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Nat Lipstadt Jun 2020
Eden’s Weeds (Andrew Crawford)

“seed buried somewhere six feet deep beneath dry bones
and brittle debris, lost in all of eden's weeds” Andrew Crawford

you tripped exploring mine own eden's weeds,
more precisely, tripped me up, your poring over,
my one hundred year old poems, flawed, by
many spilled tears, aged old, for and over them,
and now, once again, je vous réponds s'il vous plait

this poem planned, title chosen, well before you
exercised my memories, disinterring by your fingers,
(surprise!} but the content you also now provided,
@ ten to midnight, your privacy invasion, a very fine
sleep deprivation excuse to compose one more time

who knows, perhaps this next one could be ”flawless”^
not likely though, flawless never found amidst the weeds
though in Eden chances are, chances are, not impossible,
for that’s the place where slow, simple songs get replayed,
celebrating lovers of life, its pleasant harmonies, go figure

over, over again, like a rolling stone, until friction finally wins,
yes ”my own chosen speed”^ is a-slowing, direction home, finally,
the mosses occluding new words and combinations, concealed,
like a moss, got no roots, birthed by shedding spores airborne,
my new old poems, plucked from air, words passing by in phrases

your phrase,
eden’s weeds,
hit my irises,
insisting it deserved,
instant cognition,
two words,
demanding special education,
accolade recognition,
perhaps if I
stick around,
for a few more poems,
I’ll learn to write
as beautiful as you.
Rocksteadylety Mar 2020
An artist with mad composition
A confused disposition
Double the list of failed repetitions
With pencil in hand, I looked at you.
I began.

And drew
pictures of what your insides might look like. Black and green, Strokes of yellow and tangerine
Like LA skies
I saw you in a dream
Now you’re right before my eyes
And I close. with pencil in hand
I began,
And drew
pictures of possible futures if you decided to hang
And drew
pictures of me with neatly ******* hands
Behind my back
With pencil in hand I drew your eyes looking at
If the divine did lead me
Double the reason
To have you in me
I had a muse I can use, with pencil in hand
I began
And drew
peaceful days with you by my side
And drew wild *** parties, ****** and chicken thighs
And drew you with me
And drew pictures of what that could mean
doesn’t matter to me
So long I see you in peace
So long I have with me
A pencil in hand, some paper
And so I began
Kaz May 2018
Roses are Red and Violets are Blue!
Why keep craving for that someone new

Is it his smile?
Well I smile too

Is it his eyes?
But I've got two

Its not me, No! its You!
You was Bae and I was Boo

my heart marched forward
While yours withdrew, subdued by the view of Andrew

Now my nightmares are alive
and my fears came true

Of how she left me
For a **** Tattoo
tylervk Dec 2017
If angels were given to govern men,
                                                            ­              neither
                         external nor internal controls
    would be necessary
                        control the Governed
                        control private interests
                                                       ­                   over
   public rights
In republican government,
                        legislative authority necessarily
                                                     ­                     predominates,
on extraordinary occasions,
it might be
                        perfidiously abused
power surrendered by the people
to the administration,
                        unjust views of the major
                        interests of the minor
turned against
                                                                ­         both parties
society itself
                        will     be     broken
many parts,
                        ­class of citizen,
                        rights of individuals
                        the     minority
will be in danger of
                                                                ­         the majority
the best security—
rights of every class,
                        will be diminished
Justice is the end of;
                                                             ­             civil society
Inspired by Tracy K. Smith's cut-up Declaration
Have you felt the pain in my city yet ?
Winds on a surge,
Houses and minds overturned,
Life's taking an unwanted turn.
You can't be surprised,
This hurricane has no soul.

These roads leading to your path of destiny
Been cracked by too much debris on main street
The president isn't gonna do too much about it,
He's too comfortable laid back in his seat.
How can america come together in a nation wide crisis
When we can't come united to solve the real everyday problem ?
These power lines and houses been falling
Flood levels in Florida and Texas are rising
Didn't this world learn about broken hearts in New Orleans ?
Keeping your life in order
As the ones that love build on pain to peace
Only if you see through the rain, life's tears, a world's need.
Have you felt the pain in my city ?

Just hoping while reading this you will atleast have a clearer view of this world and how what we do affects everybody around us and this environment. We all want peace, but we have to go through the storm to recognize it first. Inspired by the recent events
Jenny Gordon Apr 2017
Once upon a time we had the hymnal propped by the kitchen sink so's I could learn; years later Mum would sing along with me, and now...I like never but once in a blue moon dare to sing aloud, for missing her to tears.


What's happened to--me?  Rainy hours detail
Thet eye with silver's touch while green lawns fence
The minutes fog obscures by vague suspense
With softest carpets rolled out to avail,
And I'm not erm, my own in sheer betrayl;
Erst naked trees lost to mists' whitish sense
Of yonder, I could shiver, and do hence,
Cuz in a blink I'm his upon that scale.
One comment like my wont five days ere, poor
As what?  now he distracts aught hours 'til through
Suggestion I am giggling, sober, tour
His deepest sorrows, and maunt say he'd woo?!
Of course, I'm better searching violets, fer
All that.  Let purple wink low, saying we knew.

Hyacinths, violets are classically known along with purple as signifying sorrow, the former I've seen rendered as "hyacinth/ai/ai--" like wailing.  And I love them, to be certain, or is that to say the least?
Jenny Gordon Apr 2017 early sonnets...leaning on the windowsill as the streets were mad rivers, Mum in bed just behind me--ya, I've long been the nightowl, though how many times I'd hang out with her when I did.


Ah, silver gloaming whose soft light is thence
More yellow than wee baby leaves' detail
Of green chartreuse as rain now waltzes, pale
Yet with that subtler voice in tow, lawns hence
Thick carpets laid out 'gainst grey racks a sense
Of pink like fragile mists haunts to avail,
These naked boughs in lingerie black's scale
Just tinges, April clothed ere nightfall, whence?
O me!  The blacktop sports thin puddles fer
A touch of wet, and Friday's hallowed to
Some, good cuz dunno why, as we talk.  Were
It taxes or the missiles elsewhere, who
Shall--what?  I listen, laugh, want Andrew, poor
As saying is, and recall Mum:  all we knew.

Taking for granted so much, scares the fun we had over dinner and after tonight, me and my brothers...
Jenny Gordon Apr 2017
Hi.  waves with a happy smile


"Your Jenny."  And these blank skies thinly pale,
The baby leaves 'non shiver to winds' sense
Of sheer caprice, their soft chartreuse lit thence
As if translucent while birds wing oer, hail
With voices my heart knows from June's detail,
Like summer's breath flirts 'cross green lawns more dense
And ruffled carpets, daffodils bright hence
In deepest yellows smiling to avail.
Oh, Andrew!  Song of Songs talks of what fer
Effect seems mine, though we're but friends--yet ooh!
That's how she knows him, yes.  Warmth's waltzing tour
With singing lightly on the air and dew
What twinkles in morn's eye is ours as twere,
Whiles I want violets as I wait for you.

Problem with not liking to wait is how much of the Scriptures show that is our ultimate downfall, so far as I can see.
Jenny Gordon Apr 2017
...miss Andrew.  L14:  Will didn't?


Ya, moonlight at my feet whileas in pale
Excuse strings whine oer how I slumber thence?
The violin half shrieking, thet eye hence
Just stares down through my window to detail
My auld duvet as if on purpose, frail
White on the side I allus choose, a sense
Of what? 'non waiting in sheer silence, whence
Note how, and switch the radio off to scale.
I'm hungry now tis midnight--is that poor?
Twa sips of coffee, cold and stale ist too?--
Twelve hours 'go when twas fresh---and who cares fer
All that by now?  Not me.  Let Shakespeare do
Up lines none read cuz oh! we love as twere
His plays.  We don't, at that.  But ah, who knew?

This particular sonnet seemed remarkably well constructed, or you can correct me--mind you, I might not listen if you do.
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