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For one moment I want to be weightless
For one moment I want to be free
For one moment I want to be airborne
For one moment I want to be me
For one minute I want to be waitless
For one minute to hold life’s prize
For one minute to have what I’m seeking
For one minute to be truly alive
Nat Lipstadt Apr 6
My Prize for Waiting
~
tucked in all by myself,
resting dark and quiet
in the thin place^
where the distance between
this world and the next,
is no distance at all,
but  a few inches separating,
easily fordable, back and forth-able

my palms, hands down,
come to rest on my *******
and the two thumbs in unison,
begin to sweep the streaming space in their in-between,
conducting a radar sweep-search for the precise point
passageway to poetic mystical places,
hoping to snag any residuals for safekeeping

no hurry to either arrive or depart,
in patient attendance for
rhythms of woven word arrivistes,
coming in no particular order,
asking to be seized, greedy to be
nominated and recognized, immortalized,
as great poetry, prize worthy,
kept fo all time inside others poetry chests

but in the thin place,
dream records are not kept,
hazy scraps at best retained,
a recipe for a witnessed totality,
is only a soupy reduction of a
few seconds of hazed video,
that can neither give nor get
no satisfaction

the plastic surgeons attempt to reconstruct
the body of the meal, the real deal,
alas, there are no prizes either
for botched surgeries and pretty but meaningless
poetry scraps

the only evidence of my travels,
a flushing blushing residual flow,
slow to dissipate, a hangover makers mark
of a sojourn best described as unsatisfying,
my blush, a prize for waiting but failing,
“the most peculiar and most human of all expressions”^^

woe to me when returned in ignominy,
medaled in only base irony,
me and philosopher Pliny,^^^
both dying while recording our own private Vesuvius,
our bodies preserved by voluminous volcanic ash,
but alas, you cannot recite the ash of poetry

so one waits, cut and pasting brown edged
burnt photographs epistles,
that are clinging and clung to,
the distaff spindle is insufficient
to weave a flax complete,
and return perforce twenty four hours from now,
to snag another prized piece of meaningless,
my prize for waiting
in the solitude of the thin place


3:35am Saturday April 6th, 2019

~
last nights scrap

cease your whining,
seize your waiting,
therein is your own paid price
for the prize of inspiration


inspired by Jean Fisher,
a real prize winning poet
^”It turns out these destinations have a name: thin places. ... No, thin places are much deeper than that. They are locales where the distance between heaven and earth collapses and we're able to catch glimpses of the divine, or the transcendent or, as I like to think of it, the Infinite Whatever”. The New York Times

^^ Charles Darwin on blushing

^^^ “For my part I deem those blessed to whom, by favour of the gods, it has been granted either to do what is worth writing of, or to write what is worth reading; above measure blessed those on whom both gifts have been conferred. In the latter number will be my uncle, by virtue of his own and of your compositions.”   Pliny the Younger to his uncle, Pliny the Elder, who most likely died in the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius while trying to save a friend.
Desire Feb 21
With the end prize in mind, shift your eyes and
Focus on the now. Prepare for the next [step].
You dont need to have it all figured out.
You need only to be moving forward.
-
21 Feb 19, 1119hrs
-
@desire.is.dope
One Step at a Time
-
21 Feb 19, 1119hrs
-
@desire.is.dope
Deep Sangani Nov 2018
There will be people in life that you meet
And they will love you like
You are the exact amount of
Change in their wallet
Needed to buy the last
Convenience store
Lottery tickets.

But please,
Remember that you will meet someone
Whose hands have been
Sculptured by driftwood
For whose life the sea has fought for
And yet
They made it to land
To kiss your lips and remind you
That you are not the ticket
You are the prize.
I NEED IDEAS FOR GOOD TITLES UGH.
Paylei Rose Oct 2018
Have you ever wondered what its like to be in love?
It feels like a gift from above.
Here's how to know you're heads over heels.
It's kinda ideal
Sparkles in their eyes
Feeling like you won a prize
A dream come true
Your sights are finally in view
A beauty from within
Where you begin
The future awaits
A feeling no one can replace
Wait until you find the one
That lights up your world like the sun
You'll be the happiest person alive
The relationship will thrive
I hope you get as lucky as I
Now all I can do is thank the sky
Lily Jun 2018
I'm more than my perfectly curled hair,
My flawless skin, my beautiful nails and
Model-perfect outfits.
I'm more than my big chest, my skinny waistline,
My perfectly toned legs and my adorable feet.
I'm more than someone's pet, a **** in someone's
Twisted game of chess,
A prize to be won, or a piece of garbage to be disposed of.
I'm more than my body, does anyone realize that?
That I'm smart and kind and funny and independent,
And that I have more talents than simply putting on makeup?
Is society that messed up to think that
You must either be smart or beautiful, kind or pretty?
I'm asking you, pleading you, to think of me as
More than something to stare at.
Because I know
I'm more.
Lyn-Purcell May 2018
Ah, lies
The habitual disguise
that can get you the prize
till the truth comes to arise
Lies will only ever get you so far in life, but it will always find a way to come back and bite you in the ***. No matter what.

Be back soon!
Lyn x
Mike Virgl Dec 2017
Sit there and stare
Its another game of pins
At those lanes of ours
And I sit there and stare

Four people bowl today
Like that one day long ago
Long ago, is time so old?
It grows longer still

How does time fly?
Can I still remember?
The details are fuzzy
But I remember her face

A sudden boom draws me away
As the ball rolls and rolls and rolls
My friend cheers with happiness
And all of the pins fall down

I smile but quickly lose my grin
Moving my head I avoid the smile
Avoiding everything in general, I suppose
I move my gaze to look to it, again

How distant a memory can feel
Yet be so real to me
And how fond it can be
Even though you probably remember so little

I remember my first look that summer day
Her hair, her jeans, and her smile
Her eyes shone into mine, her voice
Oh god her laugh replays and replays and replays

How can a room be so full of emotion?
I see it in my mind and laugh
A laugh that comes from deep within
Nudged by a touch you feel from a memory

"It's your turn to bowl Mike!"
I start out from a daze
My friends look at me impatiently
How could I blame them?

It was our last day, what was I doing?
I did it everyday, looking into the past
At that hockey table that I adore
Or maybe just the things attached to it?

I get up and grab my green ball
And looking down the lane
I count ten pins in all
Everyone of them stands

I look back and see the table
There is a couple playing
Both of them jeering and cheering
Both of them as happy as can be

I see the male one on the right side
Won the woman seventeen stuffed animals
From the claw game adjacent to
Where they cheer and jeer from

A smile creeps across my face
And I gaze to the scoreboard
"80" tenth frame, second throw
My friend threw the first one for me

Well 80 may be bad, but I am distracted
However, I would not trade it for anything
Because everything falls from concern
When I think about everything about her...

"MICHAEL BOWL!" One of my friends shout
I turn and laugh, smiling all the while
She does not know it, but she just did it
Made me think, and forced me into action

I turn and look down the lane
Counting the pins again
I exhale and hold the ball to my face
I step my foot forward and release

Swiveling my head I search for the couple
But they had already left, leaving that room
However I see they left two stuffed objects
A red freckled cat and a brown dog next to each other

I smile, and I grin, and I laugh
Looking almost insane
I turn around to see the pins left
There are none, and I still have one more frame...
Romance inspired by a wonderful memory
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