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Lee Aaun Mar 27
you just need to
keep the door open
love will arrive
when the time will allow it to
let your heart open
When they are present but inside you are lonely,
When they are silent but the hurt inside is too loud,
When they don't say anything but the voices inside cracks your head,
When the taste of sorry from them is bitter,
When all the crap can’t allow you to say something;
You no longer keep there,
You pack your pieces and find yourself peace,
You walk away.
You deserve better.
Amanda Kay Burke Dec 2020
Those who lie dearest to your heart
Care for
All we have is now
Might not get another chance to express feelings
Time may not allow

Strong since I met suffering
Visions of future bright
Silent but risky assumptions
Have more than just tonight

All I do is wish for forever
You never truly know
How many moments remain taken for granted
Or chances left for love to show
So tell those you love how you feel before it's too late
Jess Jul 2020
Hard lines, sharp edges
would like to wash the harshness away
My maturity nudges me to stay
to breathe and
face these aspects
You are not me
yet I feel like I'm blowing away

A large deep breath
as I remain and allow
I walk and move
shifting energy around

Heavy focus dazed in and out
I allow myself
I open now
I feel myself challenged again and again,
but I remain here
present, staring

you straight in the eye.
My creation
buckles under my gaze
it tries to play games
but it cannot sustain.

My stomach churns,
skin chilled yet burns
But I remain.
Here, observing
Never truly fading

Burned away
in a fiery haze
yet
I still Remain.
Nov 8, 2019
Jess Jul 2020
Wide open, percolation
I breathe in, my own natural rhythm
I feel my entire being
open -- to myself.

I feel sensations, but it is not dramatic
Sometimes gentle stillness;
Other times, downpours ecstatic

Such fullness, in all that I AM,
And;
Simultaneously empty

I AM here,
             I feel movement
                         As it perfectly gushes through me

An absolute trust
           Not in something else anymore
                     But in who I AM
                             And it never fades

I allow myself now
            My spirit alive,
      Constantly singing
                    the song of my soul

Magic was always real
          Just as I knew
                 A harmonious reunion, here with you
                          As I now live my truth.
Oct 2, 2019
Nat Lipstadt May 2020
Shiv Pratap Pal  writes me:

“Every elder must be respected even if he is elder by a single day. This is tradition. Please let me follow the same. A poet never gets tired and poetry never dies.”

<>

Oh! this leaves me gasping for so many reasons needing enumeration.

The world reminds me daily by email and text, television commercial,
I am a privileged one, by age and right, among the most vulnerable,
so stay, baby, stay, inside your apartment and your mind where the
only virus that can come, is the one you’ve planted and tended all your whole life long.

Oft have I writ about being closer to the end, and this, untroubling,
a relief of sorts in what I fear is a new Dark Age that will arrive,
that will make writing poetry, sadly, an unlikely survival skill,
so I rite furious and furiously to give the best, the rest, of me, away.

Few are the societies that do not venerate to some degree, the elderly,
as if living long bestowed wisdom, in addition to an irritable crankiness,
(why the Inuit Indians put their elderly on an ice floe to die)
neither, both, of the “ain’t necessarily so” conditionals as wisdom deevolves and crankiness is a perpetual, a perpetual annoyance.

Do I deserve respect?

This haunts, for by right, we all believe it is
a conditional that must be earned, and not acquired by a general,
genetic lottery. R-E-S-P-E-C-T.
I do not, and a man who announces,
“I am deserving of same”
by saying this, clearly is and was not, or ever will be.

A single day!

What an amazement!

This relativity theorem, this luck of the draw, can’t argue with it, because it is tradition, somethingthat I’m well acquainted, because when I suffered on Saturdays, as an Orthodox Jewish  Child, who wanted to worship with the brothers at the Riverside Drive basketball courts, was dragged to a synagogue where he joked, they could of just inserted the video tape of the prior week, prior year, thousands of prior centuries, a previous millennium, who’d notice?


Who deserves respect?

The teacher, the one who gives it instant unflinchingly,
he who accepts a task from a stranger to translate
his words to a language he knows not even the alphabet,
indeed, a tribute to another, and executes it so well, but best! best!
no questions asked.

Who deserves respect?

One who respects tradition,
giving respect unquenchingly,
for the things that we cannot see,
only observe, come only in a size of limitless,
come unasked, freely given, even happily, and this is
why, for all of the reasons herein listed above, I give all respect to
a fellow poet, and pledge to arm embrace before tradition’s always untimely messenger says to me अब और नहीं!  (no more!)


                                       Shiv Pratap Pal
John McCafferty Jan 2020
Are you anxious or excited?
Perception tricks
same headspace ticks
Stretch beyond the point of comfort
fearful of the pain it brings
Persist the test through fight or flight
response is timed
Allow for growth
gain knowledge and engage
With experience we evolve
(@PoeticTetra - instagram/twitter)
Ken Pepiton Oct 2019
Allow means much more than most children think, and, since most adults, mature adamkind, learned the meaning of allow while being children themselves, it stands to reason,
we must agree to acknowledging an adult-rated meaning, an
original thought-true meaning, exists, and the embedded etymology.com clip causes verity to be established
And agreed. But skip the clip. This is most likely a paper book if I am still in it, and I am.

Got that? If not, get it. Ye'll nae go fear fershur. (never far for sure)

There is tinkly music behind this in the published version, I don't know how to do that yet, but it is being done.
The Orthodox Heretic is done that way with background noise playing as it were a role.

I am casting for the character "background noise" no more than a minute long and two inches tall.

What is allowed here is good. This realm is blessed. Good from day six. Yet,
You cannot imagine, yet. Telling my story from where I am, here, required "Rasselin' m' own weasels"

To get here. I had to stomp m'own snakes, in other words.
So, while you be, as you are, here, be having fun with no pain nor shame nor want

Think you can. You can.
Thank you, Waddie Piper, that little golden book that never leaves me, you know what I mean? I think I can. I think I can. And I know I read that book before I saw Dumbo.
You know what I mean.

And that is always Ray Charles, you know what I mean slow mind slow tongue fast ears
Hear the question from the stage to the nose bleed seats,
You know what I mean?

What is allowed here is good. This realm is blessed. Good from day six.

What is allowed here is good. This realm is blessed. Good from day six.
I am
So
Glad. Ye got a handle on that while back, eh? Good to see.

Old word that, glad. It'll gleam
If'n ye shine it on yer britches knees
Like a sword furbished,
A rod
And it is given to be furbished
That it may be handled:

Com prehension with gripping as a hand may
Grip a handle

You can handle that. It's the truth.
What else is there?

Post-mortal man is now man, you know?
What we are now is what we are;
Refurbished shined on by most.
Ignore, that's what shining on is
As used just then.

Now I can tell you to shine on and on and on
While we all ignore you and laugh at your
Efforting

Take it easy. The pieces have been falling
Long before now. Some how now we
Comprehend on purpose.

Hang on to that thought
Saturday, February 04, 2017
12:01 PM
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