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Nat Lipstadt Aug 2013
"His mind would never romp again like the mind of God."
The Great Gatsby**


Does he fret,
Does he sweat,
Does he pay his bills
On Time,
Even tho his personal stash
Of anything,
Inexhaustible and
He bills himself?

Is he lonely,
So when he romps,
His greatest pleasure is
Inventing new kinds of pain?

Does he like to watch butter
Snowmelt,
Does he turn the honey jar
Upside down
Because viscosity is
A turn on?

Is he lonely?
Of course he is,
Is that why he endlessly
Tinkers with creative destruction?

Does he put strawberry jam
On his watermelon?
Salt on his wounds,
Caramelized onions in his
Cologne and parfumes?

Does he watch reruns?
The bombing of Dresden, Hiroshima?
The shaving of the heads of the French women?
What's his fav. late night host,
When he can't sleep
And. his damaged dreams
Become our unfortunate realities?

Acting childish, a métier,
So he can scold himself?
Does he keep score,
Ever say no more,
Contemplate suicide,
Or just murdering his sons?

Did he kiss Shakespeare's lips,
Or just his fingertips?
Does he sing a Capella
With Holly and Cooke,
Let Beethoven play rock n' roll?

What is he best excuse
For playing with
Tormented souls,
Making so many wonderful things
Forbidden fruit?

Does he worship regularly at the altar?
Irony his faith and skin his vestments?
Are his twisted straight,
His late, early?
His order disordered and when bored,
Does he just close his eyes and
Let us live in peace?
After seeing Gatsby.  Buddy Holly, Sam Cooke.
I saw a little lion cub roaming in the wild
romping through the grass a lionesses child
jumping up and down roaming through the shrub
lovely as can be this little lion cub
he was very happy as happy as can be
roaming through the jungle oh so wild and free
some day he will grow and he will have a pride
then he will settle down with his lion bride.
JA Doetsch Feb 2012
We will walk through the Cherry blossoms
in Japan, hand in hand, meandering through
the falling petals.  Our winding path
will weave through the countryside  with
no goal in sight.  We will stop in front of a
particularly beautiful tree, whose branches
are just beginning to look naked.

I will look at you, brush a stray blossom
from your hair...and whisper

           Aishiteru
               .                                                                ­                   
                   .                                                                ­                
                     .   .                                                                ­            
                               .                                                                ­          
                                     .                                                                ­        
                              We trek the Arctic circle and witness
                              the absolute beauty of the Aurora Borealis.            
                              We're be bundled tightly in our parkas,
                              but we are still be able to feel eachother's
                             warmth.  We laugh as we throw snowballs.
                             We lie in the snow and make angels.                          
                             Well...they'll start out as angels, but in the              
                            end, they'll just look like snow that two people        
                            have just rolled around in.                                    
                         ­                                                                 ­      
                           We can't help it.  As we embrace,                             
                           ­                   I whisper
                                                     Negligevapse                                 
                   ­                                      .                                          
                     ­                                     .                           ­             
                                                          .     ­                                   
                                                         .                                          
                     ­                                   .                             ­             
                                                     .                                            
                   ­                              .                                                  
             ­                              .                                                        
       ­                                                                 ­                          
         We stroll the beaches of Hawaii, refreshing ocean               
         breezes cool us.  I picked you a flower,
         which you now wear in your hair.  Your cinnamon              
         brown skin offsets your beautiful white smile.                     
         We run through the breaking waves, our feet                        
         leaving ephemeral indentations that are as                           
         fleeting as our cares.  We fall over into                                    
         the surf and let the ocean wash over us.                                        
                     ­                                                                 ­            
              I kiss your nose and tell you                                               
              ­        Aloha wau ia oi                                                            
  ­                            .                                    ­                                
                                ­  .                     In China, we race eachother along   
                                     .              .   the Great Wall to see who can get 
                                        .          .    to the end first.  We both end up   
                                           .   .       dragging eachother across the         
                                                    ­ finish line...which happens to be      
                                                  a few hundred feet away.          
                                               Th­e locals shake their                
                                           ­  heads disaprovingly, as we stifle      
                                             a giggle.  I lean in and remind you  
                                                           ­                                       
                         ­                                                  Wo ai ni..                    
                                                             .  .                      .            
                         ­                                 .       .                     .          
                                                       .            .                   .          
                                                     .               .                 .            
                                                   .                  .   .   .   .  .            
                                                 .                                                
               ­                In Soviet Russia, girl kiss you               
                               and I gladly let her, for she                       
                               and I have had one too many shots                  
                               of *****.  Our faces are rosy and                       
                               we lean into each other as our feet                    
                               make hard noises on the cobblestone                
                               streets.  Saint Basil's Cathedral                         
                              ­ looms over us, as our lips dance                       
                               a familiar dance.                                          
                ­                                                                 ­                 
                                          Ya tebya liubliu                                  
                       ­                          .                                                
                                                 .                                                
            .  .  .  .                          .               ­                                   
         .             .                      .                                         ­           
       .                .                   .                                                      
      .                    .  .  .  .  .  .                                                 ­       
    .                                                           ­                                   
We gaze at the Taj Mahal, a building                                              
built for a man's true love. I would                                                  
build you a city.  we take in the                                                            
mighty majesty of Everest.  I tell                                                      
you I'd climb it for you.  You tell                                                           
me to stop being silly, and say
you'd get bored waiting for me.
I give you a back rub instead.                                            

  Hum Tumhe Pyar Karte hae 
      .
        .
         .                                      We travel the dutch  countryside
           .                                  ­  and kick off our wooden shoes to
              .     .                           watch the tulips blooming.
                       .                 .     I dedicate an entire field to you.
                          .         .         You blush.
                              .   .         we fall asleep in front of a windmill,
                                           watching the shapes of the clouds pass
                                              over us. I whisper in your ear
                                                             ­                                                         
       ­                                                                I­k hou van jou
                                                             ­             .                        
                                                                ­         .                          
                                     ­                                  .                            
                                   ­                                  .                              
                                 ­                                  .                                
                               ­                                  .                                  
                             ­            .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .                                           ­ 
    France has never been as beautiful as                                                 
    it is now that you're here.  We skirt                                                  
    the cities and explore the countryside,                                            
    Endl­ess fields and clear skies bring                                                   
    out our inner children, and spend the day
    romping and rolling until our clothes                                         
    are stained and our muscles ache.  I                                                    
    ­lay beside you, panting.  In between                                         
    breaths, I manage to impart                                                          
­                                                                 ­                                           
               Je t'aime                                                           ­                      
                   .                                                                ­                        
                    .                                           ­                                             
                   ­   .                                                             ­                         
                        .              ­                                                                 ­     
                          .  .  .    .    .       .          .                                                    
                                                                ­                                            
                    ­                   We explore Roman ruins and concoct      
                                       our own love story had we been born     
                                       in the Ancient city.  I would have        
                                       been a mighty General, who saved      
                                       you from a terrible dicator.  You            
                                       ­tell me to stop quoting Gladiator.       
                                       We share a kiss under the shadow           
                                       of the colosseum.  I brush your         
                                       hair from your face...                       
                                  ­                                                                 ­       
                                                         ­                  Ti Amo                              
                                                                ­               .                          
                                                                ­                                          
                      ­                                                        .        ­                    
                                            ­                                                              
  ­                                                                 ­        .                              
                                                                ­                                          
                      ­                                                                 ­                   
                                             ­                           .                                  
  ­                                                                 ­                                       
                         ­                                                                 ­                
                                                ­                    .                                      
     ­                                                                 ­                                    
                            ­           You smile and reply                                   
                        ­                                                                 ­                 
                                               ­             I love you, too
Feeling hopelessly romantic today.
Kiagen McGinnis Jan 2012
old school rap,
you always tried to tell me and i couldn't listen until you were gone.

sunny open window naked romping music
moving forward from your empty body music

pale skin but not as pale as yours
was.

when i met this new
person
, he said

                                          it's time for new songs
                                          something to mark this page with

but i just keep rereading your obituary
miss you always, Thomas
Ah, paled and faded leaf. of spring agone,
Whither goest thou? Art speeding to
Another land upon the brooklet's breast?
Or art thou sailing to the sea, to lodge
Amid a reef, and, kissed by wind and wave,
Die of too much love?
Thou'lt find a resting place amid the moss,
And, ah, who knows! The royal gem
May be thine own love's offering.
Or wilt thou flutter as a time-yellowed page,
And mould among thy sisters,
Ere the sun may peep within the pack?
Or will the robin nest with thee
At Spring's awakening? The romping brook
Will never chide thee, but ever coax thee on.
And shouldst thou be impaled
Upon a thorny branch, what then?
Try not a flight; thy sisters call thee!
Could crocus spring from frost?
And wilt thou let the violet shrink and die?
Nay, speed not, for God hath not
A mast for thee provided.
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2013
Here are the names of my lovers,
The women I sleep with, whom
I use, like they use me.
Spent, they discard me, for when their pleasure needs
Satiated, they climb aboard another man.

What they do not know,
Is that in my mind, in my ears,
everywhere,
I did not let them, or you go,
We are still romping,
For I
Take them as needed.

I need them all,
For my pleasure needs, like my unshaped heart,
Addictive, endless.

If your is name is here, I do not
Apologize.

Pink
Adele
Lilly Allen
Anna Nalick
Bess Rogers
Beyonce
Brandi Carlisle
Cat Power
Colbie Callait
Duffy
Eva Cassidy
Evanescence
Alison Sudol
Fiona Apple
Florence Welch
Grace Potter
Ingrid Michaelson
You
Joni Mitchell
K.D. Lang
Kate Nash
Kate Voegele
Leona Lewis
Lizz Wright
Madeline Peyroux
Marie Digby
Mary Wells
Norah Jones
Regina Spektor
Sara Bareilles
You
Sara Haze
Taylor Swift and Tracy Chapman
Tristan Prettyman
Vanessa Carlton

So many others, used so long ago, I can't remember the faces,
Which can't be googled.

Use them hard, use them often, more than daily.
Bluntly, I tell you
Your name is on my list,
Even if I do not disclose it.
Courtesy of Mr. Howard.
"Madamina, il catalogo è questo
Delle belle che amò il padron mio;
un catalogo egli è che ** fatt'io;
Osservate, leggete con me."

"My lady, this is the catalog
Of the beauties loved by my master;
a list which I have compiled;
Observe, read along with me."

4/18/18 was hanging with sara b., and this popped up...
Sa Sa Ra  Oct 2012
Roaming Still
Sa Sa Ra Oct 2012
When we play...---...
Is it for our better'... or
for the better equipping's
of hearts, and minds freeing
to bare our souls within
as this body of life
life has given
living still
scribbles
of scripts
positioning
composition's
bets mete bettering
to better ourselves unto
this weather of givings
whether we see it 'tis
take's or receiving's
without the grace
of a child's it is
all too much
deceiving
one's
greener
leafing's fall
blowning off 'tis
grieving's leaving
going going
glowing
gone

Gong GONG GONGING GONG GONG!!!!

a
sad
noise 'tis
@ competition
shush'... listening
did you hear that if
you don't better me
i may better you
if  you don't
win,  i win
dominion
of you
too,
am
I?
Y
my
eye'...
the pain of bye's
in natures foreboding
I
by
eye
cops
comp
cop cop
for bronze
comping copper
stamping stomping
          ramp's romping
inclination's
phrasing's
of phases
chosen's
ration's
poses
to
e
y
e
be
war's
worshiped
rule breaking
nature's fool
forsaken
lost
'---
my
Y
do odes of '--- my'...??? of the sullen
gloomy calls within the ***** of tears
in paralyzing fears or of the faceless
ruse of starkness descending upon
a dimming simmering flame
shining yet or singing
'if I had a hammer'
one hammer pounds
one above, another below
another softens the soundings
of where the cooper's barrel is at
of making a rest for dearest guests
one basket withers glittering gone sold
another is casket's for the cooling
with taken souls captured
enslaved to undo ruins
whether by a taking
this being to grave
or in misgivings
crook simply
sins  fouled
"fooled" or
schooled
a fool
feels
all,
m
I
?
Y
is it
however
that dogs are
revered and best
friends
too
be
.
Y
so
then,
what is
humanity
for food controlled
leashed, collared gate
for a lease of our
soul tethering
weakening
pained ill
limping
gait
'--- ode
to the meek
the taken
of taker's
speaking's
mistakenly
tokened
tolls.

What are
being's selling's
paths by soles paving's
for hunger's relinquishing's
as footprints trodden the
starving are solemn's
no food for souls
with out love
the broken
...---...
pitch me a sales
as i already do wail
a 'poor granted soul
in soils poor planting
or then ...---... please!!!
leave and so take
your willing
chilling
chills
sown
as ...---...
to the forsaken
who depend on that pill
for the pain and the fright
which steals our dear breath
takes wings, life and flight
death walks as much
as the grim reaper
still is brewing
opiates for
balkers
asleep
walk
bye
as
I
---
you
'--- my
gr8 greeter
called life as the living
living in memories of darkness
to the soul calling light
sleeping by day
only by night
'tis flight
...---.... 'o
deceive me deception
i made you mad
really made
therefor
eyes
shuttered
fractal spawn
i can not beat thy
blinded own childs
if eye can not control
the only owners of me
sold for the glittering scold
you would be my excuses
as a mother defends
what a man can
not achieve he
must create
pretending
it's all in
the brewing
stillery stewing
so let us all play
the game as it is
of spiritual potions
where meek meets might
in the awesome of loathings
dark-lings of fear breathing omens
while dragon's breathe fire in deep keepers
Still Our Colosseum is so Romanesque
so forgive my doting while stilling
the stiller's still and so no, no
I am not that player of so,
called so of the gaming
darlings ac-cursing of
flashings thrashing
trashing of our
lives truly
dearest
here
eye
be
to
...---...
my friends clear and
Sow the never-ending story of
Our lives more worthy nurtured of loving as
Silly Will Nilly fairy dragons fired in the natures of love with
air to wax and oils fired breathing anew guidance for misgivings of
lost roaming tillers, till within it is found the pounding of lost vile's
Pouring out transmutations of the flowering scents of forgiving
Pearly rivers torrentially rush the heavenly sendings of
Soothing balm to wounds in mending and cries of
: SOS unattended finally heard as
<3 <3's ...---... <3 <3's
in the living river
of life walked
and spoken
words
are
LOVE IN ACTION!!!!!!
DING DING DING
GONG!!!!!!!!!
<3 <3
:)
Begin again!!!
Lovingly, Ra
Sa Sa Sun
Sunny
Run
Un
1
'
.
.
.
To the Roman and lost (to all those promises) roaming's of us all and the knives and swords we each wield both ways some slicing in vain in veins  and in others where hate is cleared from love as you will see, understand and accept. Yes, and still is in 'as' always and stiller-y, our brewery of soul potions more real than any witches or alchemy drink. The spirits within heart, mind, soul are the real transmutable of holy grail mountain movers, shakers, makers and breakers.

PS: ... --- ..., = SOS such is key to the rest if you would consider most other punctuation's here typical though minimally used.    
The way I wrote would be as 'help' and or 'save our souls' and 'save our selves' is worth a gander; http://acronyms.thefreedictionary.com/SOS

So about read again if you read once ignoring the ...'s and or ---'s that is overly well then is why I suggest just on the one hand as far as the read is concerned anyhow the rest you know already much about take the ...'s as s's and ---'s as o's got it go go go!!! The ...---...'s are best for your hearts choosing really of course always as with all!!! >3 >3 :) :) R

PPS: Stanza from "eye am I to ... --- ... (help) my friends dear has 3 consecutive lines respectively starting with S, O, and S leading also a second set with P P S : SOS unattended finally heard as hearts help hearts ding **** gong!!!!

PPPS: take PPS: as post post script in reading down in typical fashion or as across the lines loosely cryptic as post postmortem script, or un-dead finally!!!

PPPPS: “"If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn't be. And what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?” - Alice in Wonderland quote
http://thinkexist.com/quotes/alice_in_wonderland/

******written from the left margin indeed it too would be easier to follow some of the encrypted or encoded keys; but understanding that it still can be had as in final edit it is shifted right and overall the read and shape at least on a screen with enough pixels to me seemed over all having more potency for the more willing understood albeit!! Thank You!!! Ra

What a hungry soul can do running on two grapefruits and a cup of black coffee for the day!!!!
Nite Nite!!!

<3 <3 :) R
mark john junor Sep 2014
me and scarlet came down the coast
she sat window seat
pressed to the glass watching the world flow
from rocket ships headed to the skies
and beach bunnies romping in sunshine
what a strange world this place is
filled with magics and mystic tides

a Spaniard stood here with his wooden ship
like he had just conquered a new world
but time left him just a set of footprints in the sand
and away to sea once more went he
falling off the edge of the world somewhere out there

scarlet and me stopped in small town
shared a plate and a cup
sitting at the feet of a stone saint
holding his own cup so we poured him some soda
and laughed as we ran in the rain
what a strangely wonderful place this florida
a moonlight dream paradise
the far shore we had always dreamed
I saw a little lion cub roaming in the wild
romping through the grass a lionesses child
jumping up and down roaming through the shrub
lovely as can be this little lion cub
he was very happy as happy as can be
roaming through the jungle oh so wild and free
some day he will grow and he will have a pride
then he will settle down with his lion bride.
brandon nagley Jun 2015
Consort shadows
Nakedly romping to mirage of sunset sun
Celestial beings encountered
By druid's they've just begun
They dance around the stonehenge
Whilst speaking and chatting verses
They've left the inner world
Trampled the duney surface
They write upon those stones
Ogham scripted writing
Leaving marks amongst moss
Their heaviness of sweat inviting
Though one cameth from Spain
A foreigner to the stonehenge barbarian
Her moonlight giveth him warmth
On the shores of valedictorian!!!!
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2015
that’s the thing with those trophy wife types,
never really mandible in *** like a jaw ought to be,
too stiff, too anorexic model type:
pooch pooch a handbag full of duck quack pouts of the lips.
i like mandible women, scary scarred women,
the types that will grow into fond babushkas
and cook you a broth.
ah all this crap with daddy longlegs walking into a paparazzi
web of flashes is ruining the red carpet,
i was about to frizz it up into cushion afro softness
that would be quicksand for high heels.
i need blotches i need survival skills that hold the skin together,
every wrinkle, every passing jest of “irrelevance,”
every amulet glow of feeling through the kaleidoscope of depression,
jet-lag i call it, although i rather call it trombone,
with the numbers it was bound to happen, leaving the mammalian
kingdom and entering the insect kingdom, it was bound to happen,
the lost identity tiling the earth, ploughing the eardrum for symphonies,
it was just waiting... just waiting... like a spider waiting
with the flies of the urbanisation of green & green...
can’t change my mind... blotches on skin and bulges of missing protein
on the hips... perfect girth for child rearing...
i don’t like perfect... it’s supposed to have an aesthetic aura of an art
gallery... instead it has an aesthetic aura of hygiene of a hospital;
i arrested all the beauticians while talking to the paediatricians
painting my nails with u.v. liquorice in this hospital of hygienic looks
but unhygienic romping pompoms that swayed man to chlamydia.
WhyamIaSpoon  Nov 2012
Nameless
WhyamIaSpoon Nov 2012
flesh smirks cautiously
silent beehives squelching elk
leaps glumly, mules snarl

bluebird builds, rigid
foundlings disappear lamely
incarnations peck

raw conjurers acts
devious shady agile
rosemary boasts, stare

starflower hovers
depression gives birth snidely
harps romping mustang

— The End —