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Nat Lipstadt Oct 2015
A reflection on birthdays, friends departing this world, and surveying ones life

this one poem is not lurking,(1)
turmoiled bursting,
shaking, quaking,
release aching

write it in droplets,
my chest speak squeaks,
each thought, a stanza,
each moment, a bonanza
of  the doled, muddled mix
of tremblings on this my extravaganza,
renaissance day of birth
upon this earth

sixty five calendars,
this space,
so gulf and so narrow, (2)
for what profit this man
for himself, others?

a Judgement Day of sorts,
where the man~poet is efficiently
prosecutor, defender,
judge and jury,
as is he not,
his one true

let his biases be betrayed,
his fault lines be paraded,
let his deeds be the unlawful legal coda
by which he is remanded

if found guilty of a ledger imbalanced,
more sins than glory,
only one sentence permitted,
life imprisonment

even the NYC weather
clued in and deity cooperative,
wakes me up to this advisory:

Slight chance of a rain shower.
High near 65F.

High near 65.

what portent this oracle,
a warning guide to this morass
of a contradictory, crevassed man
full of mea culpa poetic messes,
his old is his high...
or are these just winking,
birthday instructions from
an observer on high?

this space of years, this life,
so gulf and so narrow,
engulfed, yet so sparse is his barrow,
his first minutes of the day
a lean inventory taking,
for better or worse
as he overcasts a full review,
plus a bonus (!)
a forward progress prognosis

there is a fresh formed
Cain mileage marker upon his brow,
a check-mark scar,
resultant of his self-checkup
upon the tree rings of his tiring body

weeping only because a mistrial is declared
and no verdict returned
and he rises for coffee,
promising himself someday an honest resolution

these the acts of
sixty five calendars,
of this, his-space,
so gulf and so narrow,
subjected to a now daily interrogatory:

for what profit this man,
his actions, his loved words,
for himself, to others,
to this world?

October 1, 2015
but I can't stop
for each hour of the last 72
has witnessed a new poem
minute one and minute sixty five
written for you,
writing for life,
writing of this moment,

this space so gulf and so narrow
in and between
the unity of
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
This Distance Between Us
by Michael R. Burch

This distance between us,
this vast gulf of remembrance
void of understanding,
sets us apart.

You are so far,
lost child,
weeping for consolation,
so dear to my heart.

Once near to my heart,
though seldom to touch,
now you are foreign,
now you grow faint . . .

like the wayward light of a vagabond star—
obscure, enigmatic.
Is the reveling gypsy
becoming a saint?

Now loneliness,
a broad expanse
—barren, forbidding—
whispers my name.

I, too, am a traveler
down this dark path,
unsure of the footing,
cursing the rain.

I, too, have felt pain,
pain and the ache of passion unfulfilled,
remorse, grief, and all the terrors
of the night.

And how very black
and how bleak my despair . . .
O, where are you, where are you
shining tonight?

Keywords/Tags: distance, gulf, apart, divide, foreign, faint, gypsy, saint, loneliness, broad, expanse, barren, dark, path, black, light, shining
Daniel Feb 2020
Oh winter how soon you will leave me
How soon you'll bereave me
And though I'll remember your seasonal sights,
your evergreens and birches converging for miles
These things are not nearly enough
I want us to touch

To fashion you into some tangible thing
Some newlywed's ring, attached to a finger
That I may look down and remember you – winter

While somewhere yule-ash is being spread in the fields
That the old gods might hasten their yields
Or kept beneath pillows to silence a storm
I will lie beneath virgo, a lover forlorn
if Jūrmala
by Riga
she fettered
goat head
aim for
orient in
sea yesterday
she stank
like the
submarine there
with Latvia
as Über
recoiled their
way to
Dow Nation
with centipede
in lore
a middle of the road strategu
Death by Decoy Jul 2017
So I;

I move in the same pace as the river.
I flow along with it as I keep a shiver;
Ignoring all the rocks that come my way,
so never will I be in one place to stay.

Yet you;

You struggle against the fast moving water.
You flow against it with a sturdy little quiver;
Using the rocks as so to keep you at bay,
then breathe a sigh of contentment and stay.
Wordsinalign Apr 2017
She lies to the world that the five percent is all there is to sea,
but she wanted him to feel the depths deeper than there was to see.
She needed him to anchor and not let her slip like the sand through finger,
She needed a love that left an everlasting effect linger.

He stepped on the same grounds,
Looking for a love that saved him from his drown.
On the outside he was tough as steel,
Deep inside he could no longer feel.
He hummed songs from the spirited waves,
Drove deep into them to rescue her from coral caves.

He was the Persian Gulf and she was an Indian Ocean,
Yet they breathe salty summer air and gaze at the same clouds in motion.
She flew the skies, wondering if she lost him behind a floating cloud,
And went into places, she knew she wouldn’t be allowed.
Meeting him would be a miracle she thought,
Her chances were drying out faster than water during a drought.

There she stood at the Arabian Gulf in the warm sea breeze,
There was something about her that put his heart at ease.
Breathing the raw summer air,
Locked in his view paralysed by the depths she saw in his stare.

He lifted an empty shell and poured the ocean in,
His charms travel pore to pore and loving him felt like a sin.
Her eyes had storms that were painted in grey and silver,
Knowing she felt the dagger, his love would **** her.
at the end of the pier
no one is fishing

a couple from Jersey
leans out over the
rail looking down into
the brown swill
rolling under the
weathered boards

The wife remarked
“Belmar's water
is much nicer.”

on the Gulf’s edge
unhappy gulls convene,
plaintively gazing
over gray waves
ebbing at their feet

Brown Pelican crews
fly in long
ordered formations
incessantly circling
in widening rounds
seemingly reluctant to
plunge into the
endless depletion
of this aquatic
dead zone

I speak with a
Jefferson Parish employee
working a shovel
to regrade disturbed sand
boasting a consistency
of moist drying cement

“How did the Gulf oil spill
affect this place?” I ask

“It took evarding.” she said
With a slight Cajun accent,
“dig down a foot or two in da sand
you hit earl. It nevar goes away. Nevar.

“I live down bay side
near forty years.
Had’nt been in de water fer
twenty five.  The ******
******* took evarding.
They should go back
to Englund”

She went back to
tilling the sand.

Deepwater Horizon
yet festers a short
forty miles out to sea
is now covered by
an advancing storm
swelling in the Gulf

standing at the end
of the long pier
my hands  grasp the
sun bleached lumber
straining my eyes
peering into a
dark avalanche

the serenade
of bird songs
have been replaced
by the motorized drone
of tenders servicing
offshore rigs
a constant refrain
filling my ears
with a disquieting  
seaside symphony

the taste of
light sweet crude
dances on my tongue
the pungent sting
of disbursements
climbs into nostrils
rends my face
prickles my eyes

grandeur is a
conditional state
never permanent
forever temporary

Music Selection:
Cajun Music:
Hippy To-Yo

Grand Isle
Grand Isle, Cajun, Deepwater Horizon, ecological distress, Gulf of Mexico
Joel Hayward Apr 2016
My house is a hole

I hold a photograph
and cry for you

How can I live

My house is a hole

I climb in to search
and find fragments

I hold your hand
which seeps
JayceeJellies Aug 2015
Pink and said to be mean
Your tentacles tend to scare me
You're often alone, are you lonely?
Drymonema larsoni... don't worry
We can be friends, just don't sting me..

Native to the Mediterranean, Caribbean, and The Gulf of Mexico..
Searching for Moon Jellies and feasting once they're found
They wrap their tentacles around- them and drag them in
What a cruel fate? you may think that but we do the same thing.
PrttyBrd Apr 2015
Hues of blue and gray
With a succulent sweetness
That begs to be savored
In the briny waters off the sea
They lead a life unseen
Scavengers in warm water
A lazy afternoon
Wire mesh and day old fish
Chicken necks on a string
Baited traps dropped in left in wait
Edgewater shallows and a lot of time
One by one they come
Chasing that string to the shore
One by one they come
Pull up the trap and catch what you can
Fill the bucket with sweetness
There is nothing quite like
A blue crab Saturday afternoon
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