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Nat Lipstadt Jun 2018
Songs of Oregon: No 5 no general impressions specifically

For the Poets of Oregon, each a unique travel guide

no salt n’ pepper shaker of general impressions for the offering,
for now, ubiquitous generalities means inclusionary which means
likely accidental to be exclusionary,
so specifically,
no ‘all in' clauses

just a few specific eye-sights, hoary words, new birth canals,
to be either eaten, resurrected, van-slaughtered, backyard buried,
all are filed nearby in the seed cabinet or the garage freezer,
or on the C drive of your brain

awaiting ideal planting conditions, and the rest,
a series perhaps,
Songs of Oregon?
Someday

someday, when all the big brief poems are fully formed,
earth ripened, mind fomented; oak barrel aged,
harvest-reading-ready,
green trees shoots busting thrusting through
misleading sandy looking soil,
needy for quenching from
aquifers that are gold geyser plentiful,
a hundred feet deep, needy only for a
“please sir, may I have some more,"
they’l be writ

but for now, these below are,
some easy to be specifics,
reveling and revealed, useful takeaways,
specifics pacifics
for those who might be traversing upon
Lewis and Clark’s Oregon Trail:

them multicolored redneck
full bearded boys
and those of the
vinnie, millennial hipsters and aging ex- hippies, also,
full bearded boys  
are indistinguishable!
many of both wear matching bib jeans,
so be careful who you be calling
a hillbilly in open carry country

the forever refilled coffee mug still exists though the price
is now $2 but the coffee is sustainable (I am evidence)
organic, from a rain forest from Timbuktu,
so it gets planted in your bloodstream and then replaced
in the soil & land,
the loam of the soul
by you

in Milwaukee,
they know how to spell Milwaukee but
not in Portland

don’t be shocked at the town naming,
these borrowers got no  i-magination,
that’s surly lacking in Oregon; mthey’ll steal your
Nor’easter or Indian
town or city’s name
with no shame
or comp-unction,
claiming it’s different cause
they made it organically and
then misspelled it,
correctly

think that pointy poem point well made,
god made only one coast (theirs) and
just forgot to put Shelter Island NY  upon it;
threw it up randomly skyward, landed on some
atlantic backwater body

getting there or anywhere in Oregon traffic
about the same as in NYC traffic, thus
the heavens balance the scales of justice with
dramatic automotive irony

in some counties, the school week is a
four day affair, for the children need to repay
their parents birthing labor, by laboring beside them
in the vineyards, on the tractors, learning from
the book and look of their parents
sun aged faces and hands,
life learning
that man must earn his sustenance
with the sweat of ones own brow
and that word;
week,
can be spelt in contradictory ways
but only one is acceptable
out here

do be careful though Oregonians are very willingly to lam it,
(Willamette) if you ask nicely,
pick up normal looking weird hitchhikers
and drive many a mile
in yours, not theirs, but sure,
“going-the-same-way direction”
if you ask polite with just a smile

and the river salmon have hired their own governmental advisors


like I said,
no general impressions
just a private’s brief recollections
from his first tour of duty
abroad
where he was purple heart medaled shot
through ‘n through with
Oregon kindness

some juicy real specifics to follow eventually
someday
songs of oregon No.5
SøułSurvivør Jun 2015
My car is on the fritz
My girlfriend has the flu
My boyfriend can't talk to me
What am I to do?

I don't want marihuana
I don't want to drink
It's dead on Hello Poetry
What am I to think?

I'd listen to some music
Or maybe just chill out
I don't want to know
What the heck it's all about

Why should I be bored?
There are still the stars
I can play connect-the-dots
From Jupiter to Mars!

My lil 'magination
Is just like kodakrome
I can leave my body
Let my spirit roam...

But I'm just too lazy
It's all too much to take
So I guess I'll raid the fridge

And eat left-over cake.
Bored. Guess that means I'm
Also boring. Lol!
Nat Lipstadt Mar 2014
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




a little straight slip of a thing,
red, a quartier inch wide,
red, a quartier inch thin,
suggestive, inquisitive,
a political and philosophical,
lovely provocation to conjecture

as if it were a colored arrow,
pointing strangely down,
instead of up,
to the next handhold
on a rock climbing wall,
in this case,
handholds on a
woman's body

this way,
follow me,
to the barricades!
a tourist mapped-path to follow,
visit the glories of the republic,^
and the charming Quartier Latin!

entrap and entice,
the eyes willful blinded,
taken away to thoughtful solitary,
on-one-side-only,
does the
bra strap
conveniently,
consciously,
haphazardly,
(yes, that's it,
a hazard,)
invitingly, speaks to,
looks to me,
inquiring will you vote,
RSVP to red?

as if a line of lipstick on the body drawn,
the directive points,
this way, perhaps,
always, just perhaps,
this way tourist,
to the dome of the pantheon,
where the statutes
are the course,
or perhaps
disguised, well-placed, statuesque, (ha!),
improvised explosive devices,
purposely presented,
needy for a desired
psychological high impact detonation

If
that is its purpose
under heaven,
under sweater,
under halter,
under cutoff gym top,
under liberty,
to tempt and remove
the blindfold from the womanly scales of
under justice
to tilt him favorably one way

If
it, is theater,
I, the audience

then whatever is on stage,
(Ibsen's Doll House, ironie délicieuse)
is a failed distraction, naught to naughty,
to no avail,
his eyes fastened, stapled wide
to the quarter inch thin
red path
from her slender shoulder,
leading, stepping him ****** down to
his I-magination,
for which unknowingly,
he, ticket purchased,
months ago for
two hours and one intermission

He must go again,
the show was
superbly acted,
for so the reviews said,
Ibsen's play,
"an unremitting portrayal of the suffering of a women"





^republic ~ a state in which the power rests in the body,
of those entitled to vote, exercised by their representatives, their eyes, chosen directly by and for them.
A synthesis, a hybrid of recent actual adventures and thoughts in, on and about Ibsen's Doll House, rock climbing, Paris, and the exposed solitary bra strap, not in that order.
Swanswart Aug 2016
I’ve sewn together a thousand moments
of nothing (butifandorthis) Outis of
sorts and                              ends
                     depressed
         enough to make your head swim
         your wrist spit
         to drown in your own thinking

grasp breath drench and saturate
obsequious regurgitation
prolix asphyxiation
words worlds whirled
LOGOS
spew forth and I choke on
what I can never get out
the
emptiness                within
                                ­                   a
                                                   few
                                          
secondsleftoverste­psout     line
                                            of
             ­                                  curfews ensue
more or less and less is more
of the same (few cures for futures)
                                                  of late
a puddle reflecting and shallow
sole-stomped-n-splattered
I
         Can not help but mis  
s
     the piece( is ) of me that mattered
less than the least of my worries
and the old black boot
            with  a                hole
                    ­                             the one that is always waiting to.
                                                             ­                                             .
                  ­                                                                 ­                       .
                                        ­                                                                 ­  drop.  
                                                                                                             ­                                                                         ­                        I Am 
                                                             ­             still           
                                                           here           
                                       hoping                  
             inre           
   verse              
          
It all fits                                               the tailor-made addendum
but it doesn't                                      the sedentary splendor
change                                                 the worn out agenda


of yet another loop of the clock
fomenting
a grand sutuREDness rending a
torque of tendencies
to ward off the
subversive inertia
of idle thoughts—***—wishes

the edges of that
cloud grapple
with dissolution and
the shaping of my
                                         own                                                 periphery                                            sic
        [i]magination                                           ­                                       

The interior storm
has come and gone
replaced by a wretchedly anxious calm
I then wonder if these
tempests are what is…
or just a fallway of mirrors
I pass through in a tumble
down some hole
feeling it’s too late to know
if I will ever be whole

Alas, another looking glass
I have been
cut up too
to see the half emptiness
of ours
in the hour glass
timetumbling down
the singularity of
How are we?
Relatively bleeding
Speaking of

self
shred-
ding dingbats-in-the-belfry
A  f  r  a  y e d  address of questioning
covered with
s-t-i-t-c-h-e-s
in
this
                                              fourth           ­                             dimension
saves what? 9 lives? No rhyme--no reasoning
with me
                                 …I guess
my wounds are dressed
but only it will tell
                                                            ­                              (What is real?)
                                 (so obviously rhetorical)
it marches on
and it can’t be stopped
but it’s of the essence
and they say it will heal
All wounds
and I say when and how and isn’t now
all I have
to be?
wound up again I see...

And then be left
to the present
tense
out of it,
Up against it.
Who the **** knows?
said the Emperor I
(in third person disguise)
Wearing nothing
(He supposes)
Nothing
But being
                  but...
The scars
Uncovered
for the seeing
Being what scars are
Are they something...
Symbolic?  Systemic? Sympathetic?
That makes seeing is believing
Real for me,
Or, for us all?
Is Being
Beingness
Or is it
Meaningless in a...life…
S
P
A                                            
Not evolving as fast          
As semiotics                      
Or sentient
Robotics
For the rest
Of us
To be
Sure that we are
Individual
Beings at all?

What?
Time’s up?
                         At least for the
                                              Time being…
                                                          ­           Nothing to worry about...
Iqqie  Feb 2016
Amity
Iqqie Feb 2016
Astoundingly helpful she is,
Meant to be is what we are
Imagination took us on an adventure together
Together we'll fight through thick and thin
Y**ou, my friend, are unique.
A  Aug 2015
Proportional property
A Aug 2015
She was so little
Yet so much as oppression could be
Discovered in her ribs
Pressing ******* the heart
Revealing spark of distress
captured in the beams that cause happiness yet discontent.
Mentoring her own soul
The deep thoughts she wasn't able to bowl
The words that would neither roll
The body kept inside of 4 walls
Angry Phone calls
that came crawling in through her veins
Pleading dismissal
Knocking on the bruises that remain
It still rains
Thundering tears that remain
Unseen.....Unspoken
yet  sensored through damaged parades
She grew up hating herself better than anyone else
Connecting each thought with an elixir
Of confusion
Haunted her own mind better than the demons that lifted off the shelves
Reaching deep into her body
Fracturing the foundations
Remaining each fragment
Shattering the blizzard of joy and
Draining all its impetus
Only as figments of its magination
Her actions that coincide with the alchemist's heartless box of incarceration
but a souless body is one with no purpose

What was her life if she had no control?
Spencer Carlson Jan 2015
Everyone has all gone, I'm left
On my own I guess
She has found someone new
That makes her smile shine on through

I never thought I'd be good enough
To make this song last so long
I'm stuck pretending that I'm mature enough
To take all of this on

Constant breathing paranoia
Stuck inside my 'magination
I tried to build my castle up strong
But I ****** it up and made it all wrong

My head is buried in my hands
I want to travel to distant lands
Just to see if you would follow me there
So I can finally know that you care
You told me to be quiet
Don't tell anyone our secret
But I can barely hold it in
I feel like I could trip and
Than you wont want me around
You wont want me around
Disa Pradwika Mar 2019
i have always felt that life is like a trap. i am trapped here and wishing i was never born. i have always felt like my mom is trapped too. that i wish i would never marry. so that i would never have a child and break the cycle of the curse that me and my mom have been given by universe.

marriage.

what is marriage anyway?
who would want that?

asked a 10 year old girl to her mom. mom only laughed. she said i was too young to understand. she always took the blame for everything happened with me and my brothers, for marrying the wrong man. i vowed to never know or even marry a man when i grew up one day ever since i met my dad’s mistress.

i hate marriage. i have always thought that it was a *******. marriage is a pretense. a cursed demand from family. or even something unnecessary. why dont people just have kids without having to bond a commitment with the fathers if they end up leaving too? why dont just live together without having anything attached? why does it need vows that are gonna be broken eventually?  

i have always hated marriage.
commitment.
communication.
promises.
weddings.
vows.
i have always been against it since kid.

i never would want to marry a man because i thought no one was gonna be good enough for me and my kids because i have always thought that men were always a trash like my dad.

i only did vows to my own self
i vowed that, i would never settle for someone, not in this life, not on this earth, or the next life i will live one day.

because marriage and love are *******.
they dont exist.
they are just an magination built up by people who lose hope and trying to look for something they can hold on to.
i keep telling myself.

but then everything’s changed when i met Gerard.

yes.

i met a man.
a great man.
someone who finally made me admit that deep down in my heart i knew that, i wanted to marry someone too. i wanted to meet a man who is not as ******* as my dad was. someone nice, and clean, and tidy, and smart, and good.
build a life together until we barely remember other people’s names but only ours when our hairs turn to grey someday.

but i was too naive and blinded by my childhood trauma that i couldnt open my eyes and see that i only was not lucky, back then. not every man in this world is the same like my father was.

and Gerard opened my eyes to that. it took a long time but here i am. finally believing something. finally putting a fully trust on someone, my very first someone. Him.

never in a zillion years i would want to marry someone. even i already planned living alone at my 60s with my hundreds of cats in a small house. because i was too hurt and broken by my own dad to ever want to live with anyone. and i knew that thing he did made me grow up fragile.

but on this day, i admit, i want to marry. i guess when you meet the one, your heart just knows. i admit, i want to build a life with someone. turns out living with someone you love is not that bad at all, in my head as i am picturing what my mornings would be like one day, waking up next to him. that cooking will be fun if done together with him. and kitchen is no longer gloomy when it rains and having cups of coffee in our hands talking about life when it’s cold.

and how movie nights would be so fun with us having arguments of how the end of a movie should be like.

how seeing his smile and laugh become my daily achievement since then.

life is not that bad at all, when i have him.

i realized that it’s not the marriage that has always been a problem, it’s finding someone that’s right to you.

thank you for always making me happy. making me grow. making me learn from my mom and dad’s mistakes and never make those a burden of my future life. for making me start believing something. for opening my eyes and understanding that these things happen for a reason. and my life has nothing to do with my parents' failure. my life is written alone and i make the decisions of how it should end.

and its not gonna be the same as my parents’ ending.

so i choose you.
i love you. always and forever

— The End —