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brandon nagley Sep 2015
i.

Ernesto L. Gonzales
Aka "DedPoet";
A prayer up to heaven
As the angel's awaiteth and knoweth.

ii.

Thou hath blessed us all
With thy beauty and difference;
Not like the rest, one of the great's, the best
A man, a king, an angel amongst the innocent.

iii.

This is not thine death
This is thy new birth;
Put thy faith in god, not creature's nor human facade's
For seraph's and cherub's awaiteth thee,in the creator's church.

iv.

This is for thee, one of mine dearest supporter's
Thou art a friend, though didst not talk much;
I still felt thine pen, thine hand of gratitude
Thine family is blessed, to hath known a being of beatitude.

v.

Thy word's shalt liveth on, thither the great paradise
Thou shalt not be forgotten, thou art worth more in ourn eye's;
As thy life, is not worth material money nor gem's
Thy life is priceless, because it's from God, awaiting thee friend.

vi.

Ernesto L. Gonzales, a Godsend to Hellopoetry
Ernesto L. Gonzales, half divine messenger, part mortal breed;
Ernesto L. Gonzales, I thanketh thee for all thou hath done
Ernesto L. Gonzales, Jehovah's eternal poet, a chosen one.




May god bless you and your family ernesto, as remember poet friend Ernest, what a doctor said isn't always a death sentence, only Christ and god the father is your doctor, Christ heals ernesto all!!! Though if he does take you friend, may your soul rest in heaven, may the angel's bless you on your journey, and may you continue to speak your poetry in soul and spirit form,
May God bless you dedpoet, and have faith,
Your friend.
Brandon Cory Nagley...

©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Ernesto L. Gonzales[aka DedPoet) dedication
"Casa Gonzales, leave a message."

                     In this lilting, merry voice,          

                                        you can hear her kindness,

                                         even that famous dry wit.
                                                          
 ­                              A dusty Sunday afternoon drew me here,

                             and I knocked shyly on the handmade door.
                                                          
                             Stirred from easy conversation with friends

                                   by the energetic, furry little dogs,

                              a tall, courtly gentleman came to greet me.

                                      In him I saw a graceful manner,

                          the wisdom of a life well-lived, and kindness too.
                                                          
 ­                            Together we walked to the opened door of

                                    the little casita beside their home.

                                     They had been newlyweds here,

                                    began their family in this bedroom

                                              that could be mine.
                                                          
                                  Looking down at me, more than once,

                                     he said: "You would be safe here."

                                    Words that soaked into my bones,

                                                  into my heart.
                                                          ­
                                           Time has gone by and I

                                         have made my home here

                                         on this simple, holy ground,

                                           beneath the shining stars,

                                          safe, and deep in joy, beside

                                             Casa Gonzales.
Poem from an earlier time... with New Mexico on my mind... and in my heart...
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2016
preliminary explanation

before i really begin the project i have a few scatterings
of thought that made me do this, without real planning,
a different sort of impromptu that poetry's good at,
less Dionysian spur-of-the-moment with an already
completed poem entwined to a perfect ensō,
as quick as the decapitation of Mary Boleyn with the
executioner fooling her which side the swing would
be cast by taking of his hard-soled-shoes -
i mean this in an Apollonian sense - i know, sharp contrasts
at first, but the need to fuse them - i said these are
preliminary explanations, the rest will not be as haphazardly
composed, after all, i see the triangle i'm interested it
but drawing a triangle without Pythagorean explanation
i'm just writing Δ - i'll unravel what my project is
about, just give me this opportunity to blah blah for a
while like someone from an existential novel;
what beckoned me was the dichotomy of styles,
i mean, **** me, you can read poetry while in an awkward
yoga position, you can read it standing up, sitting down,
eating or whatever you want - obviously on the throne
of thrones taking a **** is preferred - the point being
what's called serious literature is so condensed for
economic reasons, font small, never-ending paragraphs,
you need an easy-chair and a bottle of cognac to get
through a chapter sometimes - or at least freshly mowed
grass in a park in summer - it's really uncomfortable because
of that, and the fact that poets hardly wish upon you
to be myopic - just look at the spacing on the page,
constantly refreshing, open-plan condos, eye-to-eye -
but it's not about that... the different styles of writing,
prose and the novel, the historical essay / encyclopedia
or a work of philosophy - what style of writing can
be best evolutionary and undermine each? only poetry.
poetry is a ballerina mandible entity, plastic skeletons,
but that's beside the point, when journalism writes history
so vehemently... the study of history writes it nonchalantly,
it's the truth, journalism is bombastic, sensationalist
every but what courting history involves -
a journalist will write about the death of a 100 people
more vehemently than a historian writing about the Holocaust...
or am i missing something? i never understood this dichotomy
of prose - it's most apparent between journalism and history...
as far as i am concerned, the most pleasurable style of
prose is involved in the history of philosophy, or learning per se,
but i'll now reveal to you the project at hand -
it's a collage... the parameters?

the subject of the collage

it weighs 1614 grams, or 3 lb. and 8 7/8ths oz.,
it's a single volume edition, published by Pimlico,
it's slightly larger than an A5 format,
3/4 inches more in length, and ~1 centimetre in
width more, it has a depth of 1 and 3/4 inches in depth,
a bicep iron-pumping session with it in bed -
i was lying with this behemoth of a book
in bed soothing out a semi-delirium state
listening to Ola Gjeilo's *northern lights

and flicking through the appendix, and i started thinking,
no would read this giant fully, would they?
the reason it's a one volume edition is because
the only place you'd read such an edition would
be in a library, at a desk, and you'd be taking snippets
out from it, quotes, authentic references points
for an essay, esp. if you were a history student,
such books aren't exactly built for leisure, as my arms
could testify... after the appendix i started flicking
through as to what point of interest would spur me
onto this audacious (and perhaps auspicious)
act of renegading against writing a novel (in the moment,
in the moment, i can't imagine myself rereading plot-lines
after a day or two, adding to it - that's a collage too,
but of a different kind - and no, i won't be plagiarising
as such, after all i'll be citing parallel, but utilising
poetry as the driving revision dynamic compared
to the chronologically stale prose of history) - i'll be
extracting key points that are already referenced and not
using the style of the author - the book in question?
Europe: a history by Norman Davies prof. emeritus
at U.C.L. - the point of entry that made me mad enough
to condense this 1335 page book (excluding the index)?

point of incision

Voltaire (or the man suspected of Guy Fawkes-likes spreading
of volatility in others) -
un polonais - c'est un charmeur; deux polonais - une
bagarre; trois polonais, eh bien, c'est la question polonaise

(one pole - a charmer, two poles - a brawl, three poles -
the polish question) - mind you, the subtler and gentler
precursor of the Jewish question, because the Frenchman
mused, and not a German, or a Russian brute...
and i can testify, two Polish immigrants in a pub,
one senior, the other minor, one with 22 years under
his belt of the integration purpose, one with 12 years,
the minor says to the senior about how Poles bring
the village life to cities, brutish drunkards and what not,
it was almost a brawl, prior to the senior was charming
a Lithuanian girl, before the minor's emphasis on
such a choice of conversation turned into idiotic Lithuanian
nostalgia about the disintegration of the Polish-Lithuanian
commonwealth, primarily due to the Polish nobility.

10,000 b.c.

looking that far back i don't know why you even
bother to celebrate the weekend -
i mean, 10,000 years back Denmark was
still attached to Sweden,
England was attached to France,
and there was a weird looking Aquatic landmass
that would become a myth of Atlantis
in the Chronicles of Norwich,
speedy ******* Gonzales with the equivalent
of south america detaching itself from Africa...
mind you, i'm sure the Carpathian ranges are
mountains. they're noted here are hills or uplands,
by categorising them as such i'm surprised
the majority of Carpathian elevations as scolded
bald rocky faced, a hill i imagine to have some
vegetation on it, not mountain goats with rock and roof
for a blacksmith in a population of one hundred...
at this point Darwinism really becomes a disorientating
pinpoint of whatever history takes your fancy,
Europe - mother of Minos, lord of Crete,
progenitrix / ******* and the leather curtains
of Zeus's harem (jealous? no, just the sarcasm
dominates the immortal museum of attachable
****** to suit the perfect elephant **** of depth
the gods sided with, by choice, excusing the Suez
duct tightening of a prostate gland... to ease the pain
upon ******* rather than *******); mentioned by Homer
the Blind tooth-fairy, the Europe and the bull,
Europoeus and the swan, same father of wisdom to mind,
on the shores of Loch Lomond -
attributes a lover to the bull, Moschus of Syracuse,
who said earring Plato cured him of where the ****
should not enter even if it shines a welcome
in the disguise of Dionysius... revisionists bound to Pompeii
named Titian, Rembrandt, Rubens Veronese
and Claude Lorrain revived the bulging bull's *******
and her mm hmm mm, too gracious my kind, hehee...
Phonecians from Tyre and Io - so too the Sibyl of ****** -
and unlike the great river civilisations of the Nile,
the Ganges, soon to be the Danubian civilisations
and gorged-out-eyes-that-once-sore-colour-but-lost-sight-of-
colours-­after-seeing-the-murk-of-the-Thames...
soon the seas overcame civilisations of the rivers,
as Cadmus, brother of the thus stated harlot said:
i bring you orbe pererrato - hieroglyphics of the cage,
but not an owl or a hawk inside it -
so let's perfect speaking to an encoding by first
rummaging into learning how to procure the perfect
forms of counting - i say left, you say I, i say right
you say II, left right left right, what do you say?
VI. bravo! the Hellenic world just crossed the Aegean
and civilisation bore twins within the cult of a lunar-mother,
Islam of Romulus and Remus, a she-wolf
a canine of the night - according to another -
tremulae sinuantur flamine vestes - or so the myth goes -
a cherished phantom of what became the fabled story
of sole Odysseus with his ears open and the remnant
sailor's ears waxed shut - as if the bankers of this world,
revelling in culprit universal fancy than nonetheless
bred the particular oddities - lest we forget,
the once bountiful call of the sirens to the oceanic
is but a fraction of what today's sirens claim to be song,
a fraction of it remains in this world, the onomatopoeia
of the once maddening song, the crude *******
arrangement of vowels bound to the jealous god's
déjà vu of the compounding second H.

from myth to perpetuating a modern sentiment

you can jump from 10,000 b.c. to the Munich Crisis
of 1938 - 9 with a snap of the fingers,
imitating quantum phenomenons like gesticulating
a game of mime with Chinese whispers necessary,
if Europe is a nymph, Naples her azure eyes,
Warsaw her heart, Sebastopol and Azoff,
Petersburg, Mitau, Odessa - these the thorns
in her feet - Paris the head, London the starched collar,
and Rome - the sepulchre
.
or... die handbuch der europaischen geschichte
notably from Charlemagne (the Illiterate)
to the Greek colonels (as apart from Constantine to
Thomas More in eight volumes, via Cambridge mid
1930s)... these and some other books of urgency
e.g. Eugene Weber's H. A. L. Fisher's, Sr. Walter Ralegh,
Jacob Bronowski... elsewhere excavated noun-obscurities
like gattopardo and konarmya had their
circas extended like shelved vegetables in modern
supermarket isles, for one reason or another...
prado, sonata sovkino also... some also mention
Thomas Carlyle (i'd make it sound like carried-away isle,
but never mind); so in this intro much theory,
how to sound politically correct, verifiable to suit
a coercion for a status quo... Europe as a modern idea,
replacing Imperum Romanun came Christendom,
ugly Venetian Pirates at Constantinople,
Barbarossa making it in pickled herring juice
in a barrel to Jerusalem... once called the pinkish-***-fluff
of Saxony, now called the pickled cucumber,
drowning in his armour in some river or Brosphorus...
alchemists, Luther and Copernicus were invited on
the same occasion as the bow-tie was invented,
apparently it was a marriage made for the Noir cinema,
beats me - hence the new concept of Europe,
reviving the idea of Imperium Romanun
meant, somehow including Judea in the Euro
championship of footie gladiator ***** whipped
narcissists, rejecting the already banished Carthage
(Libya / Tunisia by Cato's standards) and encouraging
the Huns, the Goths and the even more distant Slavs and
Vikings to accept not so much the crucifix as
the revised spine of the serpent but as the geometry of
human limbs, well, not so much that, but forgetting
Norse myths of the one-eyed and the runic alphabet
and settling for ah be'h c'eh d'ah.
dissident frenche stink abbe, charles castel de st pierre
(1658 - 1743) aand this work projet d'une paix perpetuelle
(1713) versus Питер Великий who just said:
never mind the city, the Winter Palace... i have aborted
fetus pickles in my bedroom, lava lamps i call them.
the last remaining reference to Christianity?
Nietzsche was late, the public was certain,
it was the Treaty of Utrecht, 1713, with public reference
to the republica christiana / commonwealth was last made.
to Edmund Burke: well, i too wish no exile
upon any European on his continent of birth,
but invigorate a Muslim to give birth on it
and you invigorate an exile nonetheless:
Ezra expatriate Pound / sorry, if born in eastern
europe a ***** Romanian immigrant, pristine
expatriate in western Europe, fascist radio has
my tongue and *****, so let's play a game:
Russian roulette for the Chinese cos there's
a billion of them, and no one would really mind
a missing Chow Mein... chu shoo'ah shaolin moo'n'kah!
or a cappuccino whenever you'd like to watch
classic Italian pornographic cinema with dubbing
with nuns involved... Willaim Blake and his
stark naked prophesy, pope pius II (treatise 1458)
even though Transylvania, Tharce and Hungary
shared the same phonetic encoding with diacritical
distinctions like any Frenchman, German,
or Pole at the Siege of Vienna (1683)
to counter the antagonising Ottoman - i swear historians
do this one purpose, juggle dates and head-of-state figures
prior to entering a chronology - they must first try out
a ******* carousel before playing with the toy-train...
broadcasting to a defeated Germany public, T. S. Eliot
(1945) ****** import to into Western Germany
and talk of the failing moral fabric, China laughing
after the ***** intricacies of warfare of trade,
what was once wool we wished to be silk...
instead of silk we received vegetarian wool, namely
hemp, and Amsterdam is to blame... nuke 'em!
that's how it sounds, how a historian approaches
writing a history from the annals, from circa and
circumstance and actual history, foremost the abbreviations,
the fishing hook standards, the parameters,
the limits, and then the mathematics of history,
one thing culminating into another... contra Lenin
N. S. Trubetskoy, P. N. Savitsky, G. Vernadsky
Russian at the perks of the Urals - steppe Tartar shamans
or salon pranced pretty **** boys? where to put
the intoxicant and where to put the mascara... hmm,
god knows, or by 21st calculations, a meteor;
they say the history of nations is a history of women,
then at least the history of individuation
and of men who succumb to its proliferation
is astoundingly misogynistic.
Seton-Watson, among the the tombstones too reminded
of remarkable esteem and accomplishment
with only one gravedigger to claim as father...
as many death ears as on two giraffe skeletons
stood Guizot, men of many letter and few fortunes,
or v. v., incubators of cousin ***** and none the kippah
before the arrogant saintly diminished to
a justly cause of recession, ha ha,
by nature's grace, and with true advent of her progression
as guard-worthy pre- to each pro-
and suggested courteous of the ****** fibre,
oh hey, the advent of masqueraded woofing,
a Venetian high-brow, and jealousy out of a forgotten
spirit of adventure that once was bound
to hunting and foraging... forever lost to write  history of
a king dubbed Louis the XIV...
crucibles and distastes for the state to be pleased,
once removed from Paris, forever to Angevin womb
accustomed once more, at Versailles released -
as cake be sown so too the aristocratic swan necks
for worth of mock and scorn - and the dampening rain
rattle the blood-thirst of the St. Bartholomew's Day
slaughter, to date, the rebirth of Burgundy,
of Anjou, and with the dead king presiding, to be
of no worth in judging himself a king before god or pauper...
saluer Antoine Quentin Fouquier-Tinville!
that i might too in stead rattle a few bones prior to burial
with the jaw that will laugh and chatter least
had it been to my kingly-stead a birth so lowly.
then at least in satisfactory temperament i procure a
judgement of the noble like of a *****
for an hour's worth of pistons and jarring tongues...
as if from a nobleman then indeed as if from a *****,
for who sold Europe and said: Arabia, if not the
Frenchman, the Englishman, the Spaniard?
the former colonial conquests served you not enough?
i imagine the reinstatement of Israel like
the Frankish states under Philippe-August...
precursors to a cathedral dubbed Urban the 2nd's..
there were only Norwegian motives in the Ukraine
and the black sea... Israel to me is like plagiarism
of the Frankish states of the middle-east, with Europe
slightly... oom'pah loom'pah mongolian harmonica.
some said Rudyard Kipling poems,
some said Mr. Kipling's afternoon tea cakes -
whichever made it first on Coronation St.
some also say the Teutonic barbecues -
it was a matter of example to feed them hog
and cannibalise the peasants for ourselves,
a Prussian standard worth an army standard of
rigour - Ave Maria - letztre abendessen nahrung -
mein besitzen, wenn in die Aden, i'd be the last
talking carcass...
gottes ist der orient!
gottes ist der okzident!
nord - und sudliches gelande
ruht im frieden seiner hande.

germany's lebensraum, inferiority and classification,
inferior slavs and jews, genetics and why my
hatred of Darwinism is persistent, you need
an explanatory noting to make it auto-suggestive
for Queen & Country? diseased elements,
Jewish Bolshevism, Polish patriotism,
Soviets, Teutons, the grand alliances of 1918
or 1945? Wilsonian testimony of national self-determi
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
finding gravity on a bicycle...

surely... given that most people
don't write a ******* hemmingway...
and there's no william buckley jr.
doing the interview...
and there's no norman mailer...

and that: no one really bothers
with kierkegaard and that:
kant "famously" didn't marry starry crap...
why didn't i have kids
and start a family?
uh... dunno... mother's best lie...
or the best lie a neighbour brings
with her... whenever you're
being a 2nd witness without
the 1st witness being there...

and she says an "also" with regards
to her son having the same luck
with women...
when the comparison comes:
a koala bear versus a gorilla...
bonsai tiger!
like a koala is a ******* bear
to begin with...
cuddly soft-pouch toy-ah-thing!

but there's that great feat!
finding gravity on a bicycle...
my mother helped me with that...
and that famous fail of
a rotondo... well... more or less
a cricket ground egg shaped, oval...
or a rugby ball...
the shoulder on the salto bike
hard... rammed into a car....

as a child you were supposedly well
loved...
and this is modern poo'etry i hear about?
here's to: john sounding like johny...
will sounding like *****...
richard sounding like: **** and not richy...
it's cute... matthew... matti: finnish...
leonard is: leo oh leo...
why art we all not named: Li Lo Po!

of course everyone managed to spot
the tetragrammaton vowel catchers that's
hey'zeus! no... not the bloke strapped
to the mannequin of tailoring...
oh no... not the crucifix pendulum
"for us all"... by blood... by cross...
who is to exfoliate on the crucifix...
better than some well scouted for materials
on a mannequin canvas for tailoring
a suit?
the guilt?! oh the guilt!
well... thank god this metaphysician would
never address the material realm of
enjoying a... dabble with... wool...
when donning a suit...
or leather shoes... or any presence of suede...
beside the crucifix mannequin: replica
and pittance!

- but finding gravity on a bicycle is one thing...
finding gravity when swimming is another...
it's called gravity...
but some heretical circles call it:
balance...
after all... it is both gravity...
and balance... given that while riding
a bike... or swimming...
you're pretty much sure, assured:
to not be falling...

you can find gravity with newtonian hindsight...
of sure...
that's there... it involves the magicians orbs...
copernican mathematics and...
target practice when it comes to
propaganda spew...
and Steward... the lesser... Stew...
cousin of the house of Stuart...
not Steward... Stuart...
which is (again)...
a McKiteit and MacCoddlewit...
some Glaswegian *****-donor clinic
"miss-up" mix-it: tend to...
lounging busy... which is of course...
besides the "look"...

5 bazookas cleared for a salvo!
hip hip! burger-pound!
hip hip! boom shizzle shoom!
hip hip! hooray!
oh now we'z getz uz best
partay birth doy wishy-washy
"protagonists"!

but given the current Persian affair...
i couldn't help to notice...
love actually... the narrative...
the u.s.a. and england...
the Z-spezial re-la-tion-ship...

so... who's spastic... and who's fantastic?!
spaz: B-bristolian-esque joking...
never aside...
who's the spaz and who's the frizzy-fuss?!

spe-zial mother russia talks down
to dog Kiev: yes, it's in (the) Ukraine...
spezial iz not what iz?

h'america... kept a yorkshire terrier...
media leetches of england
firmly in its grasp...
cuz onez we woz: once -
the militia contra the crown...
of north virginia...

coz b'rah: a 79-year-old man
who lit himself on fire protesting
against russia's language policies
in the capital of the volga region
of udmurtia has died;
name? alberto raisin...
which sounds terrible in its
non-native spanish...

but there's something worth of gravity
without debating
the heliocentric model...
finding one's balance on a bicycle...
a posteriori events...
but... the same balance can be
translated into a swimming session...

my god my father tried to teach me...
if i was supposed to learn
to swim in the sea...
with the fear: of not seeing the depth?
isn't that like a thesaurus
congestion of: acrophobia?
isn't there a word in the borrowed
lexicon of the ancient greeks...
concerning... fearing to swim in a body
of water... where you can't see the bottom?
i could learn to swim in a swimming
pool... thankfuly all because and due to...
moi...

i also found gravity in water...
i could... lie in water and become...
the antithesis of: the body consists
of 90% of water...
yes sherlock watson & sons... ltd...
but in water i'm mostly fat...
if i find the right balance...
i float...
which is why swimming is a bit
like riding a bicycle...
you find: the center...
or gravity...

again... in this special "relationship"
of bruv-love...
between h'america and whittle brit-pop interlude...
oasis on the continent...
my my... blur, even...
breakfast at tiffany's back in the dough-dough-us...
who is the ******* SPASTIC?
in this "SPEZIAL" relationship?
i guess the english must be the SPEZIALS...

a bit like watching:
go-go-gonzales trip up on a spelling mistake...
which is all i care for...
like a comedia...
a deviation from the informal, later,
subject of language implementation...
and all this peacocking prior...

where else does gravity allow itself...
a presence of the multi-vector?
up and down... left and right...
it's not as easily explained as:
on a ledge... with an apple...
drop it... newton with a header!
a 1-all equalizer in stoppage time
an F.A. cup re-match!

gravity on a bicycle...
it's hardly a drop affair...
gravity in water...
it's hardly merely swimming...
there's that aspect of finding... buoyancy...
there's not need for you to swim...
to exhert so much effort...
that you might as well drown 10 meters
in after swimming the 'undred...

no buoyancy: no chinese fortune cookies...
i still don't know which is more grand...
beside the acrobatics of... olympic level
acrobatics...

it's not bound to youth via lifting weights...
or supreme mao tse tung's winter olympics
of: hunger strikes in Vinter...
the gravity bound to a bicycle...
or the gravity bound to swimming...
after all... the latter is a bit "funny"...

"levitation" and buoyancy...
the dracula soundtrack:
only because of gary oldman and the composer
wojciech kilar... and the given, current...
b.b.c. spin-off and how...
yes... it's that terrible...
i don't even know where those five-stars
came from!
the archetype of feminine romance novels?
the syphilitic lover? the "vampire"?

yes, no? two guesses as good as: nein - keiner...
and, quiet honestly...
nothing could make this exercise in:
not engaging in any of all the available
comments sections on any website...
any worse... than it already is...

it comes as no surprise that: i write this poo'ems
not because i don't write poetry...
but because i will neither write
a poem by standards reserved for
pedagogy or demagogy...
or write identifiable puzzle-bog-trots of...
language reserved for politicization:
and not for... counter-marxist...
"psychiatric" post-...
hardly modern or... "today's journalism"...
eh... pushing it toward a Beckett-clause...
concerning language that is not expected...
oh but i certainly do know
a difference between formal language
and... this... the informal language...
the cognitive extension that does not
require a "free speech" protection bias...

none of this was spoken...
it was seen...
weaved into "thinking"...
that's the difference... isn't it?
from my end of the tenniscourt "promenade"
i've heard nothing but clickick...
off this dead-end replica piano
of a qwer
asdf
zxcvbnm

unless my shadow spoke... or there was some
telepathic connection
with the schizoid "group-think" of me
sourcing my sometime odd...
cognitive-murmors of "thought"...
"hallucinations"...
so be it...

this defence of a freedom of speech...
how does that even extend into writing?
i will never know...
and to be honest? i don't want to know...
writing is an extension of thinking...
which is also an inversion of speaking...
but it's never speaking...
where's the audio on this piece?!

how about... plucking your eyes out,
after fating yourself with the
original curiosity to begin with?
sounds better: than... what still persists as...
not being, said!

this was written, it wasn't said...
this is not a transcript...
this is not a transcript...
if this is censored...
then my... "schizophrenia" is not even
my original thesis of: bogus
mono-lingual parody of bilingualism...
no need to cite **** sapiens
jurisprudence advocates...
lawyers... the thesaurus bargain barons etc.
this is... what's those words they use?
invasion of the tabernacle?
do my "auditory hallucinations" stem from...
these words...
a private investement in internet access...
again: nothing is being said!
because this is a "public arena"...
a "forum"...
and the eyes on the other side of this text...
are c.c.t.v. eyes?!
not private eyes?

what's the point of freedom of speech?
when the freedom to think:
and subsequently write... is bombarded
by being who: see via reading braille...
and read... comments likes dislikes and all
those other ratios?

writing is an extension of a freedom
to think... most people who speak freely
don't speak via a precursor script...
that's not free speech: that's scripted speech!
and just because it happens be placed
in a public "forum"...
that's the argument that this writing
is a freedom of "speech"?!
really?! i guess your average u.s. citizen
is more despotic than the *******
president... then...

again.. blah blah blah blah blah...
blah blah.... blah blah blah blah blah...
blah... blah blah... blah blah blah blah blah blah...

you'd sooner convince a parrot to sing
you a song in sparrow than call this "debate"...
evenly focused on one or neither side "winning".
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2015
~for Ernesto, with love~

these last days, so recently arrived
to nag/remind, pre-commence,
the celebration
of mine fast approaching,
significant other mileage marker,
the day that is the in-between mid and seniority,
finds me asleep by nine,
only to be turned hard a starboard,
startled and startling,
sharp awoken at midnight,
a headful of dreadful and most colorful dreams,
my ever faithful midnight alarm clock

so I find myself alert and inclined to be
urgently communicative,
answering queries from friends,
catching up on comments and likes
to my poems that once penned,
are then penned by me themselves,
surrounded by fences,
put away to be ignored and enclosed,
my flock of sheep unshorn

that upon occasional re-reading
then become hairless, all pink and white skin,
newly denuding of me
by the reminder of public exposure

this travelogue
through heart and mind
is journey for journey's sake,
I have discarded older outdated notions
(the "outdated" conceptual
begs for a poem all its own)

of commencement, beginnings,
ends, finales, terminals. even periods.

instead I conquistador land upon a new
plateau, familiar but confusing,
where my muddled thoughts
have lain for several days,
cloudy in a accumulating cumulus of realizations,
the "compare and contrast" of
life and death,
their gravitas diminished,
understanding them to be but modest signposts
upon the path of this
stewing, brewing, yearning to be free
poem
~~~
The In-Between

all day, I too,
am penned in a museum auditorium,
listening, hearing, applauding a gorgeous gaggle
of writers, musicians, doctors and dancers,
security guards and comic book authors,
falsely accused death row prisoners,
sons and daughters
and yes,
even a poet laureate

all assembled to contemplate this connective notion
of curator-as-written
with capitals and hyphen (most appropriately) as
The In-Between

of course dear Ernesto,
everyone defines their personal in-between
personally
but all these artists corral my thoughts
onto and against a canvas blank,
awaiting the portrait painting
slow cooking in my oven

of you,
who lays dying in Texas
surrounded by family and
the notions of reconciliation
and thus birthing
in me
these words,
something new ironical,
if only to prove a point

You,
my self-appointed
mentee
ex-drug addict, father,
self-savior of yourself
make

I,
your mentor, cheerleader, steadfast critic armed
with
just encouragement enough to give your self-propelled
poetry an occasional push
of your hand-carpentered, tree swing

but this is a poem about
in-betweens

two words,
separate and equal
but when combinated by a
hyphen,
a dash that leaves no spaces
in-between
making two into one

for you and I
are both

in
and
between

each other

two-in-one

only a few weeks ago we talked about
you coming to my new york city,
and now life deserts you,
and you,
me?

here I pause and smile
for I hear you thinking,
natty, too long, too much,
wrap it up and connect that special and peculiar,
in-between,

-

*but I can't stop
for each hour of the last 72
has witnessed a new poem
in-between
minute one and minute sixty five
written for you,
writing for life,
writing of this moment
this space so gulf and so narrow
in and between
the unity of
us

the poet laureate talks of spaces,
the poem she reads out loud,
is emitted light from her body's mind
exhaled into the room,
and now designed to be placed
in-between
her and us,
purposed to successfully connect
our in-betweenness

I do not like this notion of
rest in peace,
as if peace was a desirable end in and of itself

prefer rest in pieces,
for what follows and precedes peace,
is pieces of ourselves
torn from the notebook
where we write down our poems unique and
secrete our secrets

rest in pieces!
connected by the in-between
which like
the
s p a c e s between  e a c h letter  here,
are the connective tissues of two parts
one, new
and the other,
created-crested by the transference
of every old reworked

I think of spaces differently

the gap between two fron teeth,
the space between two violin strings,
the V separating divider of the space
between our legs that is the baseline
of our torso entire,
the re-appearing and then disappearing space
between two bodies making love

all now remind that the
in-between
is a place of its own purport,
a parapet to stroll across from
one castle keep to another

so more and more,
mere mortal
are these discards,
I forsake these antiquities:

commencement, finale, terminal, ending,
even new beginnings

and all attention paid now to the recasting of our
happenstances and events
as a series of
in-between's,
the most valuable of our possessions,
connecting the only-seemingly
disparate days

but I must now return once more to the
in-between
of us

we uncovered something of ourselves
in
each other,
creating a causeway
between

for you and I are one big
differential,
so unlike in
life's
temperamental,
that
given the down easy to the shock and awe,
most happily easily,
our so very differing poems bridged the
in-between
us

the in-between us,
seen incorrectly as the timeouts
separating the fifteen rounds we fight

that is the thing,
the rub,
the main event on the fight card,
is not the fight itself,
but the crossing over

come quickly to our in-between,
my brother-in-words,
do not leave me
bereft and bereaved,
disconnected and despairing

let's follow,
both of us,
the trail
of dividing and connecting hyphens
---------------

I, given every advantage,
you, given every ghetto gang disadvantage
yet your voice soars
while mine aches and creaks
and breaks

I am better now
understanding existence as
a series of connected in-betweens,
but the not knowing when we will meet again
for the first time,
stretches me thin,
for without you
in
me,
between
us
the space flickers wider,
and the next in-between far far distanced,
further for farther,
and I worry,
who will love my poetry as you did,
who will be my encouragement now?

your passing shall not come
in-between us,
this I swear
~~~
in your honor of
your cellphone misty typo pings and compulsed hurried style,,
I do not edit this edifice that. I have lain down just now,
it was writ in slow haste and
fast forming eddies of ideas,
full of typographical errors of
omission and commission,
just
put out down as it was born,
just as you and I
we were put out as born,
only to cross and combine
to be a single
in-between
3:24am
Sept 26, 2015
------
The DedPoet
5 hours ago      3 hours ago

A Final Poem
Though I stand at the precipice
Of eternity's brimming cup,
Filled with hymn and speech
Alive like a livid wound
Gasping for more heavy minutes,
I wonder at the things left unsaid.

The sun mounts the coast
Consuming the resurrection
Of my forsaken throat,
The penetrating odor of certain
Death,
Still in this fragility
A certain voice I still call
To in dreams that come ever stronger
In the gentle atmosphere
Where night is born
And the dawn of her smile,
Here destiny can be seen
With continuity of life.

In this memory
I feel the calm of a faraway star,
My journey to he taken among
The densities
Which petrifies the brilliance
Of my shining fear,
My great love like my life
Should become an omen
That flies out of my hand
And becomes an actual presence
While the world is suspended
As I leave for the transparent skies.

And my life with her was a harvest,
My memory drinks of her
Forehead lit by the moon,
My lost time in a repugnant solitude
In my unmajestic life,
I arrive at forever
Because I loved her,
And yes because she loved me back.

The world is a mystery to me,
And I will leave as a question
Filtered by words
In a journey of galleries
Visible by the days I was alive,
Among the corridors I will see her
Face,
Among the words I will
Have given to poetry
What life had given like pillars
Of magic,
Taken by the arches of light filled
With enduring gratitude
For my greatest sorrows,
Simultaneously my greatest joy.

Like a song in the wind
I voyage the flames
Fanning the fire of words,
Because she loved me these words
Were born,
Because I loved her,
I birthed a poem.
And upon my death
Collect my fragments and place
Them under the tired sun,
Swept away by the ocean tides
Full of anguish under the flowering
Of my death,
I will be a poem remembered,
Nostalgic and scattered.
Here in the flesh,
My eyes see,
My hands touch,
I seek the say to live as a bird,
I search without finding,
I pace the shadows off the lonely
Walls ,
The day ends, the minutes end,
These heavy seconds
Of walking onward to the next life.

Where is my life without her?
And the poem absurd and short,
Death makes one know the worth,
The drowsiness of these poets,
Awakening when something ends.
Unleashed is my word,
Flawed and with no center,
I am a dying man.
Angry and bitter,
Tempered by the words
Never spoken,
The words I will never say,
Though I die and go to a body
More golden and transparent,
To a land with tiger lilies
In undying meadows where the sun
Dances on the outskirts
Of the night,
I know I have lived,
I lived because she lives now,
And she loved me.

My persecuted ways are done,
I relieve to you all
This final poem,
Filled with her grace,
The love of my life,
A final verse to say nothing more
Than goodbye,
Where the writing is done
By living,
Death shall remain but a word.
luci Jan 2018
Assisted suicide?
Physician Assisted Suicide is the process of a doctor providing the necessary sleeping pills/lethal dose to allow a terminally ill patient to perform the life ending act. In the United States, all but four states have made physician assisted suicide (PAS) illegal.When in a situation a terminally ill patient is in, they should have the right to commit a physician-assisted suicide.
In 1994, the state of Oregon enabled the Death With Dignity Act (DWDA). With 51% voting in favor of the act, it gives terminally ill patients access to PAS. Attorney General John Ashcroft challenged the act by saying it was not “real” and that allowing doctors to do perform that, violates the Controlled Substances Act (CSA). CSA protects the regulation of doctors from performing unauthorized distributions of drugs and drug abuse. If doctors are able to assist suicides, through Ashcroft’s claim, they would be using drugs as an abuse. In the Supreme Court, petitioner Paul D. Clement argued in the case about the violation of CSA, with 6-3, “we conclude the rule is not authorized by the CSA, and we affirm the judgment of the Court of Appeals” (Gonzales V Oregon).
Patients of irreversible illnesses often develop disorders that go underdiagnosed causing them to live a life that isn’t happy for them or their family members. According to Dr. Fine of the Office of Clinical Ethics, terminally ill patients usually get depressed when dealing with intense suffering. When the patient is depressed, they may not respond to treatment as expected. If the patient is not responding to treatment well, the doctor may up the dosage of medication or consider adding antidepressants, causing the patient to be reliant on medication for the rest of their life.
Patients who receive a terminal diagnosis usually experience high levels of anxiety.  According to Dr. Fine, anxiety can cause problems such as, agitation, insomnia, restlessness, sweating, tachycardia, hyperventilation, panic disorder, worry, or tension. Sleep deprivation plays a huge part in the anxiety the patients feel. The patient’s sleep is often interrupted many nights and several times to get their blood pressure checked, blood withdrawals, checkings of veins, etc. Because these medical requirements can not be withheld, many doctors may feel the need to heavily sedate the patient to make them feel lucid during the day time.
Studies have shown that patients of terminal illnesses fear that they’d burden their families. The patients feel, “grief and fear not only for their own future but also for their families’ future” (Johnson), researchers say. The feelings of being in the way can cause emotional, physical, social, and financial problems. In  doctors Johnson, Nolan, and Sulmasy’s research, they found that feelings of burden are most likely to affect emotional symptoms, quality of life, and patient satisfaction. Wanting to feel like they aren’t a burden to their families and society was most important to patients seen by the doctors. The research the doctors conducted found that out of a list of 28 qualities, the wish to not be a physical or emotional burden on family, 93% of respondents said that this was very or extremely important to them. The doctors made three categories of experiences that were related to “self-perceived burden” (Johnson). The first one being “concerns for other” (Johnson), then “implications for self” (Johnson), and last being “minimizing the burden” (Johnson). Feeling like a burden can cause “empathic concern engendered from the impact on others of one’s illness and care needs, resulting in guilt, distress, feelings of responsibility, and diminished sense of self” (Johnson).
To let a patient commit an assisted suicide means, they’re freed from pain. To force someone who knows that their time's coming to an end quickly when they do not wish to be in pain anymore should be a crime. In Epidemics, Book 1, it states, “practice two things in your dealings with disease: either help or do not harm the patient”, by allowing the patient to continue their life is harming them, all physically, mentally, and spiritually. Doctors take an oath, the Hippocratic Oath when practicing medicine. In the oath, there is a phrase that says “Also I will, according to my ability and judgment, prescribe a regimen for the health of the sick; but I will utterly reject harm and mischief”, if the patient has considered an assisted suicide, they’ve been in too much pain and wish for it to end. Refusing them the help causes them more physical and emotional pain; physical being the illness itself and emotional being the feeling of being a burden.
Patients with terminal illnesses have the right to commit assisted suicides because it allows them to end their life from something no drug would be able to fix. With the illness being irreversible, dragging it out will cause both suffering and financial problems. Terminally ill patients have the right to die with dignity. Dying by choice will let their loved ones know that they are ready and have accepted their fate, easing weight off their families shoulders. Having the ability to die will portray the patients as human beings who want to make one last decision before going rather than people who are laying in a hospital bed waiting to die. A patient knows that the doctor’s job is to relieve pain, with a doctor refusing their wish, only cause distrust in their relationship. Letting assisted suicide would allow their families to begin healing. By refusing the patient their right to die, forces them to live a poor quality of life no one would ever wish upon anybody. It is in everyone’s interest to let them go. Doctors have a responsibility to make the patient happy and to relieve them of any kind of pain, letting them go is relieving them of the pain they wish to no longer feel. PAS gives them the ability to go happily and contently.
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2015
I have copied and posted most of my elecronic conversations of just (!) the last few months here between
Ernesto L. Gonzales and myself.

I have edited out some very few particulars to respect both of our privacy, and yet it is intensely personal.   Respect that please!
He developed a few such intense relationships with others here which
having only learned of recently of the details, make me realize, ever more cognizant what a special, caring human being was the DedPoet.


Represented in a center alignment to better honor this man,
this poet, my brother.
~~~~~

The DedPoet  Jul 4

Taking your suggestion into consideration, I stumbled across the fact that I went from past to present. So instead of
Gangsters dont shed no tears,
I changed it to But gangsters dont cry,
With this and the last two lines,
Which I also changed by eliminating
And as a man I cry,
Simplified to
As a man I remember,
As a man I cry.
Crying being that which I could not do as a youth, with the experience of life learning to cry later brings about realism and evocative feelings toward the reader, tying them with the poem, becoming a not so forgetful piece.
Nat, Your words of I want you to live,
They began a slow change in my life, today
Ibam in full fruition of that. I am alive, living, working, getting better, taking what was given to me, conquest of my demons. Yes Nat, I have arrived, humbly but with much confidence. Your influence had a great deal to do with my personal and poetical growth as a person. I have matured because you gave a ****, because you knew deep down I could beat everything life had thrown at me.

Know this Nat,
Put it in your mind,
Relish it and be proud;

YOU CHANGED MY LIFE
AND I AM ETERNALLY GRATEFUL.

Nat Lipstadt
Nat Lipstadt  Jul 4

Humbled silence. FYI was fired last week, no surprIse, may "retire" or look for a position, undecided...

Nat Lipstadt
Nat Lipstadt  Jul 4
What's the situation with the kids?

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Jul 4
I have my girls right now. She got pregnant and bow she needs me. Go figure. Anyway, im enjoying life drug and alcohol free, getting into working condition at work. All is as it should be, despite the problems I used to let become mountains.
Fired huh? Could you survive on retirement?
And if find anotjer position, do you feel that you would still be willing, able of course, but willing is another matter when you mentioned retirement as an option.

Nat Lipstadt
Nat Lipstadt  Jul 4
I am soon to be..my youngest son worked with me for...and seeing him re-established is  important to me.

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Jul 4
What is your proffesion exactly?

Nat Lipstadt
Nat Lipstadt  Jul 5
Bond broker/trader

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Jul 5
It took a day to get this right. A broker!!! Wow!! A poetic bond broker???? Wow. Im still shocked at that. Friend, you roll with the punches in life. Your son matters most, and I see that as well. Your note from yesterday helped me to focus more on my children financially. I got the time thing down, the icecream and food, but they need so much more. Yeah Im still learning, but Im learning exponentially. Anyway, I still plan on shaking your ha.d one day.

Nat Lipstadt
Nat Lipstadt  Jul 5
Nah, a big freaking hug

Nat Lipstadt
Nat Lipstadt  Jul 5
Shhh. Your privacy protected

http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1252193/six-**...

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Jul 5
I could give a cheesy poem saying yes Nat changed my life, which was my first idea. Then, to be genuine and give ou some insight to my new journey and outlook I wrote Saffron Son Settling Into Memories and is dedicated to you friend.

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Jul 18
Well if your offer is to edit my poems, I respectfully decline. I can spell despite the poems looking otherwise. I post directly to hellopoetry, the words come out so fast that its hard to edit. I have been writing nonstop in progress for a book. They have their own editors, lol.

Nat Lipstadt
Nat Lipstadt  Jul 18
No prob

Nat Lipstadt
Nat Lipstadt  Jul 19
All u need to do is line them up better. Invest in an inexpensive tablet...

Nat Lipstadt
Nat Lipstadt  Jul 19
Or *******, I will

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Jul 19
I have a phone, one that I borrow. You know Im **** poor. I haven't posted in the longest while I have ever gone through. Tablets are far from my thoughts. I have pen and paper, bought from the 99 cent store. My daughter's mother, my ex, is in the hospital fighting for her life. And suddenly Im with my girls all day, everyday. Great for me, but I wish it was under better circumstances.

Nat Lipstadt
Nat Lipstadt  Jul 19
What's your address?

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Jul 19
Im too proud to accept any donations. I thank you from the bottom of my heart Nat. My email is... if you ever want to just correspond. I am taking control of the poverty in my life and when your at the bottom, theres only one way to go.

Nat Lipstadt
Nat Lipstadt  Jul 19
What donation? ***! Self protection of my aging eyes and brain!

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Jul 19
Ive been offered before. Money to help with kids, sorry if i jumped the gun there Nat. What would u do with the adress?

Nat Lipstadt
Nat Lipstadt  Jul 19
Send you a tablet

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Jul 19
I couldn't accept that. I wouldn't know how. Never been offered anything like that.

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Jul 19
If you truly believed in my talent, if that was the reason other than mis spelled words, I would take it. I would take it gratefully. I'll tell you one thing, yours is the only that I believe in on this site. Granted there are talented individuals, but none try to better themselves and stay in an anxious state of repeating verses. You try to break them from this, encouragement and all. What do you say Nat?

Nat Lipstadt
Nat Lipstadt  Jul 19
I say just this,

brother.

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Jul 19
San Antonio, Tx. 78227
Ernesto L. Gonzales Jr.

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Jul 21
Nat, I just gave u all my info, could u respond and tell me my identity is ok.

Nat Lipstadt
Nat Lipstadt  Jul 22
Just saw Not sure what u mean, "idenity ok". Can u explain?

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Jul 22
Lol, not that my identity is worth much, but is was a little dark joke since you had not responded to me. I did get a little worried. Thats all. After all, you and I know bofh well that thsi is a risky thinf, you know, information And all.

Nat Lipstadt
Nat Lipstadt  Jul 23
Np. Up at 12:48am til now thinking about the future

Nat Lipstadt
Nat Lipstadt  Jul 23
1. What type of cell phone?
2. Will your carrier allow u two devices on your number?
3. Just answer and no yada yada noise?

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Jul 23
Its not my cell phone. Its my dad's. A regular three year old lg fone. But we do have wifi here at home for my nephew. Unlimited data.

Nat Lipstadt
Nat Lipstadt  Jul 23
See if u can add another tablet device, on his plan...should be nominal...like $10/month

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Jul 23
Actually the wifi would be enabled inside the house because of the wifi. I would just need to ask how, but I do know it is at no extra charghe. Nat, as a man in wall street, what is your take on the current situation with the dollar and its basis on petroleum in the world? Is it doomed to fail anytime soon?

Nat Lipstadt
Nat Lipstadt  Jul 23
Oil has stabilized around 50 bucks which is very reasonable. U.S. Frackers  can make money there,the Saudis too...and with new supply growing. And demand stable and but will surely increase, I expect price to hold the 50 dlr area and very slowly rise..as for the dollar, it's all about that bass...I mean I test rates! Ours going up everybody else's going down, so dollar will remain the king for the foreseeable future if the global economy just chugs along as it has and more so if the economy actually picks up to grow 3% or better consistently

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Jul 23
Just worried about the alarmist calling for an imminent collapse based on China and Russia leaving the dollar to trade in ruble and chinese currency, if Im not mistaken, the currency war it is called.

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Jul 23
What are the advantages of a tablet anyway?

Nat Lipstadt
Nat Lipstadt  Jul 24
You can see what you are doing; the layout and formatting is very important. From a phone it never comes out right

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Jul 24
Guess ur right, for and layout are so important to the overall effect of what your tryingg to convey.

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Jul 25
I took the initiative and put ten bucks down on a tablet. It will take a few months but I looked into tablets and found it to be a worthwhile investment. Thanks Nat, it will help me alot. You planted the idea, I will make it hsppen. This positive can do atitude is part of my new outlook which has done leaps and bounds for my life.

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Jul 25
P.S. Ive begun a study in earnest on Yeats, one of the greats I had not yet truly begun reading. Your lessons go far my friend. Thank you for teaching one who wants and desires to get better at this craft.

Nat Lipstadt
Nat Lipstadt  Jul 25
we learn from each other. never forget that! the greates lesson in lif to learn is the eloquence of simplicity. now look, u just gave me a new poem to write

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Jul 26
Nice work on the other piece. Dont want to he cliche but "eloquently stated". Yeah I saw that review. Lol. Tell me, what does a New Yorker do on a Sunday?

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Jul 27
Id like to take the opportunity you gave me. I will humbly take you on your offer. Part of my evolution as a person is to swallow my pride and take help where help is offered. I have alot of writing to do Nat but as I get into the lifestyle of everyday working I see poetry fading and I have a need so deep to write as it has helped me along the way so much. If your offer still stands, I would love to take you up on the offer. Either way, a lesson is learned: Take the hands that help you up as opposed to holding hands to that which pulls one down.

Nat Lipstadt
Nat Lipstadt  Jul 27
I will get it done now that u r committed to the curves of living, yet see around the bend what could be....now the's another poem borning...

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Jul 27
Your wise, you know that? Yeah, it takes alot to learn the stuff. Youth is wasted in the young.

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Aug 3
Promises are nice bro, but I really dont care for them if its not something that you can do. I'd rather you tell me no Nat, your word is law as far as Im concerned. Dont worry about the tablet, it was a nice thought, but I dont want to see you in that light as not being able to come through. I want your word to mean something to me.

Nat Lipstadt
Nat Lipstadt  Aug 4
just been busy with the grandkids for a 5 day vacation. don't u worry about thing baby!

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Aug 4
Yours is the only one I trust here on this site, everyone is going batshit crazy about this or that. Poetry seems to he taking a second seat.

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Aug 4
Gotta sat Nat, you probably underestimate how much I look to you for guidance. Though i dont reach out much, your poetry in itself is an example I libve by. No *** kissing, simply take it as respect for your work, I see you amongg the best I have read of all the dead poets.

Nat Lipstadt
Nat Lipstadt  Aug 6
Well been busy looking for work and arranging a life if that doesn't happen. but ur in the to do list!
P.s. Ain't dead yet but I could be by the time I finish typing thi.....

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Aug 6
Not your greatest work, but if you are dead, you go down as one oc the all time best in my opinion. Gettingg my daughter ready for school. Clothes are expensive, wish tbey had uniforms. Itd be cheaper.

Nat Lipstadt
Nat Lipstadt  Aug 6
I can't even imagine but in years u will look back and think those were the best of times

Nat Lipstadt
Nat Lipstadt  Aug 17
your tablet on the to do list, just got hit with other bills higher priority.

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Aug 22
Dont worry about it a tablet. Just be my friend.

Nat Lipstadt
Nat Lipstadt  Aug 22
that was crossed off my to do list a long long time ago...

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Aug 22
My to do list is short as well. I want to see New York, I want to shake your hand.

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Aug 22
I am completely serious. I need to know how much round trip tickets cost, room and board, etc. Ive never flown but its time I do.

Nat Lipstadt
Nat Lipstadt  Aug 22
whoa. that's a lot of dough, who will watch the kids?

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Aug 22
They will stay behind.

Nat Lipstadt
Nat Lipstadt  Aug 24
here's one problem. I live with my Gf in her apt...and I won't ask her ...change her mind, it's her place...

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Aug 24
I will pay my way. I have money coming to me on a house I just framed, did u forget Im a master carpenter? When my health permits I make good  money. Lol, which I hapoily distribute back into the economy.

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  Sep 9
So I called a number I saw on television for experimental drug for liver. Second time I do this, but what the hay, gotta fight. Im scared. Terrified, staring at my humanity like this. No words for the fear.

Nat Lipstadt
Nat Lipstadt  Sep 9
there are words. you have them in your posses, just need to expel them without any veneer or hesitation

Nat Lipstadt
Nat Lipstadt  5 days ago
talk to me! what's up and give me the cell number asap

The DedPoet
The DedPoet  4 days ago
Its my time, I'm sick and dying, bed ridden and in the final stages of sclerosis of the liver, I want you to know that I have always thought of your poetry as genius, but I only have one request of you. The tablet you wanted to send me, keep it for yourself an begin a new outlook on your surroundings, you write so much about people here or familiar things tat relate to the site. I just wanted to see your perspective fresh with your abundant talent, your rugged and tired, your giving yet honest, brutal writer of understanding, I'm not for talk it now, my concentration is on closing doors and settling old problems with family, I have a rare chance to do this. You take care, God bless and goodbye.

Nat Lipstadt
Nat Lipstadt  4 days ago
I will call you again tomorrow. please answer!

*The DedPoet
The DedPoet  10 hours ago
My brother passed away Sunday night, we cremated him today. He left all copyright of his work to you.I'm sorry for the new. I will be posting a poem a week for him as he wanted. He had many poems that he wanted to save for publishing. Thank you for your time.
I never sent him the tablet.
Other things and expenses intervened and it fell to the bottom of my list.

I cannot pick up mine without wincing and that will always be true.

We spoke by telephone but once.
He called me at 2:00 and we spoke for an hour.
I still call his cellphone, even now, to listen to his gravely gravelly voice greeting, promising to call back very soon.

His overly effusive praise of my writing was left in after much internal debate, but it was the initial rooting of our conversation. I have only posted our correspondence of the last three months.  Much more preceded these messages.


I did not save his life as he so generously stated,
but will try do him justice as best I can.

— The End —