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Poetic T Nov 2020
Deteriorated configurations that are
neither of consecutive methods
                                             or contorted reflections,
it's upon the eye line of those who look perplexed.

For what is slumped like tired unimportance,
is neither an inflexible road,
for nothing is
               either invariable or contorted
It's just a view that each takes.

                                Me I'm like the reed,
both woven in a paradox
of motions.
For who sees a contortionist
   that's neither of each
                                     or the other.

Riffling upon the aspects of my decisive
                            displacement that catches
nither the truth or the lie.
  
You  may catch the second,
                        or minute,
        but beyond the mirco filaments
that linger between variable glimpse
that pass.

Is more than constructive  tendrils
           of a lifetime of consequential
amendments or defaming the
              consequential understanding
that nothing plays by the rules..
Nat Lipstadt May 2013
~for RK, for now~

Until you have bent your ear to Shakespeare's sonnets,
Till you have laughed with Ogden Nash,
Wept with Frost, visited Byron's ghost,
Read the songs of King Solomon,
And once you
Despair of being their equal,
Shed your winter coat of worry,
***** your courage to the sticking point,
Begin to write then with reckless fearlessness,
Unfettered abandon, make a fool of yourself!

Scout the competition.
Weep, for you and I will never surpass
The giants who preceeded us, and yet,
Laugh, cause they thought the same thing as well...
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2020
bent Hallmark card (for BJ Donovan)

”I'm a bent Hallmark card with no stamp. It won't reach my love”
                   BJ Donovan (HP gone, Gray Dotted, r.i.p.)


at the drug store, loose poems,
no right-sized envelopes left,
loosie cigs, for newly ‘underemployed’
both, thumbed, finger oil anointed-stained,
and
bent

all available for purchase
24/7, in these United States,
in national drugstores jailed,
kept in “chains” till discarded

therein hides the rub-bled best,^^
great verse writings, deadline-
inspired in a Ohio bullpen office,
@ corp. HQ by an Eng. Lit. major

composed, vetted, approved, yet
marked ‘failure,’ by quality control,
third Tuesday of every month, ritualized,
manager freshens display, victims chosen

Hallmark display, pruning the die-marked,
the no-hope cards, consigned, to a green
in-the-back-garbage dumpster resting place,
where you just may see me climbing-in

(and where America safe keeps its treasures)

droning on, as per usual, I’m kicked away by a
rent-a-cop, muttering insurance assurances, just
business, not personal, grab what cards I can, mine,
stolen pleasures, resending via insertion here ‘n there

my resurrection act, a new business, wife thinks
me stinks, but for me, a perfume of saved  words,
an act of rebirthing, god bless America, making it
great by giving Hallmark poems a second chance

gonna send one of those cards in envelope,
addressed to BJ Donovan U.S.A., no stamp,
inside note, your poems were ordinal, small
plates of sardonic pith, human foibles, on being

old, recalling youth, both celebrated, Icarus and Daedalus

pretty sure this poem may not get there but I believe
in poetry and the US Post Office, who delivers
mail to me, marked “Nat”^ and to Santa Claus,
which impresses, cause I’m mythical, he’s real

your compositions were breathtaking, literally,
miss your hallmarked witticisms, criticisms,
glad you escaped that virus nursing home jail,
if needed, write to “Nat, NYC, living somewhere
in a park, scribbling close by the East River
^

I’ll get it, like I got you, they know my special tree,
and the rock nearby, that too, is a known hideout,
no worries buddy good stuff may perish, but somehow
it gets a second wind, can’t keep a good scrip, down forever...

a very humbled admirer...

NaTTy
^^ https://www.pinterest.com/betteshallmark/hallmark-quotes/

———————-
^emerging from the store, walking home in the
now doubly ***** darkly dusk,
a set of white teeth from a passing shadow-man says to me
“you’re home late and have a great weekend,”

she asks, “who is that?”

“why,” I reply, “that is our very own personal postal carrier’

she says:
“he delivers mail to ten thousand people all in buildings tall,
yet knows your name, your face,
where u buy your lottery tickets,
your coming and going hours,
how came that to be”

but waits not for an answer
she just shakes her head, from side to side

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2220471/she-just-shakes-her-head/
Chase Pamplin Apr 2020
The master with the power to control, we aren’t voting for love but there’s enough numbers on the tole. There’s a casting call for all weary hearts and we all want the role. Place yourself in another’s shoes. Who’s a mind reader because we need answers for the hidden agenda behind the question marks with clues. A magnifying glass to read the fine print. Is that you I hear calling out for me? Love in its true nature has curves it’s meant to be bent. Just know as a whole you are the one for me.

CP.
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
don’t forget ...
by michael r. burch

for Beth

don’t forget to remember
that Space is curved
(like your Heart)
and that even Light is bent
by your Gravity.

The opening lines of my poem were inspired by a famous love poem written by e. e. cummings. Keywords/Tags: cummings, space, curved, forget, remember, heart, light, bent, gravity, space-time
Somewhatdamaged Jan 2020
Lost myself, completely disarrayed.
Bent myself anyway I could.
Wish you could have stayed,
but no matter what
I will do what I should.

You said it was your time,
time to leave it all behind.
Leaving me alone to live,
live with your wise words to shine.
Remembering you gives me pain and strength
but now I'm not afraid
of what I don't know.
Thank you for understanding.
I will be living,
I will be learning,
I will be growing!
- Mar 2019
sometimes old love,
never went away.

oftentimes it's still there,
but the love is bent and
s e v e r e d.
Tori Mar 2019
There lived an old woman
In a tumbled old cottage
In the midst of the silent wood.
She kept figurines
And the most peculiar things
In her little old cottage in the wood.

Her vases were chipped
Her tapestries ripped
And her silverware bent like her back,
But beautiful was she
And her beloved oddities
In that little old cottage in the wood.
Deiny Moretta Nov 2018
It doesn't matter to me if all this is over. My love for you still intact.
It doesn't matter how much I still love you, or if you did loved me at all. I never intended to break my vows or break you, neither I thought you would. But life is deceiving and it will always find a way to scatter what it seems to be real.
You dragged me into your world and made me feel that eternal was not just a word but a reality. You made me feel love was real and had me leaving a dream, when in fact, you were just preparing me for the worst nightmare wake up, once you decided leaving. You took everything I was,  everything I had, except my body.
You stabbed my heart with your lies way before you were gone, and just pretended to heal the wounds on every kiss, but in every single one you only made them more profound.  You painted my whole body with your lips, and all of a sudden you just wanted to erased me like any other  painting.
I just want to un-vow my heart from all these broken promises. I keep scattering myself from this soul binding that keeps reminding me of our yesterdays,of all the times I torn, so you wouldn't break.
I could never un-vow my heart from this memories, but darling am not broken, just bent.
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