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Nat Lipstadt Jan 2023
~for Lori Jones McCaffery who wrote me of:
“Her hands lay gently joined”

So tenderly put

So sweet and tenderly put this trilateral phrase, a complement,
So sweet and tenderly put this lovely, geometrical compliment,
thus birthing this missive that was delivered in a mere 9 minutes,
a simple re-tribute to a poem scraped from eyelids, leaked from
my heart  
of what
I Witnessed,
of what
I Emoted

as my woman,
rustled besides me in the early morning sheets,
stirring my heart, as she astirring slowly awake.

love this title Lori has gifted me, for so few and far
are the in-betweens of the people, places and things,
that are so tenderly inserted in this banged up humdrum,
football game of daily living, pierced by primary moments,
even secondary seconds, of heart~glows that pierce the noise,
even-in-silence put a suffusion of the chest, kissing of the brain,
colored kernels that dare not go unnoticed, this eloquent, perfect,
thank you is a whispering tremolo note that

wakes me up again, with scents of gratitude, for those
who take care, those who give care, who value tenderness
in soft spoken gestures, brash and bold, smartly wisdomed,
so to honor her, to honor this moment of grateful inspiration,
I insert the exact moment these senses imploded in my chest,
ordering me to give thanks, take care, validate the valuation of words,

so tenderly put

2:10pm Mon Jan 30 2023
Amanda Kay Burke Jul 2021
I thought by now I'd feel better
The past few months spiraled hard
For answers looked among constellations
My faith put into a tarot card

I have been shook by superstitions
Seduced by the way they sound
Agony altered my belief
No longer a skeptic without you around

Haunt me until I cannot find sleep
Forcefully frightened by your ghost
Your absence spooks instead of strengthens me
Facing the reality of our love reposed
I have always been a believer in the supernatural/mystical elements of this world
Amanda Kay Burke Mar 2021
I cannot express how wonderful it feels
For the first time in so long
I sit down to write a poem
In which your name does not belong

Somebody else
Drifts in and out of my thoughts each day
I didn't know it was possible
Although your face is still here to stay

I don't even remember what it is like
To daydream of someone other than you
You've occupied my brain so many years
It feels strange to make room for him too

I wish he could replace you
Instead of only serve as a distraction
Though to him I am drawn
For you doesn't waver my attraction

It seems no feelings will ever be strong enough
To stomp out the ones you left in my heart
But that I have them for anyone else in the first place
In and of itself is a pretty good start

Before I couldn't even look at another
Without my stomach turning sick
Now I am hanging out with someone new
Used my Polaroid camera to take a pic

You may have moved on faster
But I am slowly losing the fear
That I will never fall in love again
Though it'll never be like when you were here

I have accepted I will never be as happy again
As I was when I was with you
But I don't need to duplicate those emotions
Not-quite-as-happy will certainly do

I admit that the first time he kissed me
"He's not as good as you"
Repeated in my head
But now I realize that you are not better
I was just craving familiar instead

After spending so much of our lives together
I don't know how to be with anyone else
But I know comparing everything
To the past can't possibly help

I understand you could never be replaced
Unconditional love for you I hold in my soul
I am not searching for my new soulmate
Finding someone who makes me smile is my goal

There may never come a day
Where he has as much of me as you
But I don't need him to travel to my depths
Only to give me an equal piece too

You never let your walls down for me
Though I bared my most vulnerable parts inside
I don't care if he tells me all his secrets
As long as he shows some sections he hides

And is willing to chisel away the armor
Your mistakes have left around my skin
I don't expect him to understand me
But you wouldn't even begin

So many memories we've shared
Things we've done
Places we went
Now I have to start all over
But that time was still well spent

I don't think he will ever coax out
The level of ecstasy you did with your fingers
But his hands give me butterflies
And a chill that lingers

When you walked out the door you took my hope
Left me with an inability to feel
But it has returned along with the sense
Wounds you inflicted will someday heal

If I am patient in the future I'll awaken
With his name on my mind first
And find comfort knowing that even if he breaks my heart
You've already put me through the worst
This poem is pretty ironic but hey small steps
onlylovepoetry Jun 2020
put down the pen,

gown thyself in coats
of many riotous colors,
banish ‘never’ and ‘hope’
from thy lexicon, and
begin with a smile
always a smile as you
walk the streets as if to say
open open says me,
open sesame and let the
good works begin,
for having found your
captain of the muses,
your Calliope,
your rosebud,
lucky you!
you will need not write

another word
Tatiana Dec 2019
Crack my bones like dry kindling
and make more room for some logs.
Then set them on fire
watch my body burn hotter
than any star.
If you feel queasy
at how I burn so easy
then maybe turn away.
Let me die out with the flames.
Don't douse me.
But my dignity is something
you're not willing to give.
So you take the water
and toss it on me.
A fire put out, can't die on its own.
I'm just embers and ashes
that you leave out in the open.
A day and night passes
and you return to the spot
to poke a stick at my cinder heart.
You're shivering, are you cold?
It's too bad I have no bones
left to warm your icy soul.
I'm a fire put out, can't die on my own.
I'll see you home.
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2018
For Emma Ottinger “I put out (my stories) just because”

“just because”
that’s the best excuse you got girl?

cause be-ing
is a **** good one

way back in March
wrote a declaration^ to all those just
beginning with an iota of courage and
a good story telling
way of seeing and the
secret sauce-way
to spin my imagination in
my eye sockets
with their well words,
for I am a drinker of
the beaujolais firsts of the new grapes
of young poets

words welling springing from between
the oohs and ahs and the damns -
I wish I had wrote that...

so here’s a hero push - so many kinds of bread to
fill our baskets, please girl may I have some more?
so here’s to you - and the Great Plains that birthed you,
and the breadbasket of four poem/stories you poured out
that were so far from plain, how could you know of seas and sea foam and cobalt and mahogany human body parts?

and the speech patterns of waves that took me decades to learn?

use those “Jacob’s ladders between your fingers,”
“whistle me like a stray dog following,”
for that’s what “the kingpin of my flighty wits”
requires, for this old scribbler is now:

“firmly rooted for a girl who's bold enough
to crack the whip over her head if
ever went to war with myself.
A confidant that won't run,
won't offer half truth when
the whole of it
is all that actually matters.”

so write with that window light on and
wheat fields that can be reenvisioned as the gray-blue sea
from which I crawled out of croaking...
to read you rightly

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