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  Mar 2015 Mark Upright
Nat Lipstadt
"Oh, murmur, murmur me again to peace!"

(from the libretto of Handel's Semele -
opera.stanford.edu/iu/libretti/semele.htm)

think of your ears as an
ever alert, high pitched,
sensory tuning fork,
an aural radar, searching for that
acute, oblique,
perforating and poking phrase,
that lost airplane of solace
buried and too well hid
in the vastness of
empty, characterless searchable seas
that rarely yield up their
comforting finery

when discovered, tripped upon,
instant recognition pleads

"write me down,
write me up,
delve me,
determine me,
make me more!"

t'is a thrumming vibrato
interfering with mind,
that phrase, that phrase, that phrase

"Oh, murmur, murmur me again to peace!"

content coursing through the eyes,
piercing veils of hum drum dumbing down,
a life spying drone eliciting excitedly
a high value target,
an unexpected mission,
camouflaged amidst the
chit chat droning of the
choking ordinary and commonplace

murmur me, with soft downy charms,
these words discovered
recoursed and intended well to
pointedly offset and contradict
their very own
tumultuous discovery uncovering,
tear tongue me
with calming, lapping word wages,
hymns harmonious and fine homilies,
a call, a request,
a bequest
to sedate my shrill life,

You

murmur me again to peace


even the words
be prepared to sacrifice, surrender,
but promise me that
the Justice of

-just-

thy tone,
thy inflections,
will gentle
the infecting turbulence
of being a plain, tried and trialed human

let me not
catalogue the onerous,
the burdening barbell weights,
we carry for no purpose

Give us
our daily bread of a singular
phrase~prayer~poem,**
our verbal bond, modest sequest,
honey oatmeal, cut up strawberried
jewel,
give it, me this day,
my daily soothing

"Oh, murmur, murmur me again to peace!"
  Mar 2015 Mark Upright
Nat Lipstadt
oft on bus seated next,
every one of your senses
adjusting, modulating,
to her unpredictable
solar flaring

you don't ever risk
that first missing
           misstep,
your entirety is
sun bursted
        (un)/consumed
in unhappy joy of her
consuming presence

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you laugh
years later
re the topic of
your first shaky
foot in the mouth
a classic misstep
first bow shot,
opening one liner

and each storied retelling  
is nature!s
snow and rain
refilling
the love of your
groundwater table
welling up

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you love her scent
the silly hats she wears,
her short skirts arouse,
that last open button
a misstep invitation,
angry it incenses,
her every solitary everything is
incense,
pervading a daily
co-riding
passenger's
oxygen? starved soul

~~~~~~~~~

her umbrella is a wet
selfie stick
accidentally opening and dousing
an un random next door
seatmate

just another unlucky misstep for
someone sitting next store,
oil on the fire of
happily ever after

two selfies are last seen as
one
un selfishly
toweling each other off and
on
with wet kisses

~~~~~~~~~~~

you eavesdrop on her
earbud music,
weep internally you do with
crazed jealously

The Temptations
are so unfairly
singing to her
"Ain't to Proud to Beg"
and neither are you

you heart is misstepping
to every beat,
your fingers
thrumming,
you idiot, not quietly enough
humming
in the next seat

the first,
will not be
the last

smile exchanged

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

poem writing on the tablet,
amidst the groaning awful
no moving
city traffic

overheated bus
combustible with
winter snow dampness,
wet dog sweat smelling people clothes

all you want to do is get home
shower off
the daily dirt

the poetry writing pastime
is the place
where you put yourself
to better to pass over
your sour surroundings

her finger rattlesnakes,
misstepping over,
noisily invading,
the invisible boundary
constructed to hold up the
eye-averting
Keep Out sign
to momentary,
too neighborly
strangers

her red painted
pointer finger
smudge prints on your tablet,
accompanied with
bespoke words
"try this"

that smudge suggestion
won't come off

insisting on crediting
a shared authorship,
you ask for her
email and cell,
so you can share
her
forever

co jointed tangled
bus and bed sheet first efforts
on writing, all about
what you play~argue
what should your entitled poem
be titled

you think

endless short love story bus poems

but she prefers,
with red fingers persuading

the first misstep is the best

both see the merit
in each other
I love this poem. I do.

Lyrics to "Ain't to Proud to Beg"

I know you wanna leave me,
but I refuse to let you go
If I have to beg and plead for your sympathy,
I don't mind coz' you mean that much to me

Ain't too proud to beg, sweet darlin
Please don't leave me girl, don't you go
Ain't to proud to plead, baby, baby
Please don't leave me, girl, don't you go

Now I heard a cryin' man,
is half a man with no sense of pride
But if I have to cry to keep you,
I don't mind weepin' if it'll keep you by my side

Ain't to proud to beg, sweet darlin
Please don't leave me girl, don't you go
Ain't to proud to plead, baby, baby
Please don't leave me girl, don't you go

If I have to sleep on your doorstep
all night and day just to keep you from walkin' away
let your friends laugh, even this I can stand
cause I want to keep you any way I can

Ain't too proud to beg, sweet darlin'
Please don't leave me girl, don't you go
Ain't to proud to plead, baby, baby
Please don't leave me girl, don't you go

Now I've gotta love so deep in the pit of my heart
And each day it grows more and more
I'm not ashamed to come and plead to you baby
If pleadin' keeps you from walkin' out that door

Ain't too proud to beg, you know it sweet darlin'
Please don't leave me girl, don't you go
Ain't to proud to plead, baby, baby
Please don't leave me girl, don't you go
Baby, baby, baby, baby (sweet darling)
  Mar 2015 Mark Upright
Still Crazy
come back to bed
walk my hallways,
upon my shoulder sleep,
rest in my nooks
soft, well worn, cosy crannies,
let your face go slack,
get back jack,
to where you always belong

I know too well
what ails thee,
know no answers easy
to be found
walking around
an old creaky house's
groaning discordant mystery sounds

do come back to bed
I'll call you babe,
kiss those temples
rock 'n rolling,
soothing them with
adagio classics from
the 1950's and 60's

I'll think of something
just back,
bed bunk, mate,
with me
your roommate of the sole
****** sunset years

let you write poems
on my tummy,
gurgling with the pleasure of
skin and words
tender entwining,
just come
back to bed,
pillow deep,
fund the sleep
your desperate need,
from my countenance and body,
yours,
no needy for asking,
just the just
taking what you're needing,
be my human,
be my child,
and come back to bed,
my very own

still crazy man
after all these years,


before leaving me
sleepy smiling,
from a job well done
with the fluids
of our
co-joinery

that ease,
however brief,
thy tempested brow
one less line,
one less worry
  Mar 2015 Mark Upright
Path Humble
feathers or snowflakes
nighttime,
unimportantly,
cannot differentiate
on the 16th floor
balcony
each an individualized n-vite

fall downy into down
of snow blankets of
freezing releasing cold comfort,
ice cream for the body entire

oh yes,
a sad one penned,
the nullity of his
throbbing everything,
sore tempted for quenching
by the soft permanence of white,
most tempting,
soft offering a laundering downy state

they say
see the good stuff

do,
but I*  feel  the bad stuff
with heartbeat regularity,
temple pounding repetitive asking
what's the next best
and other naming questions


the way in is not
way out...
this hole I dug dark,
no hand holds, dank, elongated

this time
happy you,
brevity suits

for the downy fall
fleeting floating abrupt and
suggesting
wonderfully right-sided answers
to questions his names asks

where is the humble path,
where is shelter at long last..
.
  Mar 2015 Mark Upright
Nat Lipstadt
if you want to make a mark on the world,
remove the marks placed upon thyself,
by thyself,
thus skilled,
then erase others.

be an eraser,
then
a bother-in-arms.

no typo,
bother the world
by your
arms,
your reach around,
arms extended.

freedom begins when first seeing the greater good.

making goodness greater,
frees oneself to free the others,
all the days of your life.

mark them how you free them well,
being a eraser,
then a re~marker
upon each other.

he who erases the marks of others,
makes his mark upon the world non-pareil.
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