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Nat Lipstadt Sep 8

sometimes I weep gratitude:

you send a poem my way
that wrenches this old heart
in ways that believed were
no longer possible. weep.

eyes see your word images in actual physicality,
me, shedding cells and real tears, musing,
easier is good work that originates in all
new things beautiful, freshly created,
repairing old.^

despair for those who know not this sensing,
weep for yourselves, that I cannot
sway and assuage you, with quality words
that harbor both of us, in mutuality.

call in of reinforcements, sharing a single dock,
visions of rocking together in the wakes of others,
if when you should ever think of me,
think this,
your words are my comforter wake,
gentling my rocking quaking.

my weeping is but
the noise of desperation,
being washed away by the sound of
gratitude weeping


Thu Aug 20  2020

precious everything:    awake, morning chores, no worry, won’t bore you, someone else, tv turns on, claptrap commences, plead with myself for music, a poem, any escape from the horrors of reality, the world’s self inflicted  afflictions, the tv talkers accuse me of complicity,  by merely existing, and not sending “them” money to wage their war, and line their pockets, and I passed the weeping point, freely acknowledge this ain’t much of a poem, not even a rant, just an accumulation of worries, mine lesser than most, yet finding breathing hard, harder than the lungs say is necessary, the future  like lead bells around my neck, bent, and I age ten years in precious seconds, when dare I contemplate how the grandchildren will survive, s u r v i v e, much more than how mine will unwind for my own currency is spent, used...then you send me a new poem and I weep with fresh gratitude for this new, one more day. nml.
Nathalie Jun 16
She glided
with enchantment,
making her way
through the bountiful forest
The scent of rain still
lingered, floating through
the branches of the
weeping trees
The sound of the
crackle under
feet reminded her
of the sparkling fire
A little like the one
that was rising within;
a love remembered as she
grew deeper in the
whispering  woodlands

Words' Worth May 21
The depth of winter
In a cold gaze from the sky
Is covered by fog's translucence
Wishing to fly with the yew trees

So, as the night brightly sparkles
Such water cannot compare to
Only be a mere reflection of its beauty
All that is alive is a free miracle

Woodpeckers sit on the clear earth
Ne'er on the floor of moonlight
As they sleep in weeping willows
Who cover them in tears to keep out the night
Dedicated to a recent reader.
onlylovepoetry Apr 2017
Sunday morning lie-in,
she, ny times newspaper reading,
contentedly dress perusing-shopping,
in the bed both, but separated
by the distance of the electronic void

i am raven tapping poe poems on my diminutive IPhone,
twenty four inches distant from her lips

no notice taken of the man so overcome
writing his Sunday morn poems that are
drawn so deep from places
that make him so so so glad
good quality weeping
can be best performed silently

noticing that

- he writes best when writing of others, mostly, you

- he writes when the rented invisibility cloak covers his face
the wellspring offers him a choice;
write weep and tear
write weep and bawl
or just quit everything

whimsy laughs at his slo 'mo nonsense
his choices
this tough guy supporting a mountain of others,
the inversion of his inverted triangle,
him holding up the world

the worrisome grief that wears him down
best released in tears when writing about
you, go figger

and you notice stupid stuff
like why we use 'and' when it just ain't necesssry
how the core of 'believe' is lie
that ** ** ** rhymes with woe woe woe
that 24 inches is quite the distance when you are
** ** ** weeping and she don't notice

and how hard writing

only love poetry can be
even twenty four inches
from your nose
Angelo Iudici May 10
Somber fields yields
What perhaps we expect

The tree may feel
What sun neglects

Weeping is the willow
forever perched its arms

Loved and selected
Is allows the tree to continue on

Remembered and cherished
for now the willow knows
the feeling it brings others
so happy as it grows
For Mother
I’m broken and weeping.
Seeking a shoulder.

You could destroy me in one look.
However fragile your vessel is.

I wither to an affectionate pulp with you.
Because I know you’re with me.

I don’t have secretes and neither do you.
They’re all our secrets.

You don’t have problems and neither do I.
They’re all our problems.

Cling to you like a life preserver.
I’m caught in the undertow.

Lonesome and weary.
Reflection only draws dreary.

Lay my head upon your shoulder.
Please be my boulder.
Ayodeji Oje Apr 15
Hot sour liquids
Roll from my eyes
Taking turns
As they roll
On my flooded cheek
Your dark and shine boy
Will not see you again
As you ply the world beyond
I miss the dove in you
To my Dad who departed this world in 2016.
Ayodeji Oje Apr 13
Tears rolling for the undue maimings
And undeserved namings
With ceaseless railings?
Stop wailing
It is training
For future reigning
Ally Oct 2019
As the night darkens
lonely heart weeps at stars
the sun smiled brightly
Chiara Sep 2019
When I feel alone and can’t take any more,
I call you my friend, you pick up the phone.
I pour my heart out to you, tell you what’s on my mind,
You don’t stop me once, just let me speak my mind.

Your first words after minutes are ,,I’m on my way.’’
True to your word, you arrive not much later,
You give me a hug, after that we sit down,
Again I tell you everything, you want me to go on.

You don’t try to give advice when I’m finished and weeping,
You take my hands in your own, look me in the eyes,
We sit there in silence, for we need no more words.
You are my best friend, you know just what I need,
I hope someday I can repay for what you did for me.
We’re closer than sisters, I treasure our friendship,
You’re important to me, I hope you can say the same about me.
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