Deity, blue sky,love or money
will it be good enough?
Effortlessly,my eyes closed, buttock sat, pen wrote.
Regardless, a poem it will be called
My Poem- First of its kind.
An highlight of how I started writing. I must admit hellopoetry community has given me more courage to paint my world in words. :)
  Jul 2017 lmnsinner
Left Foot Poet
one would think these old owls might have learned
a hoot of wisdom, and shut off the bright lights,
concisely concession con-seceded to the simple *******
of the union of the night and moon, its sleep crowning ownership
of these particular hours

let me not false claim that I speak for all the grandfathers,
nor raise myself as a caesar among them,
for there are too many shrieking claimants of all knowing,
know-nothings these troubling days

no longer do we revere or agree upon
the certainty of any incontrovertible self-evident,
truths and beauty we from early ancestors inherited,
fore-seeing the risky possibilities of a freedom-less future,
a melting planet without enough air or water to be shared
for our fast contentedly, asleep babies

no, no, I speak only for myself, and those few million of grandfathers who message each other in the wee hours about silly trivial concerns that keep them awake and writing foolish poems
3:08am nml
  Jul 2017 lmnsinner
Nat Lipstadt
Sad,
but even surrounded
by my kids,
wonder what century this is.
where did my world go
all the values I once knew,
I'm sure I instilled them.
I'm out of touch I'm told,
I guess I am since women
now-a-days don't
work, cook, clean, Iron, *** I iron,
I'm patriotic, and I pray,
believe in meals on the table.
Yep I cook from scratch
not something boxed
that gets delivered daily.
Dayummmmmm
I am out of touch.
But it sure feels good
being able to
fend for myself,
able to cope,
with what the hell
ever is thrown at me.
Yep, I'm out of touch
with some of the
crap they watch on tv
Their reality is
not my reality.
passing the tissues.  
hugs
Patty m

•<>•

we wince inside,
more than smile,
when we venture outside,
outside being anywhere
our eyes take us

the simple notion we carried,
the simple notion given us,
see me, watch me, learn from me,
be like me, for my model is
a not-so-bad one, even if the
styling is so retro,
with its yes ma'am, no ma'am,
can I help you with that sir,
and with a wave and a smile,
let them go in front, cut in,
even though our time is far not, closer shorter,
and hurry is not in the
top ten list of our commandments

be not wistful,
or
unforgiving,
from your window
you can see a green land, well endowed,
where speech freedom yet lives,
not a half bad achievement

perhaps we did not suckle them perfect,
for they are and err in contented
perfect surety
intolerance of anything but newer ways,
that too oft are the discards
of older ideas born of a
disproved arrogant new math
of selfie-righteousness


but let us no croak too much
like old people croaked about us

for we both fear for them,
far more than we silent chide,
the days to come seem so fraught
with excesses we tolerated

wonder if
they will be forced to buy their manufactured water in masticated plastic,
drinking tap water a dangerous high, or food of any kind be plenty after
seven decades of famine

wonder if
they will work for the robots,
those labor saving devices that will
steal the honor of labor, the dignity of a paycheck's message, the honor of rising early to work

wonder if
the madmen we tolerated,
that we chose to ignore,
will return to them
a racked and ruined world

wonder if
they will recall, renember
the kindness of soft spokeness,
the tolerance for a well reasoned argument
and be open to the bounty of
thoughtful persuasion
and the relief in and of
hope

wonder if I despair?
do not!
for daily they come here,
where good word's rule,
tender their fears,
leaving behind the arrogance
perhaps reading these,
even these words
and realize that the good we have the good we struggled to bequeath,
was born from
good struggle,
in more struggle,
is the only way to be
less afraid

nattyman
July 6th
4:55 am
Patty srnds me a message which inspires, as much poem as message.
I take it abd write a counterpoint, contrapunto, or a contrepoint

She never knows when I am hatching this "duo"
till it is public and ergo, the oooh's, ahhh's and dayuuums of her genuine surprise.
  Jun 2017 lmnsinner
Nat Lipstadt
punto / contrappunto (patty m /nat)
(on the why of messaging, on the Underground HP)

none can fly,                          all can fly
except in words,                   in deeds, indeed,
yet others turn                      those who believe turn
lead into gold,                       golden faerie dreams real,
penciled in the salvation     hints inked upon the skin
of the host, the blessing       are the blessings of the host,
of solving great puzzles.      deeds of salvation solutions.

Yet unbeknownst for many.  known to all
its jiggling all the quarks,      the clashing of the neutrons
spinning electrons that          within all of our protein protons
affect many,                             effected upon each,
invisible all is hidden.            where all was hidden, now visible

the message that isn't             let our acts speak ever louder
transmitted,                             realized,
holds no power, yet it             a time for action
remains a black screen            for each message, now an action    
in the catacombs                      in the clarity of daylight
waiting, waiting there,            no longer waiting,
millions of little pieces            each action a deed
when finally viewed                the summation total
                 
                                 grows gargantuan
                               funneling radiation
                                     from the sun.

Climbing roofs,                       to the streets leaping
sliding down drainpipes       knocking to open all doors
to the street,                             filling the stadiums & squares
I'll wait with you,                   no laggards, all in attendence
            
                                         they will come,
                                         poet after poet,
                                    spreading the word,
                              words to deeds, each of us
                           a messenger and a conductor,
                            orchestrating the symphony
                                        of revelation.

              Patty m.                                                       Nat
patty m › The Underground of HP
none can fly, except in words yet others turn lead into gold, penciled in the salvation of the host the blessing of solving great puzzles. Yet unbeknownst for many its jiggling all the quarks, spinning electrons that affect many. Invisible all is hidden
the message that isn't transmitted, holds no power, it remains a black screen in the catacombs waiting, waiting there, millions of little pieces when finally viewed grow gargantuan funneling radiation from the sun. Climbing roofs, then sliding down drainpipes to the street, I'll wait with you, and they will come, poet after poet, spreading the word, while you my friend orchestrate the symphony of revelation. Bravo.!
hugs
Patty

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Jun 3
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