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Nat Lipstadt Aug 2024
My First Anniversary…
(August 3, 2024)

This title, this poem, a wholly unexpected,
never thinking this path,  
this particular tango existential
would/was needed,
to be added to
my dance card

an early exit, a poem unplanned,
second chance was not a poem in my long
list of titles awaiting a turn to be written

a year ago,
they sent me to the surgeon,
who had prepared, with no hesitancy declared,
informed that we needed to start
all over again,
my poor heart
was waxing and waning,
and I was currently stuck on
the dark side of the moon,
with no jitney making stops theron

by the way,
the accumulation of damage had attained
a level where heart was
nearly exhausted,
( I believe he mentioned 98%)
that attention must be made,
how about
tomorrow we asked,
he laughed no can do,
but the day after would be ok,
and was I an earlier riser,
a coveted 600am slot available,
my name could be penciled in…

One tear ago, 
 wheeled me in, cracking jokes,
thinking what’s the big deal,
laughing hardest
was me,
for my motto was always leave them
(oops, poor choice of words) laughing…
fear was not in my lexicon, nor in my heart,
nor was
a ferry cross the
Rubicon

so many changes, so many poems 365 days later,
the life marked by many a Cain scar,
the big one, a pencil thin ****  hesty reminder,
plus assorted scars scattershot all over, where the “borrowed” veins and arteries, like pieces of twine, mighty fine,
(no, I never slashed a wrist, though it looks like it)
moved to different places,
repurposed, for I was now a used car
but with an extended warranty…

do not think on it much, but as markers come and go,
you think:

oh! I’ll never forget this trip, event, celebration,
and a week later your mind has nearly deleted it from the
critical events memory synapses, just another
day in the blah blah blasphemy
of a insignificant man’s unremarkable life…

but when I shower, the scars rise to the surface,
all over my body’s map, they come out shouting,
“look what I did for you,” from places weird,
they tingle, insuring my never ending surprise,
at that Olympic trial,
they raced, earning a piece & place
on my gold, overall medley team medaling,
or meddling
(when I tease them…)

so, let us bring this to a close, one man’s life,
ain’t making much a difference to most everybody else,
but the question that needyfor asking,
have you changed, how have you changed?

Less than you think, still write you poems with head and heart,
with humor and wit, sweet revelations, reverent with feeling, somehow a
bit original, leaving you laughing,
or maybe even better, smiling…

my mistakes all shared, and my burdens, some shared,
some too dark to be ever revealed, and I’m guessing I’m pretty
((much😉))
the same as I was before, older, not much wiser,

but these days, I surprise myself, for I sit outside
overlooking the wide waters surrounding,
embrace the sun at its earliest morn appearance,
love me the whipping snap of the
sound of great continuous wind gusts,
all the while surveying the world,
while winds are flowing all over me
like vibrant caresses, excavating my creases,
the ancient and recent
lineage
upon my face,
and sit in utter peace
thinking about everything,
and never tire,
staying for longer than a man has a right to do nothing
but to
reassess,
evaluate,
judge,
convey…
and
always
refresh
and confront
today’s

tally…
music
“Blue” by Joni Mitchell
“Older” sung by Ben Platt
Odd Odyssey Poet Jun 2024
A claim you possess;
we’re possessions, battling for one last touch- our
love on the battlefield; the gore of it, engulfs you as
if you were drowning; sinking deeper into your
emotions. Our hearts relapsed into their silence, a
fathomless ocean- of us holding our breathes each
time we kiss.

We were so tired of loving with no results,
so much so, that the very first time we kissed
it all, it was all too much to comprehend.
Odd Odyssey Poet Jun 2024
Tasting your lips; is so close to sipping on wine, I tasted your
maturity, the finest savoring of your very worth- after every
kiss, I’m left so lost for words.

Lost in the loud colour of your lips; a crimson night- where I had
very well kissed a dream. You were sleeping below my chin, resting
on my chest, and I slowly kissed your forehead to lift your eyes open.

You thanked me, for being someone who loved you as the person you
are; and not what you had been before. Your sanguine lips whispered
the loudest secret; with a vestige of your spell. I read the tales of your
lips-an odour of your past, spoken in their shaking trace; a mute tear
on your cheek; searching for someone to rescue you in these long nights.

Waiting for a knight- we met each other while lost in a night. The guise
of people’s eyes, could never shape you out so perfectly; as perfect as
each one of your curves. From greeting so many people with our lips;
you could taste a thousand of them, but only have a fondness for one.

                                                       Your lips, are my perfect sonnet.
Nat Lipstadt May 2024
mewing, mooing & mewling*
(~ for Steve Reimer ~)

legged up and in three, 1, 2, 3, +++
count-’em, poems, the third be this,
as the Northwest Pacific reviews a
recent scribble to which I made reference
to a maternity ward of newbie p~babies,
all mine (!) howling write me, write me!

god, what an awful orchestral, tempting
me to pull the covers up as the National
Weather Service 15 minutes too late,
advises of severe weather, lighting and
thunder, thunder, thunder (imagine Dragons)

between the accursed meteorology, and
the heterology of my babies, all so unlike,
born from different mothers and implanted,
by you my brothers and sisters, the cacophonous
phrase “mewing, mooing & mewling” bellows
and bullies it’s way to the forefront of the list

cause its freshest, ‘jess like my 18 oz. of porcelain
encased Blue Mountain Java and Fat Free Fairlife  
cow’s milk, and sadly bullies get away with it far,
far, too many times…

and with that introduction I bid you a fond good day / bye,
as I wimped, whine and woebetide y’all if you’re fool
enough to think multiple births is a piece of cake,
most likely you’ll be howling, not just, you know,

mewing, mooing & mewling
10:03AM

5/23/2024
S.i.
Savio Fonseca Apr 2024
Nibble Her Neck,
and She'll curl up Her Nose.
Massage Her Feet
and She'll curl up Her Toes.
Tickle Her Earlobes
and She'll Moan your Name.
Whisper Her Cow Girl
and She'll ride on your Frame.
Tweak Her Rosebuds
and She'll give out a Moan.
Kiss Her Lips,
and She'll slurp on your Cone.
Bite Her Toes
and She'll wriggle Her Waist.
Trickles of sweet Honey,
is all yours to Taste.
Mrs Timetable Feb 2024
You know that little
Grooved space
Just above
Your cupid bow
Lip?
I read somewhere
It can be
Dangerous
Philtrum. Philtron: Derived from a Greek word meaning love potion.  Not only erogenous but if hit just right it can render you unconscious.
Ander Stone Jan 2024
you share with me such hurtful words
that are a balm to
my kindred soul.

they hurt as they leave your summer wine lips
and drip like molten wax
upon my chest,
and heart,
and mind,
and touch my soul...

verse after verse.

you entwine my eroded coil
within your moonlight glow,
and tell me all the things
I so hungrily needed to know.

you wrap my broken hands
within your silken ones.

I crave to part your lips,
and share in such a melody.
that starlight hum.
that midnight medley.
that dark and ever-glowing sonnet
that brought you to my desolation.

I yearn to kiss them with my ones,
those lips as warm as starlight flame,
as perfect as the heart of night,
as young as time itself.

but mine are blistered
by frigid winds,
and bloodied from some fist
I've recently had to stomach...
I have known a pair of crimson lips that made the world sing with more words than it had before
f Dec 2023
there must be a use for tears
they’re so free flowing and liberal
aside from the cathartic release of crying
couldn’t we use tears for something
collected tears of emotion for different uses
i don’t believe tears aren’t useful
perhaps i should collect my tears
and anoint my prized possessions in them
when i think of my pain with regard to you
could i collect those tears and touch them to your forehead
could you understand my pain then
would tears become a blessing
a catalyst for true understanding
and when i’m crying from joy
could i put those happy tears on your lips
and could you ******* ecstasy
12 -12 - 2023
Savio Fonseca Sep 2023
We kept Whispering Our Desires,
beneath the Sheets of White Satin.
Our Kisses kept pouring
and their Words were in Latin.
Our Feelings, Calmly and Gently,
were moaning in Pleasure.
That's When Our Hands arrived,
at the spot they most Treasured.
With My Lips I went Humming,
around Her precious Spot.
With both Her Hands,
She Worshipped what She Got.
Like an Amorous Knight,
I went riding Her Post.
After Our Sessions ended,
I raised Her, a Champagne Toast.
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