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 Jul 2013 Marleny
Nat Lipstadt
Fresh Direct

Exit

I used to sleep
With pen and paper on my nighttime table.
Nowadays, my iPad tablet rests upon my chest,
Not only does it keep me warn,
It takes my poems from within, Fresh Direct,^
Edits, credits, and delivers them to your door,
While I'm still sleeping.

Which is why they come at all hours.
It is also why they call them,
Love's Labour's Lost saving devices.

Refill

My woman, my number one fan,
Grabs her pillow, mashes her face
Into my iPad warmed chest,
Without asking permission,
Thus fulfilling her mission critical.

Restoring the balance, refilling the tank
With high octane mystical, thru skin umbilical,
A first edition of the day blended mix named,
All's Well That Ends Well.



7:45 am
July 14th, 2013
^www.freshdirect.com/
Online grocer providing high quality fresh foods and popular grocery and household items at incredible prices delivered to your door in the New York area.

Tho I have lived centuries, long and well,
Have no fear, in prior life, my name did not complete with speare.
But t'is not the first time I fiddled and diddled  old *****'s work,
When they called me Nahum Tate, I usurped his tragedies,
Pre-HP, I was one of England's Laureate Dunces.
If thee be of faith little, truths here be spoke,
For it was then David's Psalm 57 I refreshed:

O God, my heart is fixed, 'tis bent,
      its thankful tribute to present;
      And with my heart my voice I'll raise
      to thee, my God, in songs of praise.

Awake, my glory, harp and lute,
      no longer let your strings be mute;
      And I, my tuneful part to take,
      will with the early dawn awake.
 Jul 2013 Marleny
maybella snow
101 people follow me
101 people see every poem i write
101 real people
101 people
                                                                 thats a    h u g e   amount to me
1795 reactions
1795 comments
1795 or likes

22216 views
22216 thats how many times my poetry has been looked at
22216

                                                                   sorry but that still shocks me
                                                             real people are seeing my rambles
                                                                  real people are following me
                                                           real people are reacting to my work
                                                                                real people

take that mum, real people
                            real people think my "****" is good
                mum, leave me alone about it

because some real people think it's worth something
because they're reading it
       and they're liking or commenting to it

                                                                                                     and this is what i want to do in life
                                                                          i want to write
                                                                                          about things that pose something to me
                                         [HAH]
                                         you said i wasn't going
                        anywhere while on my computer
                                         [HAH]
                                                                                                          it only took me
                                                                                                          101 real people
                                                                                                                thankyou
                                                                                                              to all of you
 Jul 2013 Marleny
Nat Lipstadt
Wrote this eons ago, tonight, once more,
spend some human capital, editing...
Something to think about
as we tuck ourselves in.

the young'uns keep on asking me for tips,
secrets, to this art, magical poetry gig,
as if I had any left unrevealed.  

recalled this old'n,
from a vintage poetry year,
as a suggestion,
a stating-starting place,
for young poets:

do not self-chain,
let the words take you where
they lead, write them up
for the rhyme is waiting,
in the heart chest deep down,
not on the screen.

I read you Goodnight Moon,
Falling asleep beside you.


<•>

People stop rhyming...

When first you overcome your fears,
And dare to put on paper your tears,
Give it up, set yourself free from the shackles,
Of thinking a rhyme is a necessity for a
Rooting tooting writing of a
**** good poem

If you feel lost,
Want to share the cost,
Feel not bossed,
By a newbie's need
to believe that if it rhymes
Everyone will like your poem
Just fine

And if you get past this stage,
And advance to the next page,
Do not think that writing down a sentence of
Your mind's first up, innermost thoughts,
Is something that will make you
Less lost, heralded, worthy of a parade,
And be blessed with an A  
In your Teacher's pet grade book

My heart broke.
I feel bad.
I feel sad
Cause my man/woman left me
And I hope
Someone kicks his or her ***

That Ain't No Poem Neither...

And if you can't help but complain repeatedly
How life ***** and you're feeling blue
extremely indiscreetly,
Don't make me try on your scribblings
intimately indiscriminately,
Read a million, even wrote a few myself

You think you can write?

Then employ a word outside your comfort zone,
Go it alone,
Write just four sentences that will make
The hopeful reader stand up and you,
Twice as much, and shout

Hallelujah *******.

Work. Poetry is work. Hard work.
Don't fret. But, think on it.
Let it come easy, then let it rest,.
Then spend days editing every comma,
And when you love it so much,
You are chest busting bursting,
Why have you not pressed Send already?

Have the sweetest dreams.
In the morning, when you but awake,
A poem will be aborning in thy mind,
And dare I say it, you will find a new freedom
In free verse.
(I know you will slip in a rhyme or two,
I can't help but do it too)

G' nite!
Why is that parents plant ideas in your brain as you're falling aslee..............

Just a suggestion....what do I know,
 Jul 2013 Marleny
speakeasied
Rhyme not, my friends,
and try your best to make your
words out of little to no sense.
In sense you will find yourself
drowning in organization,
and we all know what organization
will eventually change into:
the word that refuses to be spoken
on the lips of those with a creative mind;
but here, I'll say it, just for you
in hopes that you'll shy from it too.
Structure.
Oh, Lord of Poetry, forgive me
for I have sinned
I swear, on Whitman, I'll never
say it again.
But you, my friend, keep that in mind.
Nonsensical words that lack organization
and then, then, you can call it
poetry.
 Jul 2013 Marleny
Robert Graves
Love is universal migraine,
A bright stain on the vision
Blotting out reason.

Symptoms of true love
Are leanness, jealousy,
Laggard dawns;

Are omens and nightmares -
Listening for a knock,
Waiting for a sign:

For a touch of her fingers
In a darkened room,
For a searching look.

Take courage, lover!
Could you endure such pain
At any hand but hers?
I miss you
Like the secrets I whispered deeply
Into my pillowcase
Just before the house caught fire
Those evening tales, lost
With the photographs hidden beneath a loose floorboard
Paper and ink curling into nothing
But lightly falling ash
Kissing me softly as I watch from the street
Until the embers cease to glow
And morning light reveals me
-A silent statue of grey
 Jul 2013 Marleny
maybella snow
to the people who read my poetry
          you know what?
    you probably know me
                      better than some of my friends
        it might be weird
              but my poetry
  is my heart, soul, mind, secrets, life
                          so to the people who read what I write
              hello, i'm me
                                         who do you think i am?
     because i'm mostly
              a young girl, still in school, living at home
and in love with a boy
                    who happens to be
                                       on the other side
      of the world

              it's bittersweet
                           it hurts as well
but he loves me too
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