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  Jul 2018 Nat Lipstadt
lmnsinner
“Sometimes I feel
Like I've been tied
To the whipping post
Tied to the whipping post
Tied to the whipping post
Good lord I feel like I'm dyin””
Allman Brothers
<•>

two words arrive unscheduled no comprehension no intention;
a great taunting for the guy who claims he plucks ‘em
from passing breezes and hazelnut trees

creation capture

meaning just a biting *******’ feeling,
Allman brothers Pandora in on it too,
playing to make sure
I’m in touch with my roustabout feelings

“Sometimes I feel
Like I've been tied
To the whipping post
Tied to the whipping post
Tied to the whipping post
Good lord I feel like I'm dyin'”


got it - the poems revolting
and they are...making it hard

the lesson i’m learning
the poems are the boss
you ain’t nothing but a whipping post boy
wright right what you’re given, no misgivings -
a treat you don’t deserve
you ain’t nothing but our
creature captured

forty years in the desert and maybe then
the promised land
let you know when you suffered enuf

meantime meet us and Leon in Atlantic City;
poetry ain’t nothing but rolling dice, playing craps

mostly you lose


Bastille Day 15:00
a country tune for a county boy
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2018
to those who misunderstand my enthusiasm
for poetry and people; I am oft too open
too willing to engage, excited by locating kindred souls,
sometimes causing confusion and misunderstanding;

I will come into the new year,
lower in profile, slower to eagerness
and anticipating life changes next year,
somewhat of an about face; more facing inward,
and examining the mirror'd reflection  
in quiet contemplation

with eager eyes embrace
the lovely poem and the lovely author,
over eager in my enthusiasm,
oft mistook, end result, forsook,
if my embrace was misunderstood,
accept this apology with better grace

ample changes prophesied for the coming year;
so all is well if I look to the within for inspiration,
for tumult aplenty foreseen

laid low? lay low...
and
  Jul 2018 Nat Lipstadt
McDonald tsiie
the first time i saw her stretch marks i
saw beauty as a landscape formed,
lightning collapsed on her earth
captured by my lavender mind
i painted cosmic energy on
her body, oil on canvas ii
created a portrait my
fingertip a brush as
i drew a valley of
a thousand hills
on her fragile
temple.
  Jul 2018 Nat Lipstadt
Karia
I was a child,
and you, an injured swan,
resting by the lake I skipped stones on.

My parents didn't notice when I took you in.
Children don't have much,
but I thought that all I had was enough

To heal you.

So, under the cover of night,
I wrapped my sleeves around your wounds
And you wrapped your wings over mine.

But everyone knows that mere children
Cannot care for a living being
All by themselves -

All by myself.

And my tiny room was nothing
Compared to the skies and lakes
That you loved.

They say children are observant -
at least I saw your sadness,
so I took you

Back

To the lake where we first met
and there I told you
To fly.

I was a child,
and you, a graceful swan,
soaring from the lake I skipped stones on.
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2018
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2545332/songs-of-oregon-no-1-gonna-make-you-crazy-that-place/

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2548406/songs-of-going-to-oregon-no-2-but-who-knew/

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2550784/songs-of-oregon-no-3-you-far-off-there-under-the-wine-red-selvage­-of-the-west/

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2550817/songs-of-oregon-no-4-when-men-talk-about-their-women-when-they-ar­e-not-around/

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2550821/songs-of-oregon-no-5-no-general-impressions-specifically/
----------------------------------------------------------------­------------------
some Prequels:

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/556521/going-to-oregon-a-beautiful-first-re-union-that-will-be/

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1622954/captain-of-a-street-ferry-thy-tiller-has-found-a-storied-port/

https://hellopoetry.com/search/poems/?q=loopy+harpooner#

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2231172/the-allusionists-mary-winslow-and-jeff-stier/
----------------------------------------------------------------­-----------------------

None Invited here,
Only Poets

Even those hardy pioneers,
West Coasters, a proud lot,
they, and my Southern family, drawling,
perhaps lessening the mourning
just a touch, a minute modicum,
all sit quiet in the admixture
of poets come to celebrate
the blessing to have been tasked,
to write from and of places we visit
in the cerebral,
and to imbibe each other's words
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
June 2018
if they cannot come to the nook,
then I to them, my ship to their shore,
turning "cyber words into flesh moments"
June 2018
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2018
I spoke to Kissinger this week

~for C. C.   the reluctant poet~


read him your poem,

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1933595/kissinger-on-park/

spoke of your reluctance
to write without the encouragement of others
(see below)

K. said poetry writing
very similar to decision making -
a single letter addition makes it into a wry thing:

writhing

but once you’ve published,
  once you have made the policy decision
then and only then begins the incision
that others cut upon your chest,
to fill with infectious assassination or
admiration,
at the risk taken

K. said: pray and trust that you reluctant fellow
and I
can non-disclose (hide) our internist discordance,
neath a sheen of stolidity that is a
pretense gravitas cover-up certainty,
for we wince when they shoulder tap you with
hindsight queries that you recognize
as retro grade F seeds
of inequitude

if you require recognition as encouragement, K. intoned,
prepare prepayments for your poems,
you have failed before even starting

please your self, lad, no one else,
reluctance is the chief ingredient in failure
do the work and pray for grace to do some
yeoman-well-enough to carry others upon the outgoing tide
of your burdened shoulders

this man who transmits my words
has been kicked off the fence, rejected,
a
frequent wrong road chooser,
for at least 25 years too,
stiff-necked like me, refuge survivor,
who leaves it all the way out
from no one nothing hiding,
freely acknowledges the policy errors of his wasted life,
can not be but the finest fodder for the retrospective historians
but he reminds us
loving children and animals is one way to say
I am so sorry for
the human judgments one must make when
first you sign your true and honest name
at the end of a
poem
or a war they call yours

reluctance is a luxury one can ill afford,
it seeps and permeates in the guise
of a sleepless temerity
and cracks the reflection served up
in the mornings first judgement,
that is,
if you dare to
reflect

<•>

~ a message from the Reluctant Poet~

“I'm a reluctant poet myself -
just started getting some
positive responses here recently,
which is ever so heartening.
I have three poems total posted!...
I'm just happy when
I can get deep down and say
what I want to say, and
hopefully give it a little beauty and
poetical magic for good measure.
The rest is up to the dear readers.”*

<•>
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1933595/kissinger-on-park/

Apologies for the delay in reaching
inside myself and pulling deep out
with some reluctance the thousand
poems you have intuitively commissioned

indeed,, started this child over and over,
most recently over two slices on East Fifty Second & 3rd,
but in matters of gravity, write in the situ appropriate
and so it came to compo-fruition intuitively reached
in the neo-natal nook where my best ones were birthed
then released to the sea breeze carrier free to roam,
tickle fancies, kiss new brides, release the hiding
reluctant to come forth, joining conjoining words and people,
becoming the hypotenuse of some others lives/
  

and I had to get ahold of Henry which isn’t easy
  Jun 2018 Nat Lipstadt
Chabadtzke
Many, many years ago, Life, Death, and Man lived harmoniously alongside each other. They ate, drank, and laughed together. Until one day, Death grew jealous of Man's abundant Joy, and so at night, while the others were asleep, Death murdered Man and robbed him of his joy. Of course, Death was banished from the Earth, and Life fell in love with Man's son. Man's son was very happy with Life, and soon they were inseparable.
One hot summer day, as the sun prepared to set, Life saw a dark figure approach. He set out toward it, and slowly realized it was Death, only now he was dressed in a black cloak.
"Why have you returned?" asked Life. "What do you desire?"
"I come a long way," Death replied. "I have been made King of Purgatory, and the demons serve me."
"Do you wish to rule over the Earth as well?" said Life angrily. "Do you ****** me as you did Man?"
"Certainly not!" Death affirmed. "I wish to make a simple deal."
"What do you propose?" Life asked suspiciously.
Death smiled. "Let us join forces. Together we shall rob man of Joy, I in the Heavens and you on the Earth, and we shall divide the loot between ourselves!"
Life agreed. That night when Man's son was asleep, Life took his Joy. When he awoke in the morning, he saw that his Joy was gone, and realized that Life had betrayed him. A broken man, he hung himself. Of course, Man had no more Joy in Death than he did in Life. Until today, Man is alone in his pain, haunted by Death and betrayed by Life.
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