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  Sep 2017 lmnsinner
Nat Lipstadt
a new poem (words, words, words but another drug), bolt upright, uplight, reattach yourself to the liquid of the music,
soothe the irritation, slowdown the shaking hand,
give god or his creatures, the nocturnes and sonatas,
a chance to restore the pounding of the chest to a leveling
equanimity

to no avail, the sleep angels have fled from the
forest fires in the chest, and the helicopters must quench
with the commence of dropping clouds of wet words,
when, when will I be released from a life that has no
easements

words, words, words but another drug, a habit that gives
everything but a temporary state, every poem nothing but
another her, another lady puncture in my restless body,
another juncture, where all your choices are the way of
error

the high will last, shorter each one, but the track will exist
for all the time, a token of human foolishness, the more is
the inevitability of the ending, writ, drawn a little closer,
and comes with a hand written spongy-apology begging for
existing

in his notes, motes, dust mites of titles, single verses,
elegies, essays half written, passing thots claiming to
want to be wannabes, this appears and it's a perfect
ending

there is no security in poetry, only the unresolvable

man in his perfect certainty, never was, nevermore, n'ere will be never, and one poet walks a razor's edge, that is his three tenses struggling for mutual coexistence, one of
a calming beauty, a dark glory, a perfect closing, choosing
a final solution, a belief in relief, that simultaneously
engraves, erases, and
equates

another new poem fissures to the surface, and the palpable
is a magician's illusion, a trick, a feat of dismemberment,
an excise of a piece, a drink, a Tennessee whiskey of him,
an emission that never gains remission status, all this fakery,
a new poem (words, words, words but another drug),
excellent, worthless and self-
effacing

{|||}

3:48am-5:46am
9/24/17
  Sep 2017 lmnsinner
onlylovepoetry
a plain poem (the first time I came in you)*

a plain poem, light and effervescent, a flim-flan tasting,
plein de absurde rimes, full of nonsensical rhymes,
a lattice of criss crossing pastry sugary lines, the ones,
cannot, struggle to deduce, induce, reduce
from my constipated vocabulary

oh well
~
the first time I came in you,
entered, bidden welcome,
suffused a bridge between
the party of the first part,
the party of the second part,
sugar lightness airy nonsense,
two spirits dancing the singular
pas de deux of their finite lives,
a performance unbeatable,
unrepeatable,
lost to the perfection annals

Shockingly, Surprisingly, Summarily,
did not compose an ode,
don't mine a new vein of ore,
even write a plain poe poem

as best can recall,
at the candle melting of the
sealing wax of the deal,
gave an honest speech,
instantly falling fast asleep
with nary a grunted word

ever since l,
cannot write of plain love plainly,
so she makes me pay with a
new living elegant elegy daily,
a quatrain, what a pain,
this iambic panting meter
love poem writing

jeez louise,
how I wish could write of
roses red and violets blue,
get back to sleep,
oh well then,
back to work

got to make those sad moans,
hers, go away,
so please excuse me

near ten years later,
still paying the dues of the
initializing error of my way

she rumbles-mumbles in her
pre-awakening dream state,
so please excuse, got to go, think up
some implicated complicated  
verses to soothe away
her simple poorly hidden anxieties

you see,
I am happy paying
on and on,
writing like the devil furious,
she is stirring, coffee soon,
cafe au lait
if you get my meaning,
but still cannot beat,
repeat, re-alive
that simple plain living poem notated,
when first I came in her*


<•;)

9/24/17 6:49am ~7:17am
lmnsinner Sep 2017
writing for non-recognition**

“It was exhilarating to get the chance to be useful, which is always an issue for a writer.”
          Garrison Keillor


a hundred readings, so flattering,
the heart tickled, nicely fluttering,
then one day it is a thousand,
and the crushing soul flattening
has set a new higher,
a low base needs an achieving
in every thing

**** writing for recognition,
need a few thousand, ten will fill the bill,
now
to consider myself ok average,
which shhh,
I know I am

now have to choose each word
with great daring caring,
worthy of the great writer
whose devotees demand,
offer a simple choice, want want
pleasured ooh ah's of perfection or
face sacrifice
on the poetry altar
of the Feed Me Seymour plant of
being ignored to a
vegetative death

**** writing for recognition,
you want my I-curse,
steal my purse,
reach in, take my cigarette styx,
exhale a **** poem

**** writing for recognition,
please don't read my hand crafted,
diamond cutter designed,
succulent crap
go away, don't like me, and for god's sake
don't dare love me,
that's a killer,
then my busted ballon ego can't be taped
back together again by Humpty Dumpty's men

after this will never revisit the prior past,
that will not - shall not exist

one anonymous poet
spilling with unfazed unglued fluency
disregarding what pleases,
writing spilling that which surged
that electrify
my soul
and then never
to them return

**** writing for recognition,
no more subbing
no more sinning
no more using
just me using me
up
  Sep 2017 lmnsinner
Left Foot Poet
The muse inquires,
knowing that a question such as this is
cannon fodder, an off-the-shoulder-blouse tease,
just a hint of cleavage, a whiff of parfume,
something to make poet sneeze,
ejecting an answering essay
without a clue where to go, but,
now the fifth gear engaged,
compulsion full,
immédiatement, en ce moment, laisser's aller!
and he knows exactly what to say

what if poet possessed a special character,
to define the sadness that reflects that
summer has had its memory card wiped,
and even though today,
will be a Saturday of
jeans shorts, a halter top, sort of day,
the chill of dreaded winter is not coming,
already present and accounted for,
enchanté, déjanté,
has already encased his heart in ice so thick,
that even if poet drank a Joni case
of his fav summer quaff,
un provence rose,
his seasonal loss cannot be overcome,
the summer man~king is dead

all that in but a single character, a precise capture,
a labor and  time saving device, but
a character with no character
for the labor would be love lost

yet you swear by your succinct emojis,
their immaculate efficient composition,
and I would not trade one accidental,
just-slipped-out I love you
even for ten thousand disheartening heart symbols

would you prefer
|£%!<#
instead of:
I love you so much it is
driving me batshit crazy!


I'm stuck with my troop of twenty six
and their multiple endless quilted rearrangements

call me old and out of fashion,
to your question,
this poem is my ask and answered at 5:13am
In Autumn

Mark Irwin
When within ourselves in autumn we feel the autumn
I become very still, a kind of singing, and try to move
like all things green, in one direction, when within ourselves
the autumn moves, thickening like honey, that light we smear
on faces and hands, then touch the far within one another,
something like autumn, and I think when those who knew
the dead, when they fall asleep, then what, then what in autumn
when I always feel I’m writing in red pencil on a piece
of paper growing in thickness the way a pumpkin does,
traveling at fantastic speed toward orange, toward rot, when
in autumn I remember that we are cold-smitten as I continue
smearing red on this precipice, this ledge of paper over which
I lean, trying to touch those I love, their bodies rusting
as I keep writing, sketching their red hands, faces lusting for green.
  Sep 2017 lmnsinner
Nat Lipstadt
which of your thousands of poems do you love best?

*that's like asking which of my children I love the best...

all of them were necessary, all of them were important...

some, more than others,
necessary, important...

but all of them were, are and will be
my children...
9/20~9/21/l7 n.m.l.
a gift to me from Twyla Tharp, choreographer extraordinaire
  Sep 2017 lmnsinner
Nat Lipstadt
no matter when I go to sleep

no matter when I go to sleep,
my next door neighbors
wake me up,
arguing.

History and the Future,
the oddest couple,
always in opposition,
in a world of mutual armament.  

these unilateral siamese twins,
every dialectic ends the same:

one says I'll **** you,
then, they both start laughing.

(Eléa's #1 fav)

9/15/17 4:35am

<•>

mark me as safe

though the namelessly hurricane is never ending,
the roof, a sacrifice in the wind's temple,
letting millions of naked eyes be persecution witnesses,
marking me as safe, but not saved,
surviving, the destruction, a beautiful curse,
this violent universe.

9/15/17
4:30am
(gifted to Joel & Kelly Rose))

<•>

address me with no assumptions

for we will provide the facts,
with liberty and justice,
we will fill in the redacted parts
in the bill of particulars,
of the indictments signed namelessly,
only as the
The State's Attorney,
woo hoo,
We Who Always Win,
Cause We Make the Rules

9/8/17 9:31am

<•>

21801BB705 VDAB7

given this, the key,
the rulers announced thanks,
but not in anyway a necessite,
we will just smash the locks
and burn your personal history down,
until now it has JUST been whiteout corrected,
you're welcome!

9/14/17
6:37am
(gifted to Evan Crow)

<•>

don't major in the minors

don't major in the minors,
classicism is a double entendre,
you don't understand,
but you will,
when you study headless statues
in a museum
come back to life,
do not act surprised.

progress is not an iPhone,
it's taking a long bathroom break
in the mind.

(Graces's fav)

9/10/17. 5:37am

<•>

All the old battles are new again

All the old battles are new again.
every old poem is but a pretense, a new work refreshed.
cutting edges dull knives, easily resharpened by new use,
fresh excuses.
stale words that stick humans, come to life,
as any and all of your favo-rite
army of **(fill in the blank)

  _ism's,
marching in the name of good riddance
of the  disloyal opposition.

nothing new under the sun,
history books predict the future.

(Eléa's #2 fav)

9/15/17 3:55am
SY: even when i write shorties, they come in multiples; get paid by the word, indeed!
  Aug 2017 lmnsinner
onlylovepoetry
these words are a paraphrasing of the famous words from
Martin Niemöller,
an anti-******, German Christian pastor:

"First, they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out.

Then they came for the trade unionists, and I wasn’t a trade unionist, so I didn’t speak out.

Then they came for the Jews.
I wasn’t a Jew so I didn’t speak out.

Then they came for me,
and there was no one to speak for me.”

<?>

8/22/17
2:01am

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Firsttheycame_...
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/First_they_came_...

A Love Poem?

Oh yes, surely, is not written, love thy neighbor as you love thyself
~~~

17[a] You must not hate your brother in your heart.
/ [17b] You must surely reprove your fellow citizen
/ [17c] so that you do not incur sin on account of him.
18[a] You must not take vengeance or bear a grudge against the children of your people,
/ [18b] but you must love your neighbor as yourself.
/ [18c] I am the LORD.

— Leviticus 19:17-18
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