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Nat Lipstadt Aug 2018
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The Instigation:
Edmund  Black, commenting on “weary weighted,”

I agree with Kim; This is poetry at its best :)“

<•>

both of you shush!

there is no “better” in poetry

mine yours theirs, alive or not,

just gasps tears and blood
whimsical smiles and isles
cuts and burns of pained revelations,
hidden in fog,
that words try to delete away,
through the shrouded mists of
human tissues,
unconstrained by the
bounded shape
of the human cell,
our first, our own
self-imposed jail

tissue, too,
baby soft, or,
purple beating majestic bruised blotches
by those weaklings whose
kindness never
fully developed;  
or old man mine whose
skin cells erodes, so poems and light
weary weighted, lightly flake off
for your “betterment”
mostly tho for worse

good humans all await,
in patientce lightly hidden,
residents of dark sunspots
in the glaring existence exposer
of the unlit lighthouse whose time will come

they get it

how we get there unimportant

get there

GET THERE

get there
that is the poetic
mission critical

no path best or style preferred-
no compare just, but,
any path that
lifts and elevates,
to the commonplace


the common place

where all costarred, universal,
where common is the temple mount
of highest praise, holy smoke rising,

a place that
that discloses and closes,
is scribed/described honestly as
a connective,
which is the simplest
successive

call my poems,
blessedly common!

that an honorable,
so gladly accepted
and
so much more meaning-full
than merely best or better



for that,
I’d gladly weep,
for no praise
ever been
bettered





8/2/18 406pm
on the jitney to my isle
the instigation: Edmund black › “weary weighted, I agree with Kim .... This is poetry at its best :)“
Sharon Talbot Jul 2018
I listened for an error but could not find
Anything to tell me that you'd erred.
The human voices were left behind
Among the dead, the long interred.
I wondered at the worry of a bard,
Whose penchant for making mosaics
Of dead and living shards,
Might wax a bit prosaic.

But 'tis nothing too commonplace for me!
I live in such a new land.
And look back where my roots might be,
Standing on a sunlit strand
And strain my eyes for thee.

And my ancestors who, distant, pass,
Clouded with poetry and pride.
The latter mean nothing, not even my last,
Grandparents who came here and tried.

Shoemakers, firemen and their wives,
Learned to dwell in a sprawling place.
But huddled like old Celts, converted, shrived,
As Saxon fires round them paced.

But all of that ended or so we thought,
One April day on a Lexington span,
Declared was freedom and dearly bought,
And a ****** new history began.

August 7, 2012
I was thinking about the ideals of some English colonists (and others) who thought that a revolution would change the New World into a paradise. We all know what happened, but the dream is still there...
blood is spilled as credits run
twelve new shadows lose the Sun
cellphones off
the popcorn hot
severed souls now haunt this spot
let's change theaters
I know this scene
they break
they turn
they ****
I mean...
how many times has this been done?
the dark night rises
the scene is run
...again
Oldie - after the 2012 shootings during the showing of Dark Knight Rises
Kerdell Feb 2015
Warm light kissing upon her face through the whole in my wall,
Breathing so deep and silently as her mind wonders.
Mild scented silk holds her body, contouring from shoulder to her hips. 
Those lips are mines.
Pulling her closer to me, for any space maybe to far.
Warm bodies coming together like magnets. Yes, this was it.
Clutching her waist.
Attaching my lips to hers.
"Good morning", I implied. With a smile, she opened hers eyes.
Knowing. Our day was made.
Reviews are always welcomed by me. They will make me better
Ashley Somebody Apr 2014
Complicated things
Now seem commonplace somehow
When innocence fades.

— The End —