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el Mar 20
i have never loved anybody the way i loved you
i’m afraid that i never will
i know not all love is the same
but must you be the one i never forget
must you be the one i compare to all the rest
maybe it’s not you
yeah, you weren’t perfect
perhaps you were just the first time
i put my all into somebody
maybe it's the distance
Jeremy Betts Oct 2022
I followed the order handed over to the T, I swear, I checked every square inch of the interior in that musty, empty chamber as well as the outer perimeter
And, just to make sure to cover all of our bases, a land surveyor calculator was used so no one would have to return to confirm the number later
He soulda, woulda, coulda but didn't prepare for the worst,  should have taken ques from one of them openly mocked doomsday prepers
Just in the event there was no search and rescue coming together to push the radius wider
I'll say this, there's nothing you could compare to what was in there other than a twisted flair of a taboo desire for a living nightmare
Keeping it honest here, there was no proper way too decipher if pain or anger fed the monster in turn fueling the inner and outer warfare
After all this time the why is still unclear like an over exposed Bigfoot picture under the blur of an out of focus layer with the top half blacked out by a fat finger
It's mostly ever operator error, there's no proof of any attempt to even remove the lense cover
Resulting in snap shots that fully render the emptiness of a gut wrenching, heart breaking type of forever
Walking through the bare walled entry erected the neck hair, instantly on anticipatory high alert, predicting a jump scare
I'd never go back there but if you dare, prepare to soil your underwear, best to bring an extra pair
It's far eirrer in there than I imagined it'd be with the unbalanced nature of finding tragedy has bled into the comedy so frustration and the for mentioned anger seemed not only justified but fair
One might expect a shrill chill to fill the air befitting the general atmosphere likened to the hollow echo of an abandoned aviator hanger
There was an uneasy stillness in the helplessness seemingly coming from nowhere and everywhere
The nonconsentual caress of chaos looked to have been ramped up a gear, allowed to feast on the bounty of self loathing and fear
I don't know if you could consider one over the other being better while not sure who's the bigger threat, the dark passenger or driver?
Neither should have been allowed to steer especially after the request to hold so and so's beer
Looks like nothing penetrated the barrier inside each ear that, according to the guest sign in on the counter here, had been garded by a couple demon friends made during his very first winter
Just prior to the proverbial greener pasture being engulfed by an arsons fire lit by the land owner
And oh how it wreaked of dispair, heavily punctuated by the stench of failure
It lingered like a stocker predator peering over top the chip and bolder on what's been dubbed an unworthy shoulder
Progressively more violent as the one under investigation grew older, evidence shows a temper that consistently boiled over
The life destroyers lurkin' behind every door down a never ending corridor, waiting in the cover of darkness found around every corner
You don't know from where but can hear screams of terror as you pass a single motivational poster that reads, "being dead inside will allow for the skipping over of the coroner all together"
Buyer beware, this particular first stair is a header, the warnings couldn't have been clearer
A lack of empathy stains character but if lead by example it's plain to see why someone might refuse to care
Or would even know how to for that matter, solely focused only on the neighbor who's grass is forever advertised as greener
Didn't do the work on the personal endeavor so it didn't get any better, attitude towards it all seemed very cavalier
An obvious what not to do trend setter, a self proclaimed and locally agreed on idiot of the year
Missed all this YOLO banter, acting like a pop of the trunk would reveal a spare
Who's life is it really if you're not even a content creator in it much less the engineer
Come to think of it I don't recall that even bein' offered up to this poor sap as a qualifying career
It should be but that's neither here nor there, what's done is done and every other cliche you can pull out of the air
To put it simply, he wasn't known as a fighter so he threw in the towel and tossed innocence out with the bath water
The belief that life was beyond repair was a thought he struggled to alter, positivity was something he never learned how to gather, had a horrible teacher
It didn't help hearing a proper confirmation message from both a soothsayer and palm reader with no reassurance from his supposed maker
Proof that it's always safer to separate judge, jury and executioner, it's a no brainier
But he wore all three hats plus at his core was a sinner, it could've been his last meal every time he sat down for dinner
So he no doubt knew there was no scenario where a man like himself was gonna come out the winner
And now that I've seen the bizzar aftermath from every angle I can say with far more confidence than when I began to explore that I don't know how he managed to even get this far
The violence was real, the battles weren't staged, it raged on behind the fleshy mask he wore to keep us from witnessing the horror
But every day his anchor to a brighter reality got weaker, thoughts and surroundings becoming darker faster than he could remember from the days before
One can only be expected to hold on for so long when you're the nail trying to resist the hammer
He was neither hero nor imposter, just the next mother fuucker to fall victim to his own future
Nat Lipstadt Feb 2023
Compare and Contrast (the foliage of the heart)


My work is loving the world.
 Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird - 
equal seekers of sweetness.
 Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
 Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
 Am I no longer young and still not half-perfect? Let me
 keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work, which is mostly standing still and learning to be astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
 The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
 Which is mostly rejoicing, since all ingredients are here,
Which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
 a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
 to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
 telling them all, over and over,
how it is
 that we live forever.

This is the first poem in Mary Oliver's collection Thirst, titled,
“The Messenger."


Ruler of the Universe, grant me the ability to be alone; may it be my custom to go outdoors each day among the trees and grass among all growing things - and there may I be alone, and enter into prayer, to talk with the One to whom I belong.

May I express there everything in my heart, and may all the foliage of the field - all grasses, trees, and plants - awake at my coming, to send the powers of their life into the words of my prayer so that my prayer and speech are made whole through the life and spirit of all growing things, which are made as one by their transcendent Source. May I then pour out the words of my heart before Your presence like water, O L-rd, and lift up my hands to You in worship, on my behalf, and that of my children!

-Rebbe Nachman of Bratslav


too early on a Sunday morning for a trick or treat question,
still bed-bound @ Nine AM, browsing the internet state of the world,
it’s pre-my-walk on First Ave., in my Manhattan
concrete habitat pasture, where it’s gray and grayer
reveals of raggedy grass, certainly no sheep, and the only flowers
arrayed will be those with price tags fronting the bodegas
that are busy preparing breakfast for thousands of New Yorkers

trick question?

indeed! there is NO contrast, save the compare the kinetic similitude
of three kinfolk prayers, amidst frightfully unchanging headlines of
the dreary state of the world - weather report prototypical,
war, death & destruction, whiny celebrities and sports “heroes,”
editorials preaching, a vast quietude of no one’s mind changed,

but, always the but…

my work is loving the world, the grimy solitary blades of grass, true survivors, hosted & sprouting in dirt cracks miraculously,
letting the foliage of my heart blossoming in early morn warmth within my body’s extremities, clothed coverings of wintery wool,
confess my facts (“no longer young and still not half perfect?”),
filling the styrofoam cups of begging, wretched yearning refuse,
planting sprigs of mint green dollars in blanched froze hands,
wondering to myself, which one is
the masked messiah?

these are the growing things in my fields, 70 years familiar,
the fruits and flowers of my life, are street crated>corners,
a panoply of vest corner garden-parks,
and the people!
people of every color and shade, what variety hath man wrought?

my eyes lack
not for anything, plenty the stimuli joyous within the astonishing spirit and life of all things blooming in hostile soil and you
may yet see the mark of
Abel joy upon my forehead, in my eyes, and see lips whispering this prayer~poem while being birthed, but in a word, a single word,
a pouring, best summarizing of a rebbe’s blessing
shouting out, anointing, appointing:


Sun Feb 19 2023 9:15 AM
Rickey Someone Mar 2022

You flipped on me like a coin
But to compare you to a currency
Would be to suggest that you actually
Could spend your time like it were money
Or that you would place value on our friendship

I held onto you like a rung on a ladder
But to compare you to such a useful tool
Would be to pose that I might have actually
Used you as if you were a piece of equipment
Or that I thought I could climb you to reach new heights

You left me like a turn signal
But to compare you to a direction
Would be to suggest that you actually
Had some purpose or mission or goal
Or that you had an inkling of the destination of your journey
Pr nandni Jun 2021
Never STOP yourself to WONDER how BEAUTIFUL you're ,,
Jealousy will cease you to RUN after more SUPERIOR than you..
Your beauty will not stop you, but your PRIDE on your beauty will LOCK your MOVE ..

OPEN your HEART every time you open your EYES..
Make your soul LIVELY and
as PLAYFUL as butterfly
Who spends their whole LIFE , flying across AESTIVATIONS ,,
Of singly coloured PETALS....
Holding the band of RAINBOW on their BACK...

If they stop , to CHERISH their beauty
It'll disturb the law..
UNAWARE of their BREATHTAKING beauty they're happy & BUSY..

So, if you're arrived for a JOURNEY
Never make SONGS of your MISERIES
Make your PAIN , a mole of CHEEK
Not an EXCUSE to hide your FACE
Never let your SHORTCOMINGS be the reason to RUN away from LIFE...

They call crawling caterpillars UGLY
But wishes to get KISSED from butterflies
They're nagging , criticizing judgemental
Can only PRAISE the Beauty...
Nobody is INTERESTED in anyone's journey
So BUSY to see transformation
But Ready to Compare & to make PERCEPTION ......
"Don't let the noise of other people's opinion drown out your own inner voice" ~ S.J.
Lydia Nov 2020
I can love myself so much better
comparison steals my ability to see my beauty
I spend so much time loathing
I don’t know what to compare myself to anymore
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2020
Preamble: Compare and Contrast

compare and contrast,
the teacher asks us to
do this,
on a mid-term
exam and I am
                                  struck-up by a resonance combo, a commandment
                                  compare and contrast, somewhere an ineffable has
                                  ordered me to love poetry, in all/only honesty,
                                  in that uncertain way. without surcease.

                 ­                    functional verbs that a button pushed,
                                            a non-rhyme that sang out somehow
                                                “this is the writing life, this way, yours.”
                                    live and last.
with that single directive,
compare and contrast.
without surcease,
                   and your poem then,        has no The End.
preambleto a poem yet unwritten
Daniel Pokorny Jun 2020
The nights are as young as we are,
The days, are as long as our nightmares,
Our dreams are short,
But long during,
To compare ourselves with others,
Is like comparing our nightmares,
They'll never be the same,
For one person's nightmares,
Are another's day dream.
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