Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nat Lipstadt Nov 2
comes on shore, from heated airs,
over a far away ocean,
steals in with quiet hands,
no thunderous  clapping,
gently lifts, shakes, the
woman’s long tresses,
making them an
even bigger
tangled messes

the irises standing proud ‘n tall,
with their quiet applause, mm
at the unfolding playlet observing,
verdant spectacular every coloration,
the sky spinning clouds,
the lapping  waves keeping rhythm,
that everyone
hears differently,
and all the discordant
cacophonous agitations
blends harmoniously
and everybody smiles,
everyone grins,
all knowing that the
all~knowing just

sneezed
wrote this to remind myself that I
can still write a summer poem
even if it is November 2nd at
9:41 on a sunny, but chilling  morning
(Song for the Genteel Salesman Blocking My Path Each Time)

If only you knew.

Beneath blonde, rebonded locks
Curled extroverted lashes
Cemented titanium dioxide
Plastered patient breathless pores

Lips-wine-red
Nose elongated,
Dark strokes  imprudent
Cleopatric windows to
Sadness of soul.

Maverick femininity in
Saccharine swan-like greeting

If only you knew.

Eden was perfect paradise
She who was crafted
Immaculately from your rib

She was your Soulmate
You were Beloved
Protector, keeper,
Nourisher of her being

If only you knew.

You are treasured by Him
Who fashioned you
Out of mud
Breathed life into your nostrils

From nothingness
You were imago dei.

You were anointed shepherd
Of all that lived
Moved; slid.

You were perfect
Majestic  in Truth

You were imago dei

As you should have been
And can still be.
Next page