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Nat Lipstadt May 2023
<Sun May 14 5:00 AM PST>

Let us be smart about this departure,
time unscheduled, yet leaving inevitable,
the sound of fabric torn, a rent performed,
a ripping, a release of the gripping, connecting
tissue of weft and weave tying parent and child

(All of us poets, all of us comprehend,
there are two points, two buttonholes
that offer escape or farewell, when we
commence on something new, when we
pen our chest’s demands to exhale, cease the hammering


Perhaps, here, just after the third stanza,
the brick enormity of our selected task, on chest,
weighs heavy, boulder difficulties ahead, now fastened
and faster and faster realized, begs us, quit this essay,
return to placid, from an arrhythmia of imploding loss)


So many fabrics, so many tears, wet and dried,
but upon commencement, the only finish line,
is another commencement, when the (mine-own) rendering
is finalized, beyond repair, when guilt gulfs overflows, flooding
plains of forever pain officiated by signed scar, “here was”

So many separations, varied and variegated,
surficial shallow surgical  or plunges, widths of trickle,
depths of deadly plunges, records of inches, dates,
names, new heights inscribed, measured on a door jamb,
lost, erased, when child’s door closes permanently

Came today to the West, to Pacific Ocean entrance,
to celebrate a good boy’s ritualized threshold crossing
over into manhood, both symbolic and and realized,
but tear-up seeing the small child-man leaning in and on
his father’s larger frame, a coinciding giving & taking

no bonds are eternal, for such is life, the weft must be
warped, sundered and separated, so many reasons,
experience speaks, scars are like bandages,protecting
but deceiving, what they cover can never be excised,
a space created, that only oxygen can touch both sides

but never, ever be reperfected, mended,…or finalized

2023
San Francisco
The Dybbuk Jun 2018
If I could turn over the clock,
And warp to my mistake,
Prevent the ripple's from the rock,
I dropped into the lake,
I would go back to a day,
That we met in time and space,
And send you far away,
Though I'd want to kiss your face.
I hurt the people close to me,
Because I'm made of slime.
To fix the past, I'll need a key,
To take me back through time.
Prabhu Iyer Mar 2015
It's long since, so I thought I will fly my home to you:
winged friend, you don't stop by anymore here on lissome nights?

Oh what air-traffic,
these jumbo cars with crane legs
that even hopping seem to crawl;

Two towers have crashed ahead and a vortex is rising in the desert:
Did you not receive my messages? I typed them in into the aether.

And space, oh this messy jumble
that is enmeshed with time,
will not warp now,

No easy looping through. No beaming past. And no word from you,
but Heavenly Times hasn't reported you missing, yet.

I have time on my hands. Let me check
for all those timelines where
I won't see you again.

I need a quill and papyrus.  Soot I have, plenty to ink. Quill and
papyrus: Winged friend, a feather and some spring will do.
Inspired from a neo-surrealist painting by Muharrem Acar https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=1119502091400385&set;=gm.547496795392735&type;=1&theater;

The poem admits as usual of multiple perspectives, with the simplest one being of longing. There's also the theme of peace that eludes our world.
C Davis May 2014
Oh, What a View!
      from this hazy morning hue,

Familiar faces        interlacing
    back-trip Flashes
Heart is Racing

In my brain &
  through my veins
i still feel the
                       ACID STAIN

Recollections of
Reckless Havoc,
Wreaked when I was
Trapped in Magic

man
  last night
                                           who was i ?

  right now i'm fading from my sight

I am here while i am There
and I have yet to    Find my Mind .
(disregard the circumstances under which I wrote this poem.)

— The End —