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awestruck
eyes sparkle towards
the silver sky and I see glimpses of
you in the craters of la lune

each night
I sing for you
in hopes la lune can
hear my harmonious tune
thanks for reading♥
 Apr 2016 Noa Barak
Jasmin
as i sat on a soft
and mowed lawn,
i saw the morning light
of the becoming dawn.

as i closed my eyes
to make a wish,
i remembered you as my star,
gone but alive in my mind at least.
 Apr 2016 Noa Barak
Mike Essig
Over the course of 64 years (and still), I have encountered so many women (including my still lovely ex-wife) in person and in writing who struggle with their looks. It seems to be an eternal theme that crosses generations. So, I decided to write this humble piece in reply.
There are some who would say I can’t write about women’s feelings because I am a man. A patronizing old, white man. I note their objecions, but I disagree. I believe humanity always trumps gender.
We live in an artificial culture created and controlled by advertisers. Not only do they sell us stuff, they convince us that we need it. Women are perfect targets for them.
So they have created impossible standards for women to live up to. You must always look like you are 25, young and thin. They tell you this is the key to being desired, even loved. As it’s impossible to be young and thin forever, they just happen to have the products that will “help” you. They want your minds so they can profit by manipulating them. They do a great job of it.
So the key to loving your bodies and yourselves is to take back your minds. This is difficult. You are bombarded with a barrage of words and images that say you are not good enough. If only you were younger, thinner, shaped like Barbie, not greying, had longer legs, bigger *******, wore a size 2, you would be happy, and — of course — men would desire you. You would never be traded in for a younger, sleeker model. So many insecurities to exploit.
But consider the difference between beauty and Beauty. Beauty is human, individual and eternal; beauty is abstract, mass and reliant on current tastes.
I have known many women of all shapes, sizes and ages who were Beautiful. That Beauty was expressed from their hearts through their faces and eyes. They radiated it. It was not dependent on my or any other man’s approval. It just was. So I know this can be done.
Fashion changes so there will always be new things to sell. To the current ad masters, the Gibson girls of the late 19th century would now be called fat. Sell them a diet plan and gym membership. The angular loveliness of the Venus de Milo too cold and boyish. Sell her cosmetics and plastic surgery. Mona Lisa, a dumpy Italian girl. So many things to sell her.
And then there is that intense desire to please men that begins with daddy. I often hear its echo even in the strident voices of the most ardent feminists. The advertisers trade on that. That’s deep. That’s very hard to overcome. That’s both an individual and a cultural problem.
But many women never seem to consider that a great many men aren’t dumb enough to buy the 25 and thin forever image and don’t really demand to be constantly pleased. They might actually be looking for intelligence, heart, affection and respect instead of a perfect ***. Not all, often not the young, but many.
At some point, you have to say no and mean it. You are not your age, dress size, cup size or waist size. Those are just outward manifestations of the true you. If someone rejects you on the basis of such ephemeralities, you are better off without them. You have to take control of your soul. No one can give you that except yourself. You have to live with yourself just as men have to live with themselves. Again, humanity trumps gender.
I unabashedly love women. They have been one of the great delights of my life. I love the difficulties and the differences. What a woefully dreary world it would be if men and women were they same. So, it pains me to see so many women in so much pain.
You are, first of all, a person and that is worth insisting upon. Insist. Demand. Escape, if necessary. Be the only you you can ever truly be. Then you will feel pretty. And you will be as pretty as you feel.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5dbshnvztGA

  ~mce
 Apr 2016 Noa Barak
Mike Essig
Wovon man nicht reden kann, darüber muss man schweigen.*

Within the
scrambled syntax
of lust we seek
the certain
grammar of love.
Choose any noun
I’ll become
your adjective;
Choose any verb,
I’ll modify you.
Together we will
birth a single
perfect sentence:
complete, simple,
compound, complex,
wholly… us.

  ~mce
 Apr 2016 Noa Barak
the Sandman
Love’s rising tide, from
Rest to rest; your moon-obsessed
Gleam rolled, on ripples
softly walked in beautiful sunshine
trying not to disturb the dream
wanting to find its comforting thought
at the end of its rainbow
wanting to know the lyrics to its heart's song
wanting to know at least once in this lifetime
its gentle kiss reassure that you are not abandon
by loves tender truth
softly walked on the pavement in a soft spring rain
felt as the long miles washed away
left me with only the sweetest part of the day
at the end of its rainbow
lay me down now
in the freshly mowed grass
summer taste to the air
lay me down with her memory
lay me down with a dream called hope
let me wander its beautiful day
at the end of its rainbow
with her tender kiss
reassuring that i have not been abandon
by loves sweet home in
her pretty heart
she set a polish to the brass pipes
with a careful hand she worried them
hours like a silent moving contemplation
she worked her way from one end of
the massive machine to the other
knowing every rivet
every dent and scratch
the hot steam leaving a sheen of sweat on her
the machines labored breathing filled her ears
alive to her she spoke to it
in a loving soft whisper
she felt the gauges and levers
with the familiarity of mother and child
knew its every creak and groan
with the heart of unconditional loving care
a steam engine is a living thing
a breathing feeling entity
a life of brass for bone
coal fire for a heart
powerful
deep
living
it loved her as much as she loved it
 Apr 2016 Noa Barak
Mike Essig
Twenty or twenty-one. All volunteers. Barely women.
Straight from school in a thousand small towns.
Straight into the mud and blood and madness.
We dragged our dying to their open arms.
Twelve hours shifts; often more. Wreckage of violence.
Round eyes. Smiles that healed. Hearts that broke.
Girls treating boys. Telling the necessary lies.
You're OK. You're fine. You're going home.
Valor danced in their faces. Lips that spoke hope.
Old now or dead. But forever young and alive
in the memories of 150,000 wounded soldiers
they saved and sent back to the world.
   ~mce
 Apr 2016 Noa Barak
Mike Essig
You are a
gentleness factory;
I want to
wrap my heart
up in all your
easy goods.
  ~mce
 Apr 2016 Noa Barak
Mike Essig
Move to the energy
of love which balances
the chaos of existence.
Love for yourself.
Love for your lover.
Love for the universe.
Make it a prayer.
Meditate upon it.
Dance actively among
the waves and photons.
Make it a dance of joy.
Dance yourself to ecstasy.
Become the energy
you sought and smile
at the fangs of death.
This is the only
immortality available.
Be at home in the world
you have made.
Where else can you live?
Where else would you want to?
Dance where you are.
Smile.
   ~mce
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