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So here I go
At the hill of Camlann
My Death will arrive soon
I can't talk nor walk.
Due to severe wounds I got
So i asked Bedevier
To bring this sword
Back to the real owner
To take my immortality

It's fun
To be a worthy for a while
Avalon should be a nice place to move on

I guess...
This message is dedicated for the one i loved before... thank you i feel so worthy but i think I DESERVE MORE
Nat Lipstadt Sep 24
Unabashedly Public (return of the babies; my broken ribs, Zenith poem)

~for Sue Huff~

“unabashedly public,” the accusation,
causes me no blushing consternation
for it’s true, no secret kept worse, than this,
my sleeves, all outside-stained, heartfelt red,
the poems hide so little, with exception of my multifarious,
multivariate, semi-secret identities y’all mostly ferret out

“had no plans to look you up,”
but you kept sending selected of the eldest children,
even from 2012, I remember an afternoon well,
the odors, the food, my friend Al, now passed,
who made me think, indeed,
where do the poems come from?

a bequest to my eldest, who still never calls,
never writes, but will call me for help when
he finds himself in jail, or needs my (car) services;
its been a couple of years, but suspect time
is on my side, life makes needs, those **** happenstances,
that are never happy, but require your lawful presence

and on and on,

men & women, discovered, by their poetry reveled, revealed,
in thigh highs and backhoes, keepers of tortuous promises,
doing the quiet way, always asking, what’s the honorable thing,
all uncovered here, and secret sharers, these poets grab a holt
of my eye ducts, gifting insights that my brain tearfully inquires,
how did they know that bout me, these new kin and kindred?

my broken ribs?

the knowers know i am a summertime creature.
What they do not know, that on the last day
on where I summer shelter, a thin ring, a tree ring,
appears around my chest, marking my annualization,
some rings thick, thin, a year of seasons, all at different paces,
a year of rain & pain, thicker, slower did it pass

What they do not know, these fateful poets, all of my one faith,
these rings deep go, beyond the surface, constricting contractions,
they tighten, squeezing the lungs, slowing the breadth of my breath,
breaking ribs, reminder to write better, now that time is shortening,
labored breathing is a breathtaking experience, do, be better, chances for kindnesses lessened, why hide, time to be unashamedly public

had no plans to write today, especially this one, but circumstances
of my added-on circumferential measurement appearing, triggered by y’all sending me my poems of long ago, played mind-gotcha, this rambling emerged, to celebrate my being nearer to thee, thee, my passing, nearer than thee, this, me old-crust pieces, cutting the mouth’s soft-inside, inside softness, place where weeping & writing
leak on the poem tongue directly

to live in harmony with the
unending quests that yet, always need doing,
all in, are you, am I, awaiting your best attentions,
giving you thy own reparations, given to yourself;
if this then be my own equinox, autumnal equinox,

when the sun is at zenith, directly above,
the equator, this then my reparation, my

                                          Zenith poem**

9/24/19 12:15p
T Sep 7
I’m overflowing
Radiating high vibrations
My body cannot contain it
My hands are shaking
So I run, I put them into the earth beneath my feet
and she drinks them
and I hope they fuse and dissolve into what you need
and I hope she returns it to you, with no trace of where it came from
Because all I need is to give
and it doesn’t matter what form that takes
As long as it makes its way back to you
Seanathon Sep 1
You didn't get my message
And I trusted the trees
So earnestly
To deliver it to you
With speed
I'm afraid
No such service exists
Makes me laugh lolol
Say to me hello
As may know
How my beauty will return

Smile to me on the morning
And show your spirit shinning
To see how my beauty will gain

Wish to me a good day
To cut the rocket in away
And know my power will sustain

Do not ever say bye
As the differ will try
To show how my age may not return

Show me how your sight
That makes my day bright
Every wealth, I will gain
the morning greeting opens the closed hearts and make the selvs out of thoughts
Once you become my poem
you will stay as my poem.
no returning back, goodbye.
Johnny walker Aug 19
I fear the end of summer the coming of snow and Ice bitter cold of winter again I'll face alone when around lays
But I will still be here with only thoughts of Helen to keep me warm through the coming winter
Far removed from the world outside my door where I will stay until the thaw the melting snow waiting for the
Daffodils and tulip I planted many years ago will come to bloom again In spring to remind of my
I have no thought but for her
and I will be here when all the birds return from their winter break to build their nests to raise their
It's only thoughts my memories of Helen that keep
me through the winter days for I'll still be here when summer returns to warm
my heart
Bella Jul 24
you know that feeling when you want something to keep going?

or you want to keep trying?

even if it might sting?

hold onto that.

do it.

the president's past tax returns

might well haunt him yet

they'll be made available for

Democrats to freely vet

on the figures being thoroughly


any anomalies shall be heavily


as we all know the devil is always

in the fine detail

where no executive order will be

seen to prevail

congress won't let up on its

relentless quest

in finding revenue that wasn't

paid unto an IRS request
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