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 Oct 2017 bex
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
 Oct 2017 bex
Akira Chinen
She stole the poetry from his heart
and the color of love on her lips
made him stutter and blush
she replaced the air in his lungs
with the blue ocean
and beauty of sadness
trapped in the Vincent swirls
of magic dancing in her eyes
she gave his blood back
everything that was missing
or stolen or broken
from the life of days before
she was the touch
and the rhythm of madness
his feet needed to
dance
paint
shout again
he would always be falling for her
even when their hands
would never embrace
their lips never trade
soft or hard or long
kisses in the rain or sun or sin
for every poem she stole
she left behind
a reason
a dream
a love
for his heart to beat again
 Oct 2017 bex
nat
a poem for you.
 Oct 2017 bex
nat
i remember the first time i saw you
and a poem started forming
in my mind

how i would be describing the way
your hair flows over your eyes
or the way you would talk

how you knew what words to say
in times of my sadness
or even words to make me happy

you were the type of person
any poet would write about

i fell in love with you
and i could write about you endlessly

see even after you broke my heart
here i am
writing *a poem for you.
n.t
 Oct 2017 bex
Donna
The trees are blowing
The leaves are softly falling
I can see Tarzan
:) fun one
 Oct 2017 bex
Nat Lipstadt
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


This is not a poem.  This is about a poem.

Poems require words.  This poem does not require words.

This poem requires memories' muscles.
This poem requires what is called colloquially love.

Learn that what we share here is not poetry.

Your poetic senses that produce the words that mark you present
are but surgical tools to extract, release the whole and the parts of you that help shape that single sense borning in your chest that defines you at any particular moment.

Quæ est mater Laureat.

She is the Mother Laureate.

She is the boundary you must learn to cross to be more than a re-arranger of letters and alphabets, but a translator of the human essence and fill our veins with the a sense of awe and wonder felt when we read each other and think aloud,
"yes, exactly, that was and is precisely what I was feeling."

She is the glue that keeps us sticking here, sticking together, each of us sticking to it.  

You do not know her?  
No worries, she will find you when you least expect it, perhaps
when you need it.

This is not a poem.  This is a human who's a poem.

Understand the difference and then you may begin a journey
that has no destination other than weaving the connective tissue that makes us anticipating excited when we log on.

Happy Birthday Mother Poet Laureate!

I do not think I can write a better not poem for you.  
Forgive me then, if going toward, I repost this every
October 24th as long as the chemical composition of
blood, God, spirit, logos or reason runs free within,  
exiting as words encased in tears that formulate into
human poetry.

nattyman

P.S.There are 800 poems here with Sally in the title, and least 700  are about Sally B.   If you like, please  feel to free to add yours, old or new.
 Oct 2017 bex
Graff1980
Untitled
 Oct 2017 bex
Graff1980
Dear reader

I am wet with red death
wed to time’s inevitability
and all that is left of the true me
is here for you to read.

So, you should know
my beloved book lover
this weary word smith
must admit
that I love you.

I love you who
are here now
working with me
or against me
the sad, angry,
bitter, and lonely.

And I love you
who have yet to come,
the newly young,
the unborn babies,
the teenager
who will feel
so alone
but might find a home,
and solace from my verses.

And I love all those
who will never know
my words.
 Oct 2017 bex
Lora Lee
shush
 Oct 2017 bex
Lora Lee
He: I am not feeling very talkative tonight.
She: Oh, shut up.

-a humourous collaboration with zebra :)
humor
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