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Nat Lipstadt Mar 2019
a quote of Bernard-Henri Lévy

~~~

the divers’ recovery, diverse,
shipwrecked salvage from different locations,
auctioned to the highest bidder,
tho the excised excerpts are exceptional,
none come to do the bidding,
for the provenance of words
belongs to all, and to none

~~
“so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction”

“the addicted pleasure words granted to we privileged few,
like every enslaved soul to the mind, which I am, I am,
evening dreams, midnight thinkings, sunrise seeings,
how can I infect and thus protect the young to the liberty
to love the crafted content of our human essence to better
comprehend that a moment caught on tape of our shared
words is a holiday, a celebration for the ages...and every molecule,
becomes a human tuning fork in concert, in pitch identical, in blood tainted with the simplicity of we are all the same, only words, this will transmit”

“murmur me, with soft downy charms,
these words discovered
recoursed and intended well to
pointedly offset and contradict
their very own tumultuous discovery uncovering,
tear tongue me
with calming, lapping word  wages,
hymns harmonious and fine homilies,
a call, a request,
a bequest
to sedate my shrill life

“some cells, microscopic, preserved digitally,
aged to imperfection, thrash my eyes,
making me speak in tongues I do not recognize,
but fluently possess, no wonder there,
the memory place fairly empty,
room aplenty for passerby's and the imagery
                                                         ­­ of the vaguest of dearly departed

skin is not the only mot shed,
                                                sloughing of woeful words

“speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor these words at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them”
excerpts from a few old poems, after reading an interview with Bernard-Henri Lévy
https://www.newyorker.com/news/q-and-a/bernard-henri-levy-on-the-rights-of-women-and-of-the-accused
March 27, 2019 4:48 am
Bohemian Mar 2019
Somewhere in a casket,
Random in my ransacked room,never opened.

I have your silhouettes stored,
Those which I presume a man would never behold.

I imagine your shoulders broad,
Splendid as a bridge across my glee,over which my eyes could be driven.

While I could be soaked in your chest,
For you be so taller.

Your skin being tight and thick,
Such as it already feels to be bugging in.

Your kurta being loose weighed down,
Revealing the sweated collar bones,and much of the rest.

Your complexion could melt upon me,
Wallowing under the sheets.

Your caustics could potentially outshine mine,
Up to the brink, your douchebaggery could shine.

You may sing anything, Ghazals or even hums,
Your baritone could lull me to sleep,with the heft and flatness of it,with some added tunes.

Our towns could be kilometers apart,or the residents even for light years,
Might be the same for our creeds.

Your breath could be a bower,
To the desert of mine.

Your eyes being shrunk crescent moon,
With the lashes too dense,but sight like an arrow piercing.

Your poetry could define,
And for being poet from you I wouldn't envy.

Your resilience could be better than mine,
And your adamant nature,suffice to repeat an act a million times,to achieve the desired.

Unlike me an ergophile,
You could draw a better parallel line.

You were allowed to smoke,
For it, I have an affinity untold.

Your profession be any,
Your passion be vehement,I promise then, to find you in graphite and mullar and heard in Mozart's.

Your hands masculine,with the veins bulged,
And circlets and totem wrapped,red and orange around.

Skies be your preferred roof
Under the rainy sky,the sharing of petrichor shall feel sanctified.

Your gales be a crescendo
Of delight.

Your age could be more to mine,
But things could be divine.
| Preferred but do not care |
Colm Mar 2019
Reach into the nothingness
With an outstretched arm Inquisitorial
And pull a star down from the sky
A scar from the skin
Or the sight from within a strangers eye
Look and see
All the potential within that unique life
The marring and falling
The look of a life lived once alive
Grasp
Rose Mar 2019
I put too much hope into you
Too much hope into a church, hoping I would learn to fit into it
Too much hope into a town, hoping I would learn to love it
Too much hope into friends that knew not of my soul
Into friends I had hoped would make time for me
Into people I had hoped would accept my beliefs because they accepted me
I put too much hope into a man who stunk of reckless and heartless ambition
Into a man I thought would love me before I loved myself
How wrong and twisted I was
And what a blessing I can see straight again
irony at it's finest
newpoetica Mar 2019
i don't want to run into you
because i'm afraid that if i do
my feelings for you are what i'll want to pursue
ClawedBeauty101 Feb 2019
I look down so you dont look into my eyes...

I look away so you dont see what's inside...
Eyes speaks words, and words stab my heart
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