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Malia Jan 6
I used to be able to
Sit at random tables
And introduce myself
Like it was nothing.

I used to have
Enough to stride
Into every situation
With optimism
And tenacity.

I’ve changed in many ways
Some good, some bad.
But this is one thing
I’d like to have back.
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2022
Something’s changed.

6:00 AM Sun August 16 2022

The temperature today will baby step
up the kitchen ladder, careful, senior slow,
to hover at a pleasant 79 Fahrenheit.

But, I am unfooled.

‘tis the birthing of the
changeling of mid-Augustus,
June’s initiating summer solstice,
an intimate longing now a long
gone forgotten memory, now a
calendar X a valedictorian graduate.

But of late, the sun has lately been
heisted by late afternoon by a batter
thick grayish cloud cover, right here,
hovering upon this godly place on earth.

there is a underlying fragrance, familiar,
an unmistakable chilling odor of cool fall.

an urgency emerges, hurry up you,
pluck the blueberries, harvest the peaches,
because trace hints of crispin fall apples,
falling browning foliage, curling leaves,
pumpkin flavorings and yellow gourds
is unjustly barely there, a definitely discernible.  

Back-to-school ads replace banners proclaiming
bargain prices for summer necessities, vin rosé.

Even the squirrels are enjoying a Sunday rest,
after mornin’ worship, no feverish acorn collection,
a subtle hint, winter supplying must be nearly done.

dare not superstitious say out loud, the **** geese,
have made themselves scarce going on two weeks,
having learned a trick or two from the Ukrainians,
I chuckle to think that we may have regained territory.

But, I am unfooled.

Morning boats of all ilk and demeanor ply-plow the
bay waters, but all seem less hurried, savoring the pretense
of forever long summer days, beyond-belief sunsets, soft white
ice of creamy calming waters, no impasto^ seas wintry rough.

Return-to-bed, coffee mugged, I await the Dumps early call,
the sorting done, metal, plastic,compostable, so easy to bring
order to our daily detritus, thinking if only one could sort the seasons then I would be a forever summer man, here,
on this godly place.

But, I am unfooled.

7:06 AM Tue Aug 16 2020
Shelter Island, N.Y.

^Impasto is a technique used in painting, where paint is laid on an area of the surface thickly, usually thick enough that the brush or painting-knife strokes are visible. Paint can also be mixed right on the canvas. When dry, impasto provides texture; the paint appears to be coming out of the canvas.
Tony Tweedy Jun 2022
My heart remembers there is more than this.
It recalls there being something warm and infectious.
When the beat had purpose beyond mere survival.
A throbbing and pulsating that gave power to emotion.

My mind glimpses a past that held joyous moments.
It recalls there being sensation and a fire in my core.
When every dream and hope had shape and form.
A memory made and cherished immune to times' flow.

My body longs for the thrills it once knew when young.
It recalls the dexterity lost through its aches and pains.
When pleasures could be made through another's touch.
A yearning for something that ageing stole in the night.

My soul cries for the sake of heart, mind and body.
It recalls the strength of being someone made whole.
When joy, happiness and love were something real.
A time when life was all and ending was so far away.
Fragments I am become,
Dismembered by life and time.
Getting old and feeling it
tabitha asiana Apr 2022
she used to breathe poetry
out of sadness, out of heartache,
out of everything that hurts.
but now she speaks words
that give light and life,
words that encourage,
words that fills someone's
soul with gladness.
she is you.
Jennifer DeLong Oct 2021
It's become a crazy world
Grown men addicted to TikTok watching girls
Pretty wives now ignored
Single and aware how
last year changed me
Gained weight
and now feeling a bit shy
And the world's gone
shootings everyday
People still confused
we all are not sure
of what's ahead
and here , I am
still wondering
will it all end soon
will all the music
not be heard
and will I ever
feel pretty again
will all the media hores
stop teasing the men
and put on some clothes
and will we start reading books and enjoy it
It's got to change
Or we will just go insane
where's the days
when men acted like men
Where's the days women
felt desired
When people cared
when we got together
not in vain
when family's gathered
to share and catch up
When neighbors watched
out for each other
When we could feel safe
we could live really live
How , I miss it
How , I miss me
guess it's all changed
can't rewind
So move forward
trying to navigate
the craziness
the way it used to be
So , I sit write a letter
and make a call
and think about
how crazy it is now
Funny how it has
all gone a bit crazy
© Jennifer L DeLong 🦏
veronica Feb 2021
i turned out
to be someone
that i know
most people
won't like

i wasn't like this before
it all came from pain
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