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Lxvi Jun 9
City o' canvas built like a tent
Held together by strands
That can barely make rent
The poles hold is folky yet formal
These people sized holes, becoming too normal
I'd spin you a tale, but where to begin
A city of winners, **** stained in sin
Lord stretch thee almighty abundant in lands
Take it or make it, but never hold hands
My humble city
Nat Lipstadt Nov 2019
<>
“rootless in shallows of momentary mayhem
and no matter the change in horizon,
there is always some thing to be found
that could remind me
of the worst ways I have ever been.”


from “Harlequin Days of Fecund Fervor” by Victoria

<>

rereading these your words, upset forces me to break a recent vow,
my own writing banished, now faceless in the ranks
of just another poet, busted in rank, chose my own
decommissioning but then your momentary mayhem
plea, fecund you, your third harlequin, states construct!

stay the constriction, the recalling of our worst worsts,
for there is always something to be found, recalled,
that the horizon’s only constant is constant change,
especially the worst worsts

I am colored by your treats, your word plums ripe even
out of season, and the mayhem is mine only mine,
robbed you for it is I, rootless, given up my planting, then
the cobblestones of old new york, trip me up, saying
even old things such as you, have a prime yet to come,
stones fecund seeding, predicting I am not done, just undone,
and fetuses within this dying body, may yet be carried to term,
may yet, maybe, may be, but may be caesarean stillborn

rambling this, mostly musty unclear, so summarizations a
sensible thing, a pardon requested for clarity is a sometime thing.

rare are the days that the terracotta colored soil
darkens my fingernails,
it is dried blood from my scratching deep beneath the skin’s topsoil,
but nothing grows that’s whole, warped are the word fruits.
my soup is hot water with salt, a tasty dish apropos for one
whose growths are rootless in the shallow, infertile dirt of stones
that reside in the shallows of a garden of mine own
fecund may-hem of the grey fall sky autopsy turvy
A

Valentine,

of any kind

is affirmation of

their

love and. . .


...if you believe it,
then it is so.
Tint Aug 2018
Oh Victoria, the colour red you loved
I wore them inside my body, the colour of blood
I remember how  you'd come running and sneak inside my house
To the secret sanctuary in the small hill by the pond
We strode the gaping distance  to our little paradise
There, I saw the loveliest sunsets, such beautiful goodbyes
You beneath the glistening sunlight, you taught me how to love

I never forgot, Victoria
the day you said goodbye
A tidal wave that drowned me and buried in my heart
We laughed and said promises, but it was your last
I did not know how you could do it, to just leave like that
All I saw was the rope hanging from the window in your house
I wished I had told you, forever you are loved.
Such a beautiful little shapeshifter
A modern day siren
It's hard to picture her face now
She's so distant
I loved her
It's wicked how fast my heart grows attached to those I frequently see
It's as if she ignores the wary signs
She just jumps
Victoria was special to me
A real life movie
She opened doors to hinges I knew not existed
Party... people... alcohol
She had connections
She had problems
I took them all
I didn't think that one day that beautiful one would shift on me
She was an adapter
She played a role to get what she needed
She could be as soft as a kitten
As helpless as a mouse
Clever as a fox
Angry as a bear
I had seen her become many things but the day she changed
I couldn't recognize her
She was this form I had never seen before
Though her face is distant in my mind
I still get a chill in my spine
From the memory of her presence
Sometimes it makes my bones ache
Poem 3— Relations
She wears her hair long
Strands of brown silk and shiny beauty.
Big Brown eyes that shine like huge crystals
shine light to me just as a light and electricity
Victory in love
Means ,in the war to avoid love ,I'm the fallen
Soldier in a war to be the lone gunner
She knows the strategy of the game
and hard to get is her battle plan
To have me, as if in a football game,
she's the quarterback with the football
and I'm the chasing Front-runner.  
Wanting to hold my sweet Victoria close to me
and have her strength in spirit and intellect
to bolster my life's campaign, in unity of eternity
I am forever dedicated to the general of my army
To lead me to my heart's battle
to win over the lonely forces of darkness
not a defeat
but an artistic victory.
I'm only half of a whole without her soul growing into fusion with mine.
To grow ,together, in all of love's true meaning and power.
I hand her,distantly, a kiss and wish to find the way to send her a dozen red rose flowers.
If only she'd open her mind to me after a battle field mishap
An innocent judgement.....her Partner in arms
In love's war victory
To open to me and understand my pain of guilt of the fumble of the ball
In a moment where I broke trust and aided the dark side to a brighter history.
Sense my yearning for your wisdom, strength, and strong heart's rhythm needed to place a beat to love's song
which I've longed to finish such a beautiful and bright song which  I've been writing,for so long,unfinished, waiting for the right one
Victoria is the finished part of my Epic Sonate
An opera to finish, with her heart melted into mine.
One song I've wished to complete for so long.
I try and think to another heart for inspiration
"Get to know me past my misguided moments, sweet Victoria.."
"For I'll prove myself beyond my strongest gift..
Inside of a heart you'll find that's an irreplaceable gem...
Trust, again, and take me into your light..
For us to enjoy family and love, eternally, in The Magic of Love's Bond and Formation.."
Of a life past our living bodies..Our souls shall be bonded, forever.
Marking the victory past a setback
Creating a new spirit from two souls fused to one.
Shining light on all those who are fighting for love...
To see two, so right for each other, fight to have the Ballard of Love's Opera, the fight to Eternity's road, to our fusion,
those lovers fighting to be forever.....This battle they shall see we have won.
Down with the ship
This "titanic" was the greatest ship
The captain was forced to race to the end of it
In wealth's panic
Can you help me?
Reaching out
they slapped away my hand
"What's the matter?"
"Wasn't true care and being fellow Humans "
in which to "care" for "one" another
what it's all about?
I loved you, dearly.
Yes I know the true meaning of the word
or was the message too hard to understand and
constructed as "Those made by obsird?"
I'm going down with the ship.
I cannot help to make it stop
So watch as you leave me there at the helm
As for sticking by me through and through
was to you what did overwhelm?
Watch me sink.
Your "Titanic."
You sent the morse code
That read "Don;t Bother us"
As you dried, safely, with another
"Love" in which you trusted , wrongly,
and their "boatload  of tricksters"
Is this which you now sail on with, misguidedly,  down the road?
Andrew T Oct 2016
I look at your face and it never shows you’re down
A smile spread around that’s taped over the frown
Concealer under your eyes to hide the long nights
Hearing your mom fight has your big headphones on tight

But pop melodies can’t drown out all the loud screams
Dishes left unclean, parents as scared as the teen
Food rots in the fridge, “Keep Out” sign hangs from the door
Damp tissues ignored, scattered across the floor

Try to make her laugh, but my jokes aren’t funny
Shows love through money, dries up the nose when runny
But the low hats and dark shades only cloaked her eyes
Wouldn’t notice my, mouth curved in when I’ve spoken lies

I bet you did see both my pupils wedged with glass  
In sports getting last, cuz I was too effing smacked
Our lamps burnt out, the light in the house faded
In school berated, little girl how did you make it?

You saved the castle when I couldn’t be controlled
You took on new roles, cried for me to be consoled
Writing gave me back my voice when I became mute  
My leaves wouldn’t shoot if you didn’t water the roots

You, you are my blood, without blood my heart won’t pump
When considered a flunk, blood made my heartbeat jump
Really didn’t mean for my lack of energy
To make enemies, but what’s done is now memory  

What happened to me, to us, was unexpected
When it got hectic, everyone was affected
But my family, and Vicky especially you
Kept stable and true and that is how we got through
Connor Feb 2016
"just talk about love, or ***, or starving hearts, or just shut up
and I'll go

but" - Jonathan Richman

(..NIGHT)

A drunken man is blown by bathroom paintings,
with shower curtains displaying crowned sparrows
who laugh at his
crowned ****!
and humor his life!
also crowned
(but only subjectively if you were to ask anyone else)
I'm a burning insomniac surrounded by a whole cast of characters tonight, including the one with with a lazy eye who mirrors Chaplin
and arrived to the party disoriented from recent Salvia.
Then there was the one with a sleek current-edge-type haircut
who spent a few good minutes telling me about the film works of Philip Glass
            B E A U T I F U L
They play Bowie,
the whole social palette disintegrated beneath the weight of intoxication.
I, too, am dazzled from pale alcohol already (eight minutes past Midnight!)
The Dancing Athlete ambiguously dances on an absent television while my head hurts from a blue bulb glowing from a nearby lamp because it's too late for all this
and I'm reminded that I know almost nobody here.

(...AND DAY)

Maybe thirteen hours later, walking with Dante the bearded dog,
my friend wheeled a stranger, narcotic-vacuum-cheeked amputee.
He begged for light, as in a lighter, not that light of GOD, no no,
all the while he showed off his stub leg (cut off at the knee) bleeding out all over the sidewalk when his accident first occurred.

"THIS GUY THREW ME FROM THE BALCONY!" he preached

Past the cathedral narcissus
"JESUS COME/
JESUS SAVE MAN/
JESUS MAKE FIRE/
JESUS WAS A HOLY INDIA"
Across the street, village of enduring tombs and firesmoke,
shadowed tent outlines
breathed-in
playing cards and tricks
mandolin reverberations among tents and tents of
sickly or addict, all listening in on the live performance, a blessed Alice with dreads, lively chords emitted from her skull of ideas.

The forgotten noose of man ****** in a parking lot
by a liquor store, while we pick up some wine, which is, and I quote here "DRY AND CHEAP"
A sunny quiet perched on the field
of gleaming downtown streetlights
thru thinning clouds.
Olympic mountains in view, the kind of mountains only seen in magazine articles to be experienced by those unafraid to die.
All these sad people out here, too!
Their faces expand beneath capital industry,
Elephants occupied with jackets sewn in an anonymous factory.
Quick tip, I wanna write it down before I forget: don't listen to that old music when you're feeling lonely, it's all about love and especially in tragedy this is a bad idea.

I'm sick and wept and my teeth have been growing cameras,
the youth are dressed in drag, carpet cleaners bob their heads to unheard tunes but you can see the sound thru a glass window.

This city, oh, this city..
with bodies sprinting hard by each other and who bike across train tracks associated with very vague childhood memories.
We all float on hands electrified by the night!

Jonathan Richman tonite, who's vocal deliveries have been honest
and romantic, in a passionate sort of way.
He's singing that live track "A Plea For Tenderness"
(I know you were waiting for me to get to this)
and past few days have been strange
and past few weeks stranger, still. Not as bad as a lot of people but man, strange..
that night, and day.
Walking by the Victoria Hospice care center and looking down on my wrists which'll soon be tattooed with loving hands yet oh
so
aggressively pained by abuse because of a terminal disease and attempted suicide (NOT my own life, to clarify)
and it got me thinking on how we're all mutually getting thru this place and every face has seen hearts and seen death almost equal.
It can get to be too much, that's why melancholy has been defined to begin with. But ******* Jonathan Richman had to make this song.

"if I'm better than the wall
(tell me now)"

"Because it's dark at night
and I'm alone at night
I'm so sad and I'm so scared"

Things I've said in my own head and felt in my own time
as has everyone else. I don't mean to specify that this has happened RECENTLY, but it's definitely happened before. These times.

"now, I've just read some writers
from the old days
because I knew, I knew that they'd understand"

but BUT everybody is accidental!
even Rimbaud has stubbed his toe and I know that it'll be fine
it'll be fine
it'll be fine
in Vietnam maybe
and it'll be finer in Varanasi
(maybe-r)
but for now I don't know
I can say it I can try and feel it and understand it and pretend I know it
I gotta get away from people to be replaced by a Hindu I've never seen before
and sleep on a mattress that (like a new pair of shoes) hasn't grown in to my spinal chord and hurts ****** bad at first and is unfamiliar and the weather is warmer than usual
and the horns of traffic will be frightening but that too, will dissipate with time.
I gotta save up my money and hug my wallet like a starved cat
Jonathan ******* Richman's "A Plea For Tenderness"
what a fitting title
for a time like this one now.
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