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 Nov 2014 Lunatic
Nat Lipstadt
Welcome Back To This, Your Isle



The rabbits beneath the deck,
Even the pesky deer who eat the shrubbery,
Sea creatures, living and spirits of the dead,
Lying on the paths and in the creeks of Silver Beach,
All inquire:

Was it better wherever you went?

Were the:

Bears, hiding in the forests outside Berlin,
Eagles, double headed, of Russia
Herring, fried, creamed, wined,
From the vendors on the docks of
Helsinki, Riga, Visby and Tallinn,
Salmon, smoked and cured in Stockholm,
More impressive,
Tastier than our striped bass,
Island cohorts of yours, who waited patiently
For their chronicler to return?

Did the Little Mermaid and her Dolphin
Guardians of the Port of Copenhagen
Welcome you more warmly than your friends,
The ospreys, lizards, turtles and owls
Who overwatch your steps and safety
When hiking in Mashomack Preserve?

Are the interlacing tidal creeks,
Woodlands, fields, salt marshes and the ragged,
Irregular but charmed coastline of this cherished island
Any lesser than those of Scandinavia?

Are the sea-going ferries that transverse the
Baltic Sea and the Gulf of Finland,
More poetic than the Menantic or the Lt. Joe,
Who carry you swiftly home to us?

The National Geographic people say that in
Tivoli Gardens, The Amerikaner (ha!) waffle ice cream cone
Is one of the ten best in the world.
Guessing they have not made it yet to the
Tuck Shop for some Moose Tracks!

Were you unaware that our isle settled before
Peter the Great ever envisioned creating the grand
Boulevards of his capitol, St. Petersburg,
Route 114 was a traveled forest path,
By settlers and Indians, not serfs.

Of the Treasures, the Gold Room of the Hermitage,
The Amber Room of Catherine's Palace,
Wrote not a single word, we observe.
Your attentions, they did not deserve?

The answers all, self evident.

Here, surrounded by the gentle breezes of
Long Island Sound and Gardiners Bay,
Sweet and salty flavors of the Peconic atmosphere,
Words unlocked, from your eyes to the page fall,
Smudged by joyous tears, for the muses of the island
Have embraced you yet again and rebirthed
Inspiration, within their comforting, sheltering grasp.


Silver Beach

July 22, 2012
 Nov 2014 Lunatic
CapsLock
The bussier we are
the faster time passes.
Where better than a bar
to fill our glasses?

My eyes meet yours,
between the  masses,
and within the drunk choirs
your smile, my heart crashes.

Got you name, got number,
and from your lips a kiss I borrow.
And then I wonder...
Will you answer the phone tomorrow?
You didn't.
 Nov 2014 Lunatic
CapsLock
Re-Routed
 Nov 2014 Lunatic
CapsLock
Used to be stuck,
so firmly rooted.
Like the ugly duck
had to be re-routed.

Fearfully and unluck,
my soul was muted.
Until to me struck,
and for once, all I disputed.

Can't do what's right
so I'll do what's left.
I'll follow this light
until my soul I put to rest.
Here, where men's eyes were empty and as bright
As the blank windows set in glaring brick,
When the wind strengthens from the sea -- and night
Drops like a fog and makes the breath come thick;

By the deserted paths, the vacant halls,
One may see figures, twisted shades and lean,
Like the mad shapes that crawl an Indian screen,
Or paunchy smears you find on prison walls.

Turn the **** gently! There's the Thumbless Man,
Still weaving glass and silk into a dream,
Although the wall shows through him -- and the Khan
Journeys Cathay beside a paper stream.

A Rabbit Woman chitters by the door --
-- Chilly the grave-smell comes from the turned sod --
Come -- lift the curtain -- and be cold before
The silence of the eight men who were God!
 Jul 2014 Lunatic
Luna Grey
So many options, so little to do.
Strike that, reverse it.
Man I’m not sure what I mean. I look ahead on a thousand scenic roads and still feel like I’m stuck on my own off-road adventure.

Except I ran out of gas and supplies long ago
And my shoes have holes in the soles
Comparable to the ones opening in my soul
And I’ve built up and torn down SOS signals
Afraid that a search party won’t ever be sent
And terrified that it might find me

Dragging me back to a civilization I no longer know how to live in

I want to spin in barefoot circles in the middle of an open clearing
Screaming out to the sky and the world and my mother and my self
Large and loud and absurd in the only way I know how to communicate
Honestly the deranged circus in my skull to anyone who’d listen.

But maybe they won’t understand
Won’t reciprocate
Appreciate
I delegate
To the stand-in I call I
Present her to the world
As I watch that world pass by
Behind the windows of my soul
And torn soles

They’ll take a passionate lunacy
As heresy
Against the Church of Social Acceptability
And haul me away to a place where I can’t see the drifting sky
And smell the colors of my beautiful off road adventure
That turned to a wandering lost nightmare
Longer ago than I’d care to admit
With my heels dragging in the mud
And a sign around my neck with my social-chosen label printed for the world to read as a caution against

approaching a broken beautiful lunatic.
 Jul 2014 Lunatic
Sean Keane
I wish to see the land of the midnight sun
But in this place there is no one
I look to the distance as I start to run
My journey here has just begun
Love, Hate, Sadness and joy
Someday soon Ill be that lucky boy
and your presence I shall enjoy
But for now I must bide my time
I want to see you in my prime
I wish not to be the richest on earth
I am perfectly content with my fiscal dearth
I wish not to be the king of all
Ill keep walking forever, Ill never fall
solely because I am in your thrall
Some might call me a fool
but those ones are cruel
they're missing out on a beautiful feeling
all my wounds have started healing
even if I never ever get to see you
my feelings for you will always be true
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