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vircapio gale Jan 28
my kindness has now been commodified
whereas before it triggered hate
--seen as weakness, as cruelty's plaything--
still, i saturate to what extent i can
my daily happy-dance with honest friendship,
compassion's ease, delight and pet-store equipoise.
yet my sincerity is sloganed, emptied of its worth:
trained to say 'rewards program' in stead of 'membership, account';
'guests' in stead of 'customers'
'team-players' in stead of 'employees'
'long-term relationships' as first and foremost mission statement's goal--
slither-scripted to promote a highest bottom line
as language euphemizes baby mice as 'pinkies,
fuzzies, hoppers': 'feeders' for a petted multitude
of scaly, fang-ed maws.

pre-thanksgiving christmas-trees
on either side of automatic double-doors--
styro-snowflakes hung
by wrapping-papered end-cap shelves on sale
to swipe our plastics to a higher debt--
to tinsel out the shame of maybe giving less?
reminding 'gift-time soon' and 'this could be a gift'
to ward off never having given childhood its due?
or of being less than cheerful
at incessant jingled tunes?

november fifth--decorations up;
guy fawkes night of trick-or-treater-candies
tweeting hallowed flu-shots
as my manager in elf-cap-antlers squeals in glee:
says she starts promoting christmas back in august.
i tell her that's appropriate!
given jesus was perhaps born in august.
says she didn't memorize the bible.
i tell her that part was left out anyway--
i don't mention the holiday's titular meaning;
or the waiting gnostic manger,
royal transhistoric camels,
mary on her donkey, joseph's wind-blown face
las posadas... the loneliness of exile
O mary... in her starlit tears of unknown pain and joy--
the unremitting love for barnfloor bodyheat,
todos santos
nonhominin humanity...
earthling rights day
a stranger's kindnesses
of yule-tide warmth and evergreen,
solstice-fulcrum festivals of lights
veteran's day's existential loss
and bureaucratic selfhoods shelved;
gurpurb at a gurdwara
the martyrdom of guru tegh bahadur
the garifuna settlement day
the tazaungdaing festival
fasting over christian as well as buddhist lent
the five days of deepawali, diwali:
bodhi day
découverte d'haïti and vertières
jamhuri day
zamenhof day
pancha ganapati
mithras day
osiris, adonis and dionysus day (all dec. 25th)
--republic day! national day! and proclamation day!
in the maldives, brazil, northern cyprus, chad, yugoslavia;
in the central african republic, burkina faso, kenya, malta, kazakhstan, niger, south sudan...
chahrshanbeh soori
the dongzhì festival
the saturnalia of pagans (lit. "country dwellers"; "those of the heath")
dies natalis solis invicti
watch night
boxing day
the day of goodwill
wren's day
quaid-e-azam's day
yeni il
guru govind singh jayanti
international solidarity day of azerbaijanis
fête du vodoun
darwin day
chocolate-egg-laying fertile-bunny-day-- or ishtar day
butter week, crepe week, or cheesefare week-- or maslenitsa
happy holidays to all in particular

on November 24th, 1675, "Guru Tegh Bahadar, the ninth Sikh Guru undertook the supreme sacrifice for the protection of the most fundamental of human rights - the right of a person to freely practice his or her religion without interference or hindrance."
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2016


nearby distant,
the soft thrash of warm waves
lapping interlocking,
happily wet tongue kissing,
sun-oven precision-crisping
the Long Island striped bass
and porgies, at a surreal cooling
77 degrees

Pandora synced to his eyes,
shuffling freely,
by saying
we too see!!
playing for him,
Stairway to Heaven (Led Zeppelin)

poor, poor poet,
strains to brain drain one more time,
conducting an ogling googling word search
for those combinatory storied ones that
sailboat glide
all the while
wildly bursting with Pellegrino effervescence

compromising sounds sights,
to present
properly the balance,
to preserve
properly this moment,
peaceful alive for all times,
as poet has tried,
and failed so many times before...

the caw caw caw of the crow mocks the illiterate human,
for the bird calls it, in single sound perfect and
the human a laughingstock,
for not in his possess,
to capture this perfect moment
of human sabbath.

a Roman Saturn day of rest,
on this day that itself,
is perfection,
perfect for celebrating our common creation,
on a day that our
almost-all-agreed-upon calendar
is marked for us to
forte rest,
from an existence of just laborious

the chubby checkered cheeked squirrels
laughingly pauses,
watching, enjoying a poet's struggle,
mind boggle,
the poet's chubby cheeks
stuffed with discarded words,
all insufficient to capture
the absolution of
absolute beauty

bathing in the noisiest of nature's sounds,
all that contravene the silence of living things,
breathing prayerful thoughts that all
summary end,
with a common gesture of
forefinger upon the lips

a human acknowledgment of
utter obeisance to the forces
calling out by example

listen, see!

silently presenting,

a day that demanded perfection
wmv Sep 2019
From a Galeano-style piece titled "DISCOVERY":

He can see himself standing there, happier than he is right now. He can see himself with everyone else together, laughing and enjoying life.  But he knows, “That isn’t me”. At least, not yet. But he knows he can choose to be that person who knows who they are. He knows he will discover who he is.

He can see himself, just beyond the veil.

But he won’t cross it. Not until he’s sure it’s himself he’s looking at.
a piece written for an activity in my freshman year english class. meant to emulate the style galeano used in book of embraces.

dated october 20, 2015

roast me fam
Broadsky Aug 2019
Maybe if I could find pills that give me the same effect  you do when you  say “baby” I’d be okay.

you got your college acceptance letter today and I’m so proud, but the minute you sent me that photo my chest collapsed.

I just want you to be happy even though most of me knows you’d be happier else where, I grasp all the time I can get with you like it’s special tokens that will give me life.

I told your mother I loved you and she smiled, she told me she thought i was a good person and that I would be fine in the world; I think she knows you’re going to leave me soon.

my skin crawls, my veins shake, and my stomach flips when I think of the inevitable dust storm that comes every year, hiding my happiness in a blanket of opaque grey, leaving me coughing in the bathroom trying to catch my breath as I mutter through my broken sobs “you’re okay”

but I won’t  be okay

because there isn’t anything like watching you live, getting a second older.

there isn’t anything like feeling you move your face from side to side so you can get deeper in my neck

there isn’t anything like touching your skin, or tasting your tongue, and I’m afraid I’ll never forget your name.
April 15th, 2015
M e l l o Jul 2019
Maybe I should
keep it and bury
it down
in the deepest
part of my soul
and let time
my feelings
for you
I wrote this last 2015. 2015 it was the darkest year of my life.
HeWhoExplores Dec 2018

The place where all but anything occurs.
Where order and disorder have no meaning.
Where dreams are chased but left unattended.
Where solace is never found, and with all the right reasons.
Where pride is hindered, hurt and paraded with hate.

Nat Lipstadt Dec 2015
Time: 7:30 pm
Temp.: 68F

overlooking the runways,
festooned by
accidental heavenly whimsy,
or humanistic whimsical inten-sity,
all the the planes and trucks are flashing
electrifying speckles, of eclectically synced
red and green

it is not my holiday,
but no matter,
like every New Yorker this day,
I am happily celebrating its
double U,
unique, unusual

"record breaking warmth"

yes, the Fahrenheit is outtasight, and by the dawn of
early eve~night,
the Centigrade is spiraling in reverse retrograde,
as the temp eases on down, just below seventy degrees,
on this dewinterized twenty fourth day of
December, two nought and fifteen

traffic is light, the terminal, an unbusy, slim shadow of itself,
the maddening crowds gone, now all are among
the dearly departed and either/or, the newly arrived

so composition of the observational, brings cheer and smiles to my faith,
(I mean my face),
the crowning quietude of clear skies, the absence of street smart
city  bustle and hustle,
the languid atmosphere at the gates,
(where seldom is heard an encouraging word)#
makes me reconsider the true meaning of
the au courant phraseology of this day

"record breaking warmth"

for there is indeed
a calm invisible warmth suffusing all tonite,
chests glowing from fireplaces within,
contentment chamber containers in both hearth and heart,
and I am thinking
about all the human warmth
on this celebrated evening,
holy night

it is breaking records of
recorded human fusion,
the united commonality of millions warming
his and her stories world-over,
that your personal poet is
warming to record
# but not tonight, as I am
Stephanie Jul 2018
A simple stroke stemming from a heart-planted seed
Ice white and sky blue freezing every generated thought to one with its chills
Intertwining shades of brown fuchsia splattered to a black space - manifesting into dreams
Blue, yellow, and purple churning with hydrochloric acid forming butterflies
Pulse shooting through into the darkened mesosphere darkening fuchsia's mark
Darkened fuchsia turned deep red lustful passion
An unfathomable crescendo beading sweat with final strikes
Reaching the thermosphere - revealing an exclusive sight of our aurora
It hangs in the gallery "Of Our True Selves"
The finish product is almost disappointing

+ crowned saint
*circa 2015
stumbled upon this poem the other day
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