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Nat Lipstadt Dec 2023
~inspired by Lar Lubovitch,
gifted to Glenn Currier  
who made my eyes water-dance this
morning ~
<>

raise the arms in preparation
for an articulated genteel waving
to keyboard,
an elegant slow descent,
fingers extending, splaying,
but in fine coordinated curvature

for they are 24 carat gold filled fingertips,
word & dance-art~infused
i king and expelling sounds of dancing words,
all over my body

some body part of me,
grasps that the cylinder of ink,
becomes a baton,
single instrument director,
an attaché,
an additive~lubricant,
for all my orifices,
firing rocket-in-the-air bomb bursts
while body in its entirety
motions,
shuckin’ and jivin’
in the prayer~poem first position,
a rock n’ roll motion,
back and forth,
to fro,
holy mesmerized

words run down my arms,
letters drop encased in salt drop capsules,
from the intuition in my eyes,
we see them forming words,
pooling,
without volition,
upon,

all my surfaces, but they
a mere conveyance,
bringing these expulsive explosive verbs
in an ordered fashion,
to your eyes,

intuitively,
asking you
to dance with me,
begging you
to envision me,
hearing the piano maintaining rhythm,
while a violin crys out in a overly long held notes,
concertinas  bellowing,
all together quavering,
oscillating, emoting,

and you!
you are reading me perfectly

so we dance in unity
cheek to cheek,
to the song of
our poem,
our words, our tongues,
our entire entities,
rogue kissing
JM  Jan 2015
Unfinished....
JM Jan 2015
I'm not quite sure what did it...

It could have been watching
Mother being beaten
or knowing Father was the one giving the beatings.
It may have been
when it was my turn
for the beatings.

It may have been the first time
I experienced the futility
of existing
here and now,
there and then.

It could have been
the first time I felt an
irrational fear of
climbing under the porch
with all the spiders and dark places,
or the subsequent shame imposed on me
because my little sister was
the one who
saved the stuck kitten.

It might have been the time
I rammed that same sister's head
into the side of the stove
and then threatened retaliation
if she told on me.

It may have been
thinking as a child
I was destined for
mediocrity, even though
I knew I was
born
to be great...

II.
Knee deep in thick muck,
******* and fuckery,
we trudge on and on
and through it all....

III.
Everyone is dying.
Some, quicker than others.
I'm going to
ride this out
for a while...

IV.
Hi
Hey, you look cute

Fat. You look ******* fat poured into that stupid dress. You are not seventeen anymore lady, jesus!*
...

V.
I can hear you breathing while doing yoga;
a slow inhale, pause, controlled exhale.
Your body is a....

VI.
Another ten hour shift
with the crew of ******* *******.
If I wasn't the boss
I'd have cracked some
****** heads
wide open
by now.
These ******* don't
know ****...

VII.
My plants need watering, wilting next to grandmas paintings...

VIII.
So, you think you know me...

VIIII.
Spare parts.
Lots of folks out
there made from spare parts.
Pieces that almost fit.

My knees were laying
around out back somewhere;
they were beaten into place.
They got most of the dimensions
right but the joints are tight...

X.
It takes two weeks for your kisses to reach me,
and two seconds for my blood to fill the empty spaces...

XI.
Wait...just wait. Don't go.
I was only kidding. ****...

XII.
Light. Bouncing all over the place.
Light.
Reflected into you...

XIII.
These giant guardians on the boulevard,
My friends, these tremendous sycamores, have been keeping watch my entire life.
They tried warning me...

XIV.
Two years later and your taste is gone but your smells still linger in the dark folds of memory...

XV.
This is going to be offensive to most.
Inappropriate? Some might say.
I wouldn't...

XVI.
These so called poems from
these so called poets about
cutting yourself and suicide really
can wear a guy out.
My tendency towards empathy and
compassion, tested daily, wears incredibly thin.
I've been there, not my thing, this cutting.
I'd rather burn flesh.
We've all got our thing right?
Except self harm isn't my thing.
Not a thing I do,
just a thing I did.
I wonder if these tortured
souls make it through the
next hour after reading
one after another cry for help.
I wonder if some do it just
for shock value, some just to goad
their creators.
I wonder if I am reading a poem or a
suicide letter.
It's unnerving.
I'm all for suicide; I suggest everyone try it
at least once.

Just quit with the incessant
*******...

XVII.
Cut my throat and leave me to the jackals for
I would rather drown in desert sand
than submit to the will of anyone
I do not
trust...

XVIII.
****** clamps, lead weights.
Paddles, restraints...

XVIIII.
I sat alone,
from nowhere a warm, blue light surrounded me.

**.
Balancing these monkeys on my back with the demons in my mind and...

21.
I smell ******* a mile away *******,
and you stink.
I see you shuckin' and jivin',
be-boppin' around like you are some kind of
badass...

22.
And now there are no flowers on the table and no long, dark hairs on my pillow...
It all makes sense to me...
Ken Pepiton Sep 2020
Aware, as I am a ware,
not all minds find time to rest
while being read to,
while holding power to pause the reader and

look up a fact the reader mentions as being known
to all, but
me, I did not know, for

until some, not so long ago, time, agone away
holdon- until now,

I lacked the leisure to listen, no time,
for I was busy learning to
use the next necessary
technology, with glee,
to some geekish degree.
..-. - .-

Find The Answer
that is the message first heard, is it not?
Do you know what must come next?

Hell, yes. Yes, I know. We know, say every baby
*******, being
shaped in secret by wizards who do peep,
and ping, one thing to another,

IOT FTA we are here.

Is the evil fruit parasitic? We may find the answer,
if, ifity, see this ifity we imagine there
is
an answer to find, and we live in times like none
ever, up to now.
We have answers to quests, maps, keys in riddles,
laws in minds mastered in disciples of once
known occurrences
while crossing the ocean of current opinion.

- minded to put her away
- brrring the meter to the poem o leave
- me ****** imp
- I've lived this the long way, one day at a time
- rimes at the rim of ality re all lies in me,
- fall through the null net
- true/false, re/no/si
¿ No se?

Symbols only readers see.
Magi once prepared the spells with images
of things called common,
Bullhead was somehow alpha…

at this point silence, and the  sixty cycle humms of my home
step up as chorus,
while the narrator makes changes to the scene.

This is 2020, whenever you are. Our quests have become
ionic, after r poets got the point
and pierced the code of common sense, y'feel me?

Méiyǒu huǎngyán?

2020, like as not a lot closer to Babel than Eve,
on the angelic one way spiral of properly teleo-mered
DNA.

Mere, as a word, is a map and a clue in my realm.
****** is as well, truth be told,
sayings and figures of speech get old, apoptosis ceases to
pop.
Like bubble wrap.

Listen. We are served by art, or we are the artificer
serving you art.
We, as a we, not me'n'you and the others, but we,
the people who hold certain truths
self-evidently, as in
evidently, we have the power to be true to our own selves.

But our owned-ed-ed-u-cated self, owes its soul to the
companion store, for we all must ever eat the same
bread brot pan pita our parents ait,

just outside the garden,
near gobekli tepi, maybe, worth a look,
but later, if anybody knows, AI knows already.

I can wait, let's get through today. whats the selah code
for today lets keep on this No Lie theme, in Chineze


Méiyǒu huǎngyán

Did I wish or pray or merely hope

some good
could come from me
discerning, filtering rocks from beans at an

early
age, life is always living

memes are living memories of
things others
learned.
shucking corn and finding worms, but not
evil canker worms that ate every thing,
just the kind that chickens like
for treats on shuckin' days
in the olden days.

Today. 2020 tech, ancient mental time travel
app approaching
act if ative ity ooomph ala

we good


Méiyǒu huǎngyán

The song was One Day at a Time, Sweet Jesus,
That's All I'm Asking From You.

Careful what you ask for,
as we commonly hear conservative mouths mutter,
by rote,
sleep-learned response to faith preparing to leap.

Giant steps feel just like falling, but yes,
you may,
if mother nature were asked, she would have said.

There is always a  place to put your foot, says the
spritely reminder from Sycamore Canyon,
running rock to rock, in the spring.

One Day, today, I was thinking I have all the time
in the world.
I can say that and believe I am not lying, for
reason,

reason is tricky stuff, like sweaty dynamite, in
the hands of kids with hammers intending
to nail freedom to the mofa wall.

Everything looks like a nail.

Ages of reason have gone chaotic,
due to war being given reason by law and
law given credence by users of wisdom, trying
to gain authority by authoring peace
where no peace appeared possible.

Hmmmm, sixty cycles 2020 constancy, in America,
aha,
how appropriational can one app be, y'azme, mine's as
appropriate as any,

point to point conversion, all things being equal,
push comes to pull, not destroy,
idiot. id thing, idea, jot
tittle
tattle tale
child, old gaseous entity stinking in memorable words.

Incensed, he cried, I am the prayers of all the saints,
ohsit I think
ang or watt

hat'gosh-roted - my word, have aw e- unrolled a whole new
dimension.

-- message for today, when you read this it is written,
that is all… empty of meaning until filled by your reading,
really… no bad mocuss curse of doubt…

we emerge into life in living vessels, empty save the
basic ideas an ant has, avoid discomfort by seeking comfort,
time is not a factor, but luck seems to be,
then screaming and kicking
seems to work,
work, that’s a concept… work it out, why

why,
grunt, why, ahh, that

fertilizer, I am here to convert raw living matter constituents
into some substance needed by mother,
her,
she who feeds me, she who has a name, mmmm ahhh,
it will come to me
this knack I notice used
noises that calm and comfort. oh good com encompass me
swallow me whole,

I have all the time in the world - this is twentytwenty the year
and I am in one of those days.
Sad, for an enjoyable art effect kanji characters can't be displayed or saved here. I am enjoying the thinking needed to print them with a mush-point bamboo flair pen, as a child, as an old man I have AI

— The End —