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  Jun 2020 onlylovepoetry
Nat Lipstadt
still be on my feat*

oh Joni you showed up at my door once more, Saturday morn,
blonde bangs and ***** voice, two octaves below shrill,
right about where the register intersection of
heart piercing, me humming, memory smiling,
poetry inspiring, yeah memories crying, that too

together, we have had more than many,
one case of you, a million sips, and I am writing
to see *how you're feeling
and to let you know
I never drank a case of you that left me,
being still, left me standing on my feat

my feat?

drank de-feat like it was the sea, boundless but not soundless,
sweet waves repeating, sea tears tinged with bittersweet cries of
Tupelo honey,
cause you were one of my angels,
lifting me higher when love was saying
not!
this time kid,
place, babe, not this peculiar particular apparition,  
wrong rendition,
and at last, finally, long time later, sheepishly, sweetly only,
what was her name

your voice stood me up, your words still slap my face with
cases of kisses upon my neck, tune-turning prophetic notions of
what's next still  be only just around the corner,
waiting on a new, simple twist of feat,
another song, poem, lover, and yet another,
case of you, so we can always see both sides,
and when I think of you Joni
my mind seesaws,
and I, still be on my feet, and thanks to you
ready for my feat

<•>
10:59am 10/28/17
  Jun 2020 onlylovepoetry
ogdiddynash
woman asks a why-oh-why
while-I’m-driving-interrogatory,

seeing that tears are rolling down
old poet’s face as we transverse
these United States,

on I-80, Heading to San Francisco,
over the George Washington Bridge,
commencing in Teaneck, New Jersey,
2,906 miles, not including getting lost.

Are you sad for any reason particular?
Are we lost already?

weeping for my country, for with every mile,
see amity and wisdom disappearing,
out the open window,
both by wind taken,
both forsaken,

our route is clear,
but I see what
I most fear, we are not lost,
but my country,
our poor country
is,
everywhere good people,
desperately seeking mercy now!
Mercy Now
Mary Gauthier
My father could use a little mercy now
The fruits of his labor fall and rot slowly on the ground
His work is almost over it won't be long, he won't be around
I love my father, he could use some mercy now
My brother could use a little mercy now
He's a stranger to freedom, he's shackled to his fear and his doubt
The pain that he lives in it's almost more than living will allow
I love my bother, he could use some mercy now
My church and my country could use a little mercy now
As they sink into a poisoned pit it's going to take forever to climb out
They carry the weight of the faithful who follow them down
I love my church and country, they could use some mercy now
Every living thing could use a little mercy now
Only the hand of grace can end the race towards another mushroom cloud
People in power, they'll do anything to keep their crown
I love life and life itself could use some mercy now
Yeah, we all could use a little mercy now
I know we don't deserve it but we need it anyhow
We hang in the balance dangle 'tween hell and hallowed ground
And every single one of us could use some mercy now
Every single one of us could use some mercy now
Every single one of us could use some mercy now
  Jun 2020 onlylovepoetry
Nat Lipstadt
Preamble: Compare and Contrast

compare and contrast,
the teacher asks us to
do this,
on a mid-term
exam and I am
                                  struck-up by a resonance combo, a commandment
                                  compare and contrast, somewhere an ineffable has
                                  ordered me to love poetry, in all/only honesty,
                                  in that uncertain way. without surcease.
                                    

                 ­                    functional verbs that a button pushed,
                                            a non-rhyme that sang out somehow
                                                “this is the writing life, this way, yours.”
                                    live and last.
  
with that single directive,
compare and contrast.
without surcease,
                   and your poem then,        has no The End.
preambleto a poem yet unwritten
  Jun 2020 onlylovepoetry
city of flips
our hips fit,
our hands entwine,
fingers unlockable,
laughing twogether,
“mighty fine”
she’s wearing the Levi’s,
I’m wearing the Strauss,
and it looks like we
been stitched together

her hand slides
easy in,
to my back pocket,
smiling
she announces,
we like, fit,
like a wedding announcement,
we fit like,
like an old country song

we see a movie
with our crew,
lights go up,
everybody loved it,
she secretly, her nose
wrinkly wrinkles,
one too long car chase,
my eyes are grinning
from corner to corner,
knowing she’s knowing
i’m all in, full in her
with agreement total

they took us to a tailor,
suits we required,
made to measure,
fit as perfect, as
perfect we be, as
perfect as we were,
matching customized,
white shirts, black tie,
shiny black shoes,
for matching caskets,
everyone saying
we just fit together,
even now,
crying ‘so long,’
for so long,
see you guys
so soon,
you two
fit,
like an old country song, one that everyone knows, all the words.
  Jun 2020 onlylovepoetry
city of flips
anthem

we pledge allegiance
to each other, our state
of-just-the-two-of-us,

hands on each other’s
heart, we cocoon, snuggle,
it’s always warm in our land

like Camelot, never rains,
always in agreement, every
votes never tied, for we are

a colorless world, only one,
the color of the day, is what
we feel, create, and believe

we sing only duets, our music,
only perfect pitch harmonies,
this our anthem, sung twice daily

when the sun should rise,
and when it should set, but,
since our sun never leaves

we do it for pure pleasure
some days, I love me my simple.
Midnight, bright moon,
breeze slightly soothing
the heat of day.
Scent of fresh blossoms
perfume strong in the
garden air.

Crickets in fine tune,
as are the frogs,
performing their endless
concert of night music.

Reluctant to let it go,
the day is ended now,
nearly indistinguishable
from the days before,
or the one tomorrow.
Retired with too much
time on my hands, days
bleed one into another.

What did I accomplish
today? Not much by some
peoples measure, not even
my own. . . But for one,

Spent time with my youngest
grandson, we talked in earnest
of things that mattered to
him, concerns and fears,
12 year old little boy things.
I listened, cajoled, advised,
shared some mistakes and
stories of my own youth. We
laughed, oh how we laughed.

He hugged me upon leaving
with tears of happiness and
relief in his eyes, told
me he loved me, twice.

Just a small encounter,
yet I believe he will
remember, perhaps
even be a little inspired.

For me brief sweet moments
invested, filled with precious
renderings of this wonderfully
special wholly worthwhile day,
not at all wasted, or the same.

As sleep pervades my thoughts
I will recall and cherish his laughter.
Perhaps tomorrow we will do it again.
Passing it on, to those
we love that is what life
is all about.
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