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Nat Lipstadt Jul 5
Serving up poetry like ***** and ginger ale
(with a ***-soaked crook and a big fat laugh),
the anti slow-soul-erosion antidote to...normality

way up ‘high’ on a ledge, overlooking the mountain range,
got my Stetson on, canteen full of ***** and ginger ale,
matches in my pocket, Chris Stapleton in my ears, and
a *** soaked blunt between my lips to get even hi-higher

a big fat laugh crosses my lips, creases my face, it’s time
to lean up against that big tree, light myself up, strategize,
how to get even higher, how to get down, how to do both
simultaneously, at the same time, without dying too slowly

the sunrise cheats, clods of plain ugly clouds covered it up,
i know it’s on account of me accumulating, stuff, bad poems,
delayed gratification of not confronting the situational, at the
cellular level, though the intersection with macro-international
clusters of men destructing their corner of the world surely
ain’t helping, but the drip into veins cools the paining’s ardor

the woman is edgy, debating if it’s that time, to give up, to snap
that towel across her face like a forgotten hotel wake up call request,
should-she take the truck and go visit her sister in Ashtabula
for a week of *******’ and staying longer, a couple of years more,
and me muse what i recall from living alone, and how it was easier
and so much harder that the shakes begin but that don’t stop,
but adjust the *****/ginger ale ratio, and things seem fuzzier
and for that I am eternally grateful for the miracle of potato

could do much more additive, but you don’t got the patience
like I do, so, forgive in advance and here’s hoping that maybe

someday you’ll learn this craft and the  extreme patience it
requires, how to savor a word, its conjunction with the one that
comes before and after, the combinations that make a verse, a stanza
sobering beautiful that it robs your breathtaking sensors, a scar minder to, for god sakes, ****! **** that trip to trite, give us something to shout about,

exhale on the moraine morass, that’s the other side of, yup, over
the rainbow that landed on the peak, cause a peek, is just the start of a trip downwards sloping doggy on my hands and knees and yeah, i’m drunker than I care to deny so I’ll head back down, or roll down, to find out what my next adventure will take, maybe I’ll chase after her,

and fall on her neck with sorries, sorrows, and kisses, besides,
now that I’m done, the sun decides to show a couple of cracks
and that’s some kind of of sign to wrap this sonata up and try a
new fugue, letting its contrapuntal composition tune cleanse me
save the day, and a corner of the world, hell it could even spread
like somethings good, successful  counter terrorism, zero shootings in New York and Chicago, forget, yeah, what they call that?  oh yeah,
peace on earth.

just maybe.

always write about, of and to your peer poets..
faa Mar 2019
Whether it was the sun’s aurelian caress
Or the serene strokes of moonlight lulled
Across its keys carved with much finesse
Monochrome yet its beauty never dulled

A sonata lightly, it hummed, reverberating
Across gently, waves of sound, resonating
The tune seemed to hush the grounds
Effortlessly silencing the cry of hounds

Each tap across the tonal stairs had slashed
The breast of the wounded, whom had clashed
Echoes of nature’s enthrallment seems to linger
The music still bewitching the conducting finger

Corpses waltzing to the nightly sombre dirges
Pleading to allow their rest under the birches
How the sonata tortures all that it imprisons
How the sonata torments all those that listens
Nikos Kyriazis Jan 2019
A procession of pink lilies
upon a blackened road with
white dots on its surface
For what do they protest?
Dusk and twilight approaching
Everyone is holding a
black candle in its hands
The trees turned down
their blank stare and
lapsed into silence
Someone's playing Chopin's
funeral march on a piano
covered with ivy
It is a requiem mass about
the death of pure beauty
I've spilled a song
A tale in C-Flat
Minor of course
Not for the harp, a demand to struggle as piano
I am impractical
I am the tale of noise
Not a word dare question my poise
One player on piano dare not try my story
His struggle is impossible if left alone
Dual pianist may riddle my mystery
Of eleven minutes
The story of interpretation
Composition of heart and definition of blank
Determine my heart as the words you sought
It is my sonata, do with it what you want
I will breed with it a story of soul
Burn fire with coal and melt my thoughts into a whole
An instrument leak the tale
Of what I compose to speak ill of me in the lightest
AUGUST Nov 2018
Malamang siopao

Usok ay aking natatanaw
Mula sa malamang siopao
Ang sorbetes ko ay natunaw
Nawalan na ako ng uhaw

Dahil bigla akong nagutom
Sa tiyan may biglang umusbong
Sariling buhay nagkaron
Gustong pumasok paroon

May papel sa ibaba
Mapula ang gitna
Lumalaki ng kusa
Habang umuinit di nakakasawa

Nakakatakam kung pagmamasdan
Nakalapanglaway kung tinititigan
Pang sonata
ashley marie Jul 2018
a calm, celestial space of mind
where the piano key meets with
the still water
in its dark teal reflecting the silent heavens
and each droplet ripples smoothly
like lotion on skin
water beetles glide across the lake
as tiny dancers influenced by the piano
guiding the waves to the others
the mist dances too,
with the moonlight sonata
lead by the fingertips of the breeze
waltzing to the tranquility of the nightfall
Linux Jul 2018
We swing emptily like mannequins,
As the algid wind starts to harass our skins.
The ****** behind my oldfangled clothing,
Begins to define you, as my everything.

Our ears were fed by the gloomy sonata,
That finally heals my dreary nostalgia.
My shoulder became the bed for your head,
That had dozed your eyes, away from dread.

And you commenced a euphonious hum,
Mimicking the melody of the viola and drum
"I love you" I uttered with sophistication,
And our lips collided, without hesitation.

Until the midnight music stopped,
And my world had ceased in an abrupt
You had slowly faded from my senses,
Realizing that our moments are just contrivances.

The gloomy midnight sonata is just a song,
From a movie I had watched for so long.
It brings back pain, it brings back blue.
Everytime I hear the melody, it reminds me of you.
Kastoori Barua May 2016
As the last waltz playing in my jacket ceased,
Loneliness and longing spilled out,
Along with a few coins and a recorder
From my roomy coat pockets.

The phone booth stood there,
Frosted by icicles of promises
Never thawed to life,
Yet a haven from my impasse;
A womb for the stranded & unwanted.

I closed the door behind me,
And fed the phone a few coins,
Punched your number with numb fingers
And fogged up the insides of the glass,
As I waited to hear your voice.

“Hello?” You said, but where were my words?
I must have lost them on my way,
I must have fed them to the phone
Along with the paltry coins,
Could you hear what I wanted to say?

“Hello?” You repeated, a little alert,
I listened to your silence, trying to smile,
It sank like warm music on my heart,
Waltzes and sonatas were so cliché.

Where were my words? Just one would suffice,
Couldn’t I sum us up in a single word?
I couldn’t find the kigo to our season.
I had lost it, left it with you,
That and my voice
In the world I was forced to leave,
And all this while I was held,
Tenuously to you by this phone call,
Till I heard the strained dial tone again,
In this silent world I’ve come to inhabit.
iamtheavatar Mar 2014
Ode to Self

Walking on my own in this road to nowhere
I have thought my life was a whole lot better
Without the things that I used to consider
Superficial like love that made me bitter

Then an angel came to me in a jiffy
Dressed in golden feathers with lips like ruby
Suddenly I was enthralled by her beauty
Misery left me then came my love story

She gave me her heart and I found my shelter
At last my cry was like the rushing river
Can’t imagine why God put us together
Only to be with another’s arms sooner

It’s hard to live in the shadows of her past
Happiness gave company yet left so fast
I don’t have the clue of how long will I last
Like a fracture in a sculpture with a cast

My hopes have faded like the stars were aligned
Like prayers answered like proposals declined
Bursting with ideas from an empty mind
Beauty of irony which left them behind

I have heard limericks from my broken heart
Pieces of memories being torn apart
Mosaics of truth that built a fancy art
But I don’t want to go back from where I start

Ode to Beloved

Sassy lady how lovely you shine so bright
Blind me, come and take away my precious sight
Do you want me to go on a solo flight?
Or be a tool for another man’s delight?

Oh ears of my dearly loved can you hear me?
Draw closer to me please respond to my plea
Heed the sonata of my melancholy
It feels like I’m falling with no gravity

You‘ve lost your sight from the dimness of the dusk
You’ve fooled your own heart when you wore on that mask
Love was next to you even if you don’t ask
Like a machine with an automated task

Hey girl do you see a man from your future?
Do you know that he would stitch up your suture?
From sorrows that have caused your heart to rupture
Which made you weak and soon became your nature

If metaphors can be like reality
And reality can foresee destiny
I don’t know how happy it would be for me
If you could make sense of my allegory

Just gaze at nowhere but only in the front
Disregard the pasts that persist as they haunt
Like carcasses in graves so ghastly and gaunt
Walk with me make sure it isn’t just a jaunt

iamthe_avatar ©2010
Written in perfect Hendecasyllabic meter.
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