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Nat Lipstadt Jan 2023
my hidden shames

are an excellent source of moral fibre,
nurturing, but not nutritious.
we coexist in a quiet
 mutual acknowledgment,
coexisting but un-categorizable,
nonetheless,
among my oldest cohorts,
their singular coordinated characteristic,
they are mine alone,
not meant to be shared.

But they will someday
make an excellent poem.

Mon jan 2 2023
6:47am
@here

———————————————————-

the askew

are  my oldest companion,
dating back to my naissance,
faithful, eternal, but single-minded,
with a rueful sense of humor,
of course,
refer to my relatively plentiful hairs
inherited from my mother’ genetics.

a morning chore,
to return their antics
to an adult,
dignified pose,
plenty sufficient to be be brushed,
straight back,
the preferred orderly compose,
of older men
who cannot waste time
with foolishness,
the excessive vanities of
curls, parts and pompadours,

and yet,
every day they wake me with
ridicule, mockery,  by presenting
themselves.to me,
as if electrocuted,
each  
hair raising itself
pointing to the heaven,
whence
their true Creator resides.

no amount of product
persuasive,
they do what they must do,
akimbo, askew,
with inordinate amount of
malice aforethought and
a venomous sense of
hairy (and now hoary)
absurdity .

a splash of water,
a handful of rigorous brush strokes,
returns order
and the pretense of a serious mien,
an adult demeanor.

But their purpose accomplished,
they have reminded me of the
absurdity of human vanity,
to humble myself
before forces
more powerful
than human self-aggrandizement
by accentuating
our human foibles.

7:13am
same time & place
——————————————-

morning prayers are
always
a trilogy

the rounded evenness of three,
provides the necessary gravitas
of sufficiency,
three being
not too short,
not too long,
not too quick,
just three right,
to impart
the seriousness
of gratitude
for having gained
another day upon earth,
with it,
many multitudes of
chances to share
thankfulness,
kindness,
yes,
& love too,
and to write,
one more poem
encapsulating
all of the above.


7:35am
same day
same place,
same cup of coffee
dailythoughts May 2020
They won’t just touch my soul and set me free
Eagerly will open the deepest of wounds and fest on my worst fears
Harshly undress my faith and crush my hope

Victoriously laugh to celebrate my doom
Bleed me red to suffer in dry tears
Waltz with my ghost to slowly scatter my temple  

Taunt to enliven my mistakes
Proudly glorifying my shames
Only to win a soul that has been defeated

I sense them overstepping my shadow
The monsters catching up with my heart and mind
Will I score the final touchdown or will they devour me whole

Touch so contagious
The poison burns running wild in my veins
Won’t be long for when I am all at once taken away
good luck to me

— The End —