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Nat Lipstadt Oct 2019
Oh Eliot, Poor Eliot, Your Fans Hung You in the Closet and I'm Feelin' So Sad^

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we tithed thee with donations plenty,
here a dollar, there a fiver, a coupon for free chips,
worthy of somebody’s eternal gratitude,
that would be you,
da Duke, Duke of York

the largest online free poetry site,
a million visitors a day, why you must be
the richest poet online billionaire, right?
you,
da Duke, Duke of York and

occasional poet...

in return, all we occasional poets demand
steady on instant access, immediate satisfaction,
after all, a part time job deserves your bestus-best,
just like every other large online site, that never crashes,
we’re not like just the rest, we are
p o e t s,
occasionally

so keep the servers engines, well stoked with Newcastle coal,
keep them up and running round the clock,
using only alternative energy,
of the unceasing sun light of merry old England!

quit that other job, you must,
instead of giving up on us,
give in to us,
a poetry break, a writing recharge,
though please add a limited liability
clause to the FAQ’s,
that poets’ lives must deal with the hiccup
occasional

you, da Duke, Duke of York,
newly now, an appointment royale as Major General,^^
you, the very model of a modern major general
possessing information vegetable, animal, mineral and
technical,
who knows the Queens  of England, who,
maybe even now is telling tales of your heroics with the hordes of
hysterical
occasional
poetical
globalists
demanding
light brigadests
charging the redoubt

and
when you have a moment spare,
a haircut, please.

no, that is not a request,
naturally

<>

10/19/19
Noontime NYC
natalino
^^Messers Gilbert and Sullivan

^ Oh Dad, Poor Dad,
Hung You In The Closet and I’m Feeling So Sad
By Arthur Kopit
Jonathan
Well, I made it out of lenses and tubing. The lenses I had because Ma-Ma-Mother gave me a set of lenses so I could see my stamps better. I have a fabulous collection of stamps, as well as a fantastic collection of coins and a simply unbelievable collection of books. Well sir, Ma-Ma-Mother gave me these lenses so I could see my stamps better. She suspected that some were fake so she gave me the lenses so I might be...able to see. You see? Well sir, I happen to have nearly a billion sta-stamps. So far I’ve looked closely at 1,352,769. I’ve discovered three actual fakes! Number 1,352,767 was a fake. Number1,352,768 was a fake, and number 1,352,769 was a fake. They were stuck together. Ma-Mother made me feed them im-mediately to her fly –traps. Well... (He whispers.) one day, when Mother wasn’t looking...that is, when she was out, I heard an air-plane flying...somewhere, far away. And I ran outside to the porch so that JI might see what it looked like. The airplane. With hundreds of people inside it. Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of people. And I thought to myself, if I could just see...if I could just see what they looked like, the people, sitting at their windows looking out...and flying. If I Could see...just once...if I could see just once what they looked like...then I might...know what I-what I... (Slight pause.) So I...built a telescope in case the plane ever...came back again. The tubing from and old blowgun (He reaches behind the bureau and produces a huge blowgun, easily a foot larger than he Mother brought back from her last hunting trip to Zanzibar. The lenses were the lenses she had given me for my stamp. So I built it. My telescope. A telescope so I might be able to see. And... (He walks out to the porch.) and...and I could see! I could! I COULD! I really could. For miles and miles I could see. For miles and miles and miles! Only...
You take the time to build a telescope that can sa-see for miles, then there’s nothing out there to see. MA-Mother says it’s a lesson in Life. [Pause] But I’m not sorry I built my telescope. And you know why? Because, I saw you. Even if I didn’t see anything else, I did see you. And...and I’m...very glad.
Typed by: Jeremy Mash 2-16-06
He was not sending
He did not know even he was the messenger
He went to that cave
Called "herraa" cave
To be away of the world
To look after the natural world

To discover if the world was created
By only power and God
His nation worshipped statues
360 statues with days of moon year
To approach them to the only God

The true is when one increases his faults
He searches away from his God
Trying to get a way and method
To get his God forgiven his worst

He forgot that his God accepted one
Who discovered that he did a wrong

Mohamad sent a lone
To see the outer of the world
And to hear the inner sound
Until a great creature appeared
He made a strong hung
Mohamd felt his chest was collapsed
Telling "read"
Mohamd said," I can't"
Mohamad was illiterate

The creatures hung him again

The sweat ascended as rain

Telling him read
Mohamad said," I can't read"
In the meaning of the talk
The creatures did again
Saying," read ,
Read with the name of the God
Who learnt with the pen"

As the Al arak surat said
Mohamd went with great shock
Saying," cover me, hung me
Warm me"
His lovely and honest wife met
With great mercy and kind
Telling you God will not let you down


To be continued
mohamad was sent to guide all the creatures to the holy power wo created the world
Emma Jan 2019
I wanna write about you.
And I do.
You drip off the end of my pen,
Off the blinking line of my cursor,
And fill up white space
With the nebulousness of what you are to me;
Your cumulonimbus formlessness.
Enter.
Pause.
A moment of consideration.
I am constantly unsure of what this all means.
I love you.
You’re bad for me.
I might be bad for you in return.
I want you.
I don’t want anything and I burn for you,
I write for you,
I pine when I am a creature of pragmatism and action.
You don’t want me the same in return, if you do at all.
The absence of you is terrifying.
The absence of you was a relief.
With you I am elated.
With you I feel as though you slowly pull my heart apart,
As though you forcefeed me hope,
For I am unable to do anything else but wish for—
Change
—when we are together,
Though I know it is impossible,
Unlikely enough to deserve the word.
I can see the planes of your skin, feel
Them beneath my fingers
I can trace their lines with my mind’s
Tongue.
Wishing is pointless with you.
I know this and still cry for the moon.
Sara Kellie Jul 2018
Promise me, my flesh you'll place
'neath a fledgling willow tree.
And as it grows toward blue sky,
It's in its grace you'll hear me cry.
Laden with the heaviest fears,
resembling, reflecting
my darkest years.

A fragile bone was once my arm,
so likened to the willows charm.
It's branches delicate,
could ne'er do harm.
It's soft and fluffy hand like bud,
encased in skin, the willow's wood.

Hold its hand at branches end.
My message, a vibration,
to you I'll send.
Until the death of said willow tree,
reminding you . . . . .
. . . . . . always of me.

Poetry by Kaydee.
The tired and deathly willow tree with stories to tell of debutantes, swinging
before entering hell.
Poetic T Feb 2018
She was the noose that
       I'd hang myself from,
I would put the snare of
        her heart around my throat.

Her words would caress my
       windpipe strangling
me with loves whispers,
              suffocating me gently.

But words were hard to speak
        when she was collecting tightly
around my breath.
I couldn't be with her as I was suffocating,
                                 my actions she hung me from.
Enzo Jan 2018
Obsession for someone who's in another's possession,
Craving for love, touch and affection in the shadows of her reflections
Catching the trails of her breath she left on the wind along with her scent

Distractions could never falter my obsession for you, just as he could never stop loving you and you keeping him in your heart

But even so, I love you. I love you. I love you. I crave for you. I need you. I love you. I want you. I love you. I love you.

Silently, you're tearing me apart. I look at you with awe, listen with glee, and talk with my heart on my sleeve.

You're killing me, relentlessly obsessing over you at the same time containing myself. I badly love you and I guess thats the end of it
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
wehttam Nov 2016
How much for breakfast,
coffee chocolate and vanilla
Ella, el, el LA.  
One right, 2 the nose and back across
My belly, Elly, Ella, el la.  

Fitzgerald.  

The phone, pho' phourdy eighth street
San Diego, 8:51, vah nella, naps on my bed
Chocolate prefers then under the sink
Instead.  

Coffeenchocolate vanilla
El, ella, el LA.
8:40-8:48 am Friday the 18th 2016, November.
Parker Dec 2015
I stand before you
accused by some fool.
You call me a witch,
but I say you are foolish to agree.
I but a simple girl
I mean harm to no one.
You demand I confess to my sins of witchcraft
I'm firm when I look you the eye and tell you,
“ I cannot”.
I go three days and three nights
with only water and some stale bread
in the damp dark of the jail.
I almost fear my hunger has made me mad
when I see your face appear at my cell.
Though am weak,
I rise to greet your scornful face.
Again, you demand I confess.
You wish to make an example of me.
Yet again I look  you in the eye and reply;
“ I  cannot."
You storm out in anger raving about how I shall hang,
but I will not be tried for something I did not do.
I will not ruin my name for the games of the fool.
I stand at the gallows and you demand one last time my confession
A single tear rolls down my face as I look to the crowd gathered to see my end.
Standing tall, I whisper
“I cannot.”
s.s.
mk Jun 2015
we’re all hung up on someone
whether it’s your highschool sweetheart
who now lives in Seattle, 4 hours away
or the man who had a one night stand with
when his wife was out of town
whether it was your boss
who you never had the guts to confess your love to
or your ex-husband
who ended up leaving you for a younger version
we go through the motions
we meet new people
and every now and then, we even fall in love
but at the end of it all
we're still stuck in the past
frozen to the memories
glued to the 'what-ifs' and the 'maybes'
we can’t help but want that one person
we can’t help but wish you were him
we can’t help but worry that he’ll never be ours
we’re all hung up on someone
*& I’m hung up on you
// missed chances & past romances //
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