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  Jul 2020 Nat Lipstadt
Sally A Bayan
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On this gift of space,
we maintain a garden
where grows many kinds of seeds,
some flourish...some die...some
are stunted...they just don't grow,

we do what we do best
in this garden
we try to be better,
even when on a standstill,
or when snugs pop up
and distract
we stray from focus...but,
try to get back on track
we...........persevere,
and along the way, we inspire,
and enhance others, too,

we're on the clouds when fruits
of our labor are appreciated
for, high up there is a temple
most of us aim to reach
to experience some glory
to taste sweet water
from the fountain of fame,

but, its flow...dries bit by bit,
winds of change blow, to remind,
there are others, too, in the line,
waiting for their share of drink,
we move over...we give way...
but, we don't stop planting
we just lie low, at times, disappear,
then start down there........again,
like a newcomer........persevering,
aiming for the temple.......again,
not as eager as the first time,
but, just savouring
the blissful feeling,
when it comes...
::::::::::::::::


Sally
©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
July 11, 2020
(Already seven years last March,
  and still moving about, in this
  garden called Hello Poetry...where
  various kinds of poetry are posted,
  and the best poets, who're friends, too,  
have come and gone...come back, then
go again...there are those that are still here
...how i love and miss them all...)
  Jul 2020 Nat Lipstadt
Poetoftheway
someday it will be willed (have I told you lately that I love you?)

that the poetry ceases,
no more birthdays notated
calendar closed, the ***’s axed,
kitchen junk drawer, a consignment store,
no longer needed, the futility of saving
knickknacks, maximized, the no lasting
value proposition, realized, eulogized.

pictures of beautiful automobiles,
decorated with beautiful women,
will forever be last year’s models,
one calendar too far, not long enough

no more of

have I told you lately that I love you?

wrote you plenty love poems so, hereafter,
you won’t be bereft, left farklempt,
arranged one-a-day, on a timed delay,
so many more that will appear in your
inbox until you too, no longer choose open it.

no more “sirprising” I love you statements,
taped to the milk carton, it was so willed,
the daily counting, record keeping, who first,
how many, secretly added to a grocery list,
in stuff that was so beloved, exasperating,
making you just right amount of crazy, smiling....
someday it will be willed, so,


here’s the first of many more....
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2020
“Anchor the eternity of love in your own soul and embed this planet with goodness. Lean toward the whispers of your own heart, discover the universal truth, and follow its dictates. Release the need to hate, to harbor division, and the enticement of revenge. Release all bitterness. Hold only love, only peace in your heart, knowing that the battle of good to overcome evil is already won. Choose confrontation wisely, but when it is your time don’t be afraid to stand up, speak up, and speak out against injustice. And if you follow your truth down the road to peace and the affirmation of love, if you shine like a beacon for all to see, then the poetry of all the great dreamers and philosophers is yours to manifest in a nation, a world community, and a Beloved Community that is finally at peace with itself.”
*
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2020
~for the wild child, daughter, wife, mother~



I am drifting into the tender part of the night, when deceit is pointless, and I argue with conviction within myself that in our lives that it will never be too late, but I know I contradict my prior musing...somewhere between the fact that time is a wasting commodity, precocious and precious, lives this idea within, that there is nothing that cannot be navigated, recompensed,  even forgiven...

the argument goes on, the tide of battle switching back and forth, and for now I must be satisfied with the meagerness of I can’t give up, be at ease by acknowledging defeat, not just yet, and the fast arrival of a clean slate is a chance, a draw, a ticket to ride, and,

reaching

is a wonderful idea, full of compromise, out and in, extra effort, and tomorrow I may yet teach one of us, even myself, by reaching inside of what churns within, and then have the perfect words you require, for a desperate need, and a comforting that comes forth easily
  Jul 2020 Nat Lipstadt
city of flips
the best thing you could teach two another

is how to love themselves,
so they can return the favor;
now that would be a refund!
  Jul 2020 Nat Lipstadt
Edmund black
In my mind
I have been living
Three separate lives
Simultaneously
Interrogating  the presence of
My individual realization,

In the mirror I am
This voodoo man
He weaves a spell
Turning heaven into hell,
Like the Wild Wild West
Pain, sorrow are his paths
Where He cries everyone’s tears
A vulnerability that’s too real,
His collective realization ,

In the mirror I am
this understanding man
Who lingers in a pathway
That offers solace
A momentarily reprieve
From all that ails him
Where laughter still comes,
My higher realization ,

Then again

In the mirror I am
That man with the wings ,
Where I stay high above all
Turns hell into heaven
Where the light remains lit
In the darkness that is mine.

Sweet magical man
With a magical heart.

In the mirror all at once!
I Don’t Belong Here!
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2020
exactly,

for if not to mystify and to demystify,
why do we write, opine large, secretly confessing,
what is know to all soto voce in the chamber of secrets,
that lies between the brains four chambered ventricles,
that leads to a Grand Canal through which flow riddles,
all these thoughts, yours, mine, and overlapping crazy


solitary, they merge within the river of combination,
then known to all, colloquially named Ours, then too,
answers arrive in the scrivening, when each plain to see,
once the riddle posed, the answer is freed to exposure,
like veins blue to red, when oxygenated,all our mysteries,

becoming all colors, untied, there is but one color, reddened blood
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