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  Aug 2020 Nat Lipstadt
K Balachandran
Loosing gravity, I hovered above,
The fields and woods, hills and dales,
Egrets and cranes sensing  a competetor
Near gave a chase, that was nice though.

'Just a metaphor that means a search
For beauty and lasting meaning' I heard,
Who said it; unknown commentator viewing
Every movement, each moment, of universe!

What a mystery, I thought for a moment,
Not the 'I' before, but one that is aggragated,
Above the narrow limits of me,my and mine,
The cranes and herons keeping me company
Had bid goodbye, I saw palms wave  hands.

Feeling comfortable with the new fecility
I flew high easy, couldn't find where I end
And the multiverse of wonders takes me over
"Aĺl I thought of me was as a visitor to this
Island of time and space, part of a whole,
But I have  my sweetheart close to my heart
Near and dear, friends all over the world
Many of us never met but neighbours of
My heart, I hear them from afar and their
Heartbeat I felt mine; was an adventure this,
Love prompted, a lilting poem  in progress,
Now  a flow with the wind circling universe
I am ecstacy itself, time is the essence in this
Tale, told  by many eyes" whispered I to
My invisible companions, winging with me.

And loomed large in my being my beloved
Moon with whom I fell madly in love in an
Age of unreason and wild infatuation.
She felt compelled to hold me close to her
***** and kissed my sweaty brows gently
A moment of oblivion, now I am one with
The sprit of universe, in thought and deed
When being becomes nothingness, bliss!

The starry nights, embellished in darkness
And light  is my domain till eternity, I have
No loss or gain, what 'I was' cherished is not
Taken from me a bit, in this wingless flight

The stars, a billions lighted souls dancing
In time line far near and eternal began
To hum a celestial tune that becomes all,
That makes the universe, it moves in waves
Holds all together with love and compassion
All the rest are just tales,elements create
You and I, all the rest are myths illusory
Apparition of one and only music eternal.
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2020
The Joni (Mitchell) Collection


https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1692219/a-case-of-you-joni-first-datelast-date/


https://hellopoetry.com/poem/957041/write-like-joni/


https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2185836/still-be-on-my-feat-for-joni/
  Aug 2020 Nat Lipstadt
betterdays
looking fo a pinprick of blue
among the silver linings today
but can only see cotton candy white
and  flannel grey

set my plane to fly high and straight
but all it seems to do is fly in an
eternal, infernal figure eight.

cannot see the horizion
or sight the sun
flying without sight
Is like trying to run
with your legs hobbled

you don't ever  get far
and you inevitably
end up with a cut,
a bruise or a scar.
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2020
Warning! This poem is too long for certain elderly gentlemen.

A blue haze morn, pleasant in the transition
from the ides of sensual summer to the
broken, busted curled dead leaves that now
decorate the half & half scorched, mottled lawns,
that soon enough will fall to full-on browning!

All this my eyes see when first I wake, only
the calm morn waters unchanged, thank god,
for the mind is fermented, the brain full on,
three, count ‘em, three born baby poems, all
simultaneous being birthed, triplets from one
****** working overtime, yet, only paid the hourly wage!

The mind interweaves the three, and yet subdivides,
only I, the landlord of the brain, failingly and flailing
struggle to keep track of these wild tenants, each:
a curvature, a tangent, a sibling and a stranger to
each other, sharing  a common single parentage!

Poem #1

Poem #1, a bright child, yet, poorest in vocabulary, more humming
than recites, but below its tuneful melody one just perceives, a refrain
born in the refracted sun rays that first opened our  eyes to this day, in
great gratitude, a morning prayer, a mourning poem, bidding adieu to the great  nighttime where the conception and inception inseminated within the ****** of the brain, and welcoming the warmth of day that cracks our body’s outer egg shell with praises of hallelujah that this one word poem gives so easy, in glory!

Poem #2

The toes wriggle, the eyes rapid-blink, the mouth yawns revealing
a still sleeping tongue, the stomach rumbles a basso tune reminding
everyone that their continuous sustenance comes from it alone, no
matter what those other body part snobs claim! An Uproar ensues
(bien sûr!), everyone roused, slumber a thing of the past, a cacophony
of disharmonious noises, no Greek chorus this, purely 100% American,
each party convinced of its self-worth, its own vitality, a ball park of
loutish fans, hawking vendors, an amalgamation of colorations, a
tapestry of humanity skin colors, though in a single voice upon this all
agree and shout “**** the Umpire!”

Then the bladder whispers “uh,hey people,” and all grow silent knowing
who’s the boss, and the man, stumbles from bed, wondering silently what
the heck that huuge racket was all about and how come no one else heard it?

Poem #3

A subcommittee of the senses convene a meeting and on the agenda, in
no particular order are the following, items of varying importance, but
needing speedy resolution:

The always very touchy skin asks: what shall we wear
today, it is warm outside and overly cold inside, should
we go short or long, stay in our overnight dressage, or
get a fresh accoutrements (clean Tee and sweatpants)
just to celebrate having made successful passage to day?

The aural receptors (who always insist on being addressed
in the plural), state that can wait! first let’s us determine what
music we shall receive, that must match the nature outside
and the nature within?  A Joshua Bell violin concerto, or some
retro greatest hits from the 60s, 70s and 80s?  Let’s vote..

The Gallic nasal passages (Les Passages, as they snobbishly prefer) sniff
in derisive decision, non! to yesterday’s clothes, a shower and a shampoo
dear skin, a nasal necessity, let’s try to remember to use deodorant today
please, and no more feral cereal and milk, something more fragrant s’il vous plait!

The Buds, as the tasting cells preferred to be called, said indeed,
some fresh cafe au lait in a proper bowl, to accompany les croissants frais, une baguette au beurre, and do not forget the red crisscross jar of Bonne Maman (Orange Marmalade/Confiture d'Orange)

The Eyes, waited and listened, and then proclaimed, all well and good,
but realize that after all this, we are the instructor, the instrument panel
without which you cannot operate in concert, let us see what we can see,
in the closet, in the kitchen, read the playlists, prepare the necessaries
for bathing, check the thermometers and then we will decide!

Then, the Mighty Brain, said “folks, we’ve been busy all night and tho
first light has already penetrated, we are going back to bed, as we are exhausted by all this noise herein encapsulated!
  Aug 2020 Nat Lipstadt
onlylovepoetry
People say they don’t understand [my songs], but I never believe that.
It’s like understanding an embrace…
”Leonard Cohen

<>for cj<>

perhaps, there is someone in this world, who does not
understand an embrace; something physical no doubt.

perhaps, you thought that first kiss was the portal to
shedding the inhibitors, lobes stings, first arousal aroma.

but you’ve been practicing embracing from toddler age,
but someday, it traverses from hugs to all-encompassing,

the sensory adaptors, go wild from shock; and you think
to yourself, dear god, you’ve been holding back on me!

   <>

two hands,
smooth the shoulders, slide down, elbows grasp,
you’ve been taken unawares, while fully aware you’ve been,
taken, taken, and need to take, more and back, take again,
and you can’t decide between reciprocation or incantation
breaking separation, if only to start over from the last lingering...

touching vibration and every sense erupting, and you think
I’ve never been fully  embraced, and now I understand the
music and muscle of your poetry, and will add my verses,
lay on my stanzas,
ocean crossings, seafaring voyages, exploring hands on hips,
then encapsulating another’s face, stroke, not squeezing

arms come to rest on a pacific neck, the hairs tensile teasing,
and you can’t believe this newly formed addiction and why
everyone simply doesn’t go about constant craving embracing,
racingoverloading uncomprehending, it’s fulsome fulfilling, quenching
a new thirst, a new taste, extending your ******* reach everywhere

you clear the catch, the cache, and your voice now begs, announces,
commands, whispers, screams, so many things that all emerge as
simply a guttural exclamation raw and needy, again, again, again,
you say it as if that was your vocabulary entire, a one word language
because it is, it is, the language of insatiable, the speech of
only love poetry*
embracing.
<>

the supply of words is not inexhaustible

neither are the combinations thereof;

what is inextricably true, of these two linkages

that is not exhaustive, is my endless delight,

in finding the ones that I’ve yet to contemplate

till you brought them waving to my eyes,

so as far as I’m concerned, you originate

delight daily, and that is the spark you create

making every day, the eighth day of creation of the world.






Sat Aug 22
2020
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