#memoriam
Verse 1
Yesterday I lost a beloved friend,
My heart is breaking, not for the first time,
Gene, my most trusted colleague, to the end,
Professor, lawyer, human being sublime.
Verse 2
I prayed daily for God to help him heal,
And see him safe to loving family,
Pray faith now helps loved ones with their grief deal,
Now that God chose to heaven his soul free.
Chorus
In heaven now, but you’ll never be gone,
From hearts and minds you touched and grew upon.
[Verse 3}
He spoke, wrote, lectured truth not sophistry,
Generous, caring, noble, and most kind,
Each of his roles marked by integrity,
The kind of man and friend too few will find.
Chorus
In heaven now, but you’ll never be gone,
From hearts and minds you touched and grew upon.
Outro
The sun shines less brightly for me today,
And all whose lives you touched along the way.
Link to song: https://suno.com/s/8JDJgKqCO5qfECxY
May 7
May 7, 2026 at 10:11 AM UTC
**Oliver Sacks passed away today, August 30, 2015
He asked the best questions
and never stopped seeking ever better answers.
Perhaps now, richer, he has them,
but this world is surely a poorer place indeed.**
by N. Lipstadt
~~~
”And now, weak, short of breath, my once-firm muscles melted away by cancer, I find my thoughts, increasingly, not on the supernatural or spiritual, but on what is meant by living a good and worthwhile life — achieving a sense of peace within oneself. I find my thoughts drifting to the Sabbath, the day of rest, the seventh day of the week, and perhaps the seventh day of one’s life as well, when one can feel that one’s work is done, and one may, in good conscience, rest."
Oliver Sacks
I hope you read the entire essay at the URL below.
~~~
humble humble,
mine own own muse~jester
self-mocking, calling me out,
giving oneself the middle finger,
who you?
indeed,
you, the greater fool,
utilizing, thriving on self-contemptuous thoughts,
you are no Oliver Sacks,
what are you doing
messing with his essaying?
go back to being
a standardized human,
spilling the detritus of thine mortal coil,
that employs you as a full time slave,
a scab-working seven day affair,
is that not sufficient?
you,
in your sixth
decaying-decades-day,
forsook the ancient Sabbath long ago,
keeping it for ****** rest,
cheaply tired from the liturgy of
straitjacketing of do's and dont's
of excruciating detail,
that put only distance tween
you and your
essential spiritual oils
Sacks invades directly my eye's clouded storage,
now, two brains cross-wired,
histories,
his story, my story,
all too familiar,
almost indecently similar
here I am,
nearer my god than thee,
on this Sabbath day
of my ancestors,
(a hand-me-down gift to the world's conceptual heritage sites)
working hard,
as an everyday day laborer,
looking for work on street corners,
busy busy searching my conscience,
angel wrestling,
sacked
by questions -
***when is
one’s work done,
and when,
when may one,
in good conscience,
rest?***
this poetry writing, is it not work too?
work,
a violation of the Sabbath commandment,^
even if it is of no great matter,
for by now,
this lifelong dialogue internal
this contradictory poetic dialectic
which has yet to justify the emotive words
final or finished,
is a seven days of the week affair,
undeserving of a day of rest
~~~
as I essay out this Sabbath working poem,
in a place of beauteous, natural calm,
it's so easy to agree with the
passing schooners,
all whispering,
via genteel southern breezes,
later, not sooner,
no need to decide, let it ride,
answers will come,
perhaps, all on their own,
perhaps, all on that day
when you're within
hailing distance,
in a flailing,
failing-voice-recognition way,
of the shores of the
Isle of Surcease
the answers will come
contemporaneously,
when you have leave to
exorcise from your calendar,
Siri's spouting, inexorable,
pop-up perpetual reminder
that today's first thing
on your
to do list is:
**"live a life of
good and worthwhile"**
for then,
you will have all the answers
for the Oliver questions
that need perpetual asking
Finis
~~~
^ "Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days you shall labor, and do all your work, but the seventh day is a Sabbath to the LORD your God. On it you shall not do any work, you, or your son, or your daughter, your male servant, or your female servant, or your livestock, or the sojourner who is within your gates."
~~~
http://www.nytimes.com/2015/08/16/opinion/sunday/oliver-sacks-sabbath.html
~~~
Aug. 15, 2015
Shelter Island
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 9:15 AM UTC
~
Sometimes, but rarely,
sometimes we fail to
rotate with the Earth.
Sometimes, but sadly,
people, places and things
then come around as
we stand in place.
Hence we can happen
to stumble upon
the stems of flowery death.
sometimes we even seem
to glimpse their demise:
From the queen
hidden in the forest,
her sanctuary, her grave,
to the king's cupbearer
poisoned by his own hand,
to the dock workers
erased by famine
in one bitter afternoon,
and to the other ghosts of history
that invisibly crowd the world
just to beautify this
intrepid rose garden.
~
Jan 2
Jan 2, 2026 at 10:55 AM UTC
Silent Echo was an inspiration,
A genius poet with a depth of thought I aspired to have.
Though while he was crude at times,
I never once found fault in his rhymes.
Best wishes to you friend,
And I hope soon I'll read your work once again.
Mar 3, 2025
Mar 3, 2025 at 6:25 PM UTC
<In Memoriam: Joel M Frye>
we spoke perhaps twice by antiquated conveyance,
actually exchanging voices, real words, not ionized,
we knew so little, so much of other, in modern ways,
where you can feel without touch, see with eyes closed,
scenting tthrough a wire, hearing the voices whenever
inhaling each’s poems, tonguing, tasting the words aloud
nonetheless, ‘tis nonsensical, that his earthly disappearance
should defect my affectations, with the chested sensational
of loss, deprivation,, that I am missing a poet, his insights,
his way of saying the same thing yet so differently which is
exactly what we do here daily, reheating upon rehearing
each others verbal notions of rue, worry, love lost,
abandoned faith, momentarily reignited, wondering instantly
and perpetually do words matter, just before we, with excited sighs
we pick up the unique utensil fluidity that allows this communication
of spirit; now it strikes me hard, it is his spirited humorous man-n’ere,in everything, that became has attached to me, consciously and consciencely, humanizing me by his good graces that cannot
now be refreshed
until I
reread
him
one
time
more
Jul 5, 2023
Jul 5, 2023 at 7:22 AM UTC
"Wise as a serpent but gentle as a dove",
Was scripture you'd quote to me many a time,
And though your Faith would sustain you,
Through many dark storms,
You refused to insist
That it should be mine.
You see, I had every chance to fall out of line,
A multitude of options, to shy or to shine,
And even though I may not have said it a lot-
I remembered your words,
And made some of them mine.
So, when I reached the age,
That you were back then,
When you felt like you'd failed me,
And said so again,
I'm taking your hand now,
To place it in mine.
I'm smiling but, sighing,
I'm drawing the line.
No one's written the book yet, Mom,
You did just fine.
Jun 26, 2022
Jun 26, 2022 at 1:13 PM UTC
When misunderstandings flew every direction,
I tried to blame you, I gave it a shot.
But despite all the anger, resentment, correction,
Petty and cruel is something I'm not.
So it's time to step back,
Pull my head from the sand,
Outside of my self-absorbed ego, and stand...
Embrace the all,
and find it sufficient,
To still the mind and be with what is,
Pain and pleasure, in equal measure,
To God or Caesar, hers or his...
And on that June day, beside the black hearse,
I'll swear I caught sight of an eye or a mind.
Our new paths led to the first rehearsal.
The curtain opens and cold, we find,
We’re on the stage in a role reversal,
And though we may be deaf and blind,
We hear a song,
See a dance,
Universal.
#npminspire #forgiveness #taken #given
Jul 27, 2020
Jul 27, 2020 at 2:44 AM UTC
"i don't want to rule or conquer anyone;
i should like to help everyone if possible —
jew, gentile, black man, white
we all want to help one another;
human beings are like that."
charlie chaplin wrote these words for
"the great dictator" a political satire
the nazis didn't want to hear anymore
but the dictator's speech went viral
in a wehrmacht's cinema, partisans of tito
made fun of ****** and exchanged
a propaganda-film for chaplin's video
an audience of nazis raged
a flash of fun in a ***** led by
insane murderers on stimulants
***
mr. chaplin i do thank you for
your outcry emerging from
human tragedy.
good bye...
R.I.P. Charles Spencer Chaplin
✞ December 25th 1977
God bless you.
Dec 25, 2019
Dec 25, 2019 at 3:34 PM UTC
speaking for millions of
people who were and who have been suffering from addiction:
i do have to thank the two of you.
the tradition of the twelve steps had not existed before you created and established them.
you have a shelter in my
mind and in my soul.
God bless you.
R.I.P. Bill and Bob
Dec 20, 2019
Dec 20, 2019 at 4:20 AM UTC
You never let me call you in those last days
Because you didn't want me to see what you had become
As if you'd ever be anyone else than
The man who laughed when I forgot the water in the cake mix
Who knocked me off the couch with his yelling at a football game
Someone with talents and always some good advice
A hero with the strongest heart
Despite it hating you now and then
I'll still remember our final talks
And how you had always said it was your greatest regret
To not live to see what I'd do with my life
I remember your funeral
Somehow I couldn't cry
The only dry eye
I've made up for that as of late
Nov 10, 2019
Nov 10, 2019 at 6:05 PM UTC
what were the means by which
they came to wear a uniform
it is meaningless now
what was the color of their skin
in what manner did they speak
what was their music
what place was home
all that made them who they were
overshadowed now
by why they are gathered
wearing that uniform
standing in ranks
standing for their fellow
warrior beside them
giving to the final breath
for the most precious
gifts they themselves
had been given
family
whether family was
10,000 miles away
or next to them in a hole
in the dirt
so close each could feel
the others pounding heart
they are in ranks still
at Arlington
at Leavenworth
at Miramar
at Normandy
at Belleau
at Manila
at hundreds more
and unseen graves in
jungles and mountains
all around the world
ranks that will stand till
the earth itself changes
Jun 6, 2019
Jun 6, 2019 at 11:18 AM UTC
Carry my prayer
From this earthly place
Through time and space
To your infinite grace
Oct 24, 2018
Oct 24, 2018 at 7:59 PM UTC
Here’s to the dark clouds forming
And the waves crashing
To the sirens calling
And the fearful losing hope
Here’s to the blood lose
And to the salty tears
To the mountains roaring
And to the lonely graves
Here’s to the pill poppers
And to the Henny drinkers
Let’s not forget the loveless
And to the broken temples
Here’s to my dreams in hell
And to my fears in heaven
Here’s to me
For I am lost
And will never be found
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 7:31 PM UTC
#*“You cannot hold it, but it will cradle you.
You cannot see or touch it, but when contact comes,
You will see me, hold me, as in the days of your youth,
When you loved me best,
And I, you.”*
**From: Seven New Poems for Seven Days #2: Hover
... by Nat Lipstadt**
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
in memoriam to memories:
for Miriam and Nat
reading each thought numerous ticks of days,
imbibe the silent of the silence
hanging from the rafters this wilderness roof;
grayed heartwood walls that separate
fractals of inseparable distances ― celebrations
the roads taken ― memories of those left behind
at the side of the mile untrodden
Congregated love and sorrow’s spoken words
scribed on paper bark touchstones ―
etched watermarks of perpetual tides
patina the afterglow of life's ebb and flow,
traces of everything and naught can ever fill
Experiencing intimate moments immemorial;
the whispers of living pulse still murmurs
in the gentle breeze between the gathered words of heart
breathing deeply ― a rush of systemic truth
born in the wholly sacred blood bequeathed
A soul outside the lines ponders ―
the sum whole of a life well lived;
coming to understand, although
all might not see the same light shine:
there’s a place one day we’ll return
we found along the way
because one day will come by here …
harlon rivers ... Memorial Day weekend ... May, 2018
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
May 24, 2018
May 24, 2018 at 2:29 PM UTC
Will you tell me what it's like
up there in the sky?
I want to know where
the angels learn how to fly.
I promised you I wouldn't cry
because you said it'd be alright.
but I let one slip away
in the cover of the night.
I want your voice again.
Please.. just once more?
Give me a sign
So I can stop being sore.
Why am I so selfish
that I want you to stay here?
God needs a drummer too
But it's just.. that you were so near.
I wish I could have fixed you
and made your pain leave
but I cried and blamed myself
forgetting how to believe.
But I don't want you to cry for me
I want you happy up there.
And when it's my turn to join you
save me a song for us to share.
Aug 26, 2017
Aug 26, 2017 at 11:07 PM UTC
Keep missing her love I am always,
Richter scale failed during those days,
In the ones that earthquake struck,
Poor me - I sank in her crooked love,
I'm a man simple to stupidity's extent.
I tried so hard only to end up faithless,
Should love ever cross my way again?
Drooling over an apparent innocence,
Electric shocks I'll always remember,
Again I know she won't fall from grace,
Deepening is this sorrow in my cage.
Aug 4, 2017
Aug 4, 2017 at 10:04 AM UTC
A poet upon his or her death " Does Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night", for they have something to share with future generations through their poetry.
Robert Frost "When faced with two roads diverged in a yellow wood he took the one less traveled by and that made all the difference."
Was William Blake laid to rest under A Poison Tree? Or was he saying that we are like poison to our enemies? One beauty concerning poetry is that it can be left up to the interpretation of the reader. Even if it was written to mean one thing the readers can discover several possible meanings to the poem like discovering jewels each time it is read.
Perhaps lets for fun imagine" The Raven", giving the eulogy for Edgar Allan Poe, and talking about his life and the loves that inspired his poetry especially Poe's beloved" Annabel Lee" and "Lenore. "The Raven" proceeded to close his eulogy with the words " Nevermore".
Maybe when it was time for William Shakespeare to be laid to rest while dressed up in his Sunday best. His poem " Fear No More" could have been read leaving not one dry eye as many fans cried for a great poet and playwright had died. A big comfort to his fans is that his work is forevermore immortalized in print for future generations to enjoy. As Dylan Thomas best stated " And Death Shall Have No Dominion" because the poets words still live on in print to be read and enjoyed and discovered by many generations to come. The poems that a poet writes are there legacy that they leave for future generations.
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 1:00 PM UTC
Glowing colors spread across the dawning day,
one week after you departed our world.
On this quiet street where nothing happens,
tragedy happened to you, and those who love you.
The man driving his truck couldn't stop in time.
He will never forget involuntarily ending your life.
I saw his face registering what he had done.
We pray for him daily, and for your family,
who lost you so suddenly.
I have never known a gentler soul.
Now that you are fully in the Light,
your voice, your soft, smiling laughter
come to me frequently.
I hear you saying, and it feels very real:
"Live fully and sweetly, as I have done."
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 4:33 PM UTC
Pour one under the table for those who walk outside. In memory of Spalding Gray, for what he meant to me...
Thanks, “Spuddy”, for sharing your inner life. Thanks for having the courage to bring so many troubles into the light. You laughed at your troubles and allowed us a way to laugh at our own. You put a voice to carrying an unbearable shyness or an excess of fear along with us as we go through life. You strived to care when caring was out of fashion and in short supply. Thanks for reminding us that life is the journey, and not only the destination. You wrote a book. You played a minor role in a feature film. Those were some of your destinations. When you shared your journey, you did it with humor, humility, and with love. Thanks for reminding me that storytelling is all around us. Thanks for reminding me that it need not be complex. You were merely observant during your journey, and you shared it through the lens of your own perception.
I learned this January that life became unbearable for you. If only we, your audience, could have comforted you or somehow stemmed the river; the flood that carried you to leave so early. I would like to believe that, once you died, you might be able to hear our collective voice. I imagine that you are able to see the people affected by your work, some inspired thus to create works of their own; tell their own awkward stories, sharing them as you shared yours. I am far back in the line, and I eventually arrive at your table. You flip a page in your spiral-bound notebook and take a sip of water before glancing up inquiringly. I only have one thing to say, really. “Thanks, Spalding. Thanks for sharing”.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 10:34 PM UTC
— for Seamus Heaney
Forging scaffold and wells of tongue,
Whose every word— rung to the stars,
One sprite, born a new heart to Ulster,
Tanged in sounds of the beating sparkle,
Now the leftover sun, a light in absence,
Falls with leaves of the turning autumn,
Tears, sloping, in a feathered arc, so fair,
Splitting to the shores of a western isle.
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 2:26 PM UTC
everyone wore black and looked dark and felt darker
it was sunny when the day began, but it started pouring
i think the devastation accumulated to unbearable amounts
the heavens couldn't even stand to watch
my car almost got swept off the road by the rain
but i had hoped you'd guide me back
i like to think that i got there safe because of you
but it was probably just wishful thinking
there was too much powder on your nose in the casket
a desperate attempt to hide the inevitable decay
and that made my stomach lurch into my throat
i had to turn away
i watched your sister fall apart before that wooden box
that held your shell
and there are no words to describe how that felt
all i could do was let the tears slide down my cheeks
the first and last time i saw you, you climbed an enormous evergreen
even with your blown out knee
and i knew then you were special
i was worried you would fall, yet you seemed so invincible
i found out soon that i was wrong
still i imagine you somewhere grabbing onto branches
swinging yourself up
smiling wide
fearless
**
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 12:39 AM UTC