#wilting - Hello Poetry

~for all who stuck with me, through fat (long) and skinny(short) for a lotta years & poems~ it strikes me that this poem #3000Aa, deserves a marking, a nat-notation, why? why not? it’s just another scrip, another chapter, another fini, une autre “lippy,” I fin~ed it not~sonnet~odd that ‘cog decline’ resurfaces at this particular Pearly Gate, this peninsula’s penitent entrant to my next to lasting everlasting even to taciturn me, astonishing, to my nexus of another thous& + one more; this! poetic lead-in into this my, resting chambered, dug by his/you/mine own~ed hands that/they sing, “with open hands,” wizened, and open to clapping shut, the fancy word for otherwise/poetically/known/ as (o/p/k/a) ‘wilting’ ~~ almost every week, buy 3 dozen roses to decorate our lives, knowing full that by their seventh day in residence to the well of compactor to be dispatched willingly well, without fear of remorse, for they have run their wilting course well, no prayers but a devoted thank you, and asking for no more than, to be accompanied by with no words of farewell, not a trace left behind, {that} the last thing on my mind (1) and even this shorted-warning in thought only pronouncing in hebrew for it is originated knowing that in Hebrews(!), ‘tis scripted “all men have an appointment with death” לכל הגברים יש פגישה עם המוות, but wherefore art thou saddest, loneliest of dispatched angels? is a puzzling delight, that poets adore ruminating all about but here and now, i chew mine selected edification/glorification of words in every language employable, variety untold what will be my trace left behind? if not this body of poems, it surely not be this mortal flesh which eagerly wilts deliberately atrophies, hid to be, into fine dark moist Jersey soil along & on a jagged line pointing formerly knows as the X-axis, now freed from linear aristocracy, now ensconced from upper left to lower right, A spaceship ocean liner majestic slow going, a whipped crossing its old path into a solidified negative territorial perma-au courant of these familiar nearby waters, a most X appropriate appropriation and I write this without my three most trusted allies, sun moon woman who no longer reads my poetry, all of whom have deserted me, the unlucky and the strong, and this be my persistent ark~tic winter, despite the calendar’s persistent instant! disapproval it is spring forward! alas, alack, William, my symptoms belie what my eyes see only dimly, squinting of no assistance and I do, hear here the greek chorus of death’s crystalline weariness in every part of my requiem sing song embodied pieces ~~ adieu adieu no longer possess the poetic power to trans form rain into dew, for you, for you, & for just you ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<nml~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Con Te Partiro (English Translation) “I will leave with you” When I am alone I'm dreaming at the horizon And the words are missing Yes, I know there is no light In a room when the sun is missing If you are not with me, with me On the windows Show everyone my heart That you have lit Enclose within me The light that You've met on the road ~~~~ But “when you touch me like this” And you hold me like that I just have to admit that it's all coming back to me When I touch you like this And I hold you like that It's so hard to believe, but it's all coming back to me It's all coming back, it's all coming back to me now… songwriter: James Richard Steinman (1947 – April 19, 2021) ~~~~ and “To really love someone is to set them free I promise I'll see you and I know you'll see me And when life tries to break us In ways we may not understand I will hold you And you will hold me And we will love With open hands, with open hands” Josh Groban

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Apr 18

Apr 18, 2026 at 10:02 AM UTC

nat-lipstadt

No 3000Aa: comes the 3:00 o'clock shadowing/cognitive decline/wilting/not a trace left behind/enclose the light

~for all who stuck with me, through fat (long) and skinny(short) for a lotta years & poems~ it strikes me that this poem #3000Aa, deserves a marking, a nat-notation, why? why not? it’s just another scrip, another chapter, another fini, une autre “lippy,” I fin~ed it not~sonnet~odd that ‘cog decline’ resurfaces at this particular Pearly Gate, this peninsula’s penitent entrant to my next to lasting everlasting even to taciturn me, astonishing, to my nexus of another thous& + one more; this! poetic lead-in into this my, resting chambered, dug by his/you/mine own~ed hands that/they sing, “with open hands,” wizened, and open to clapping shut, the fancy word for otherwise/poetically/known/ as (o/p/k/a) ‘wilting’ ~~ almost every week, buy 3 dozen roses to decorate our lives, knowing full that by their seventh day in residence to the well of compactor to be dispatched willingly well, without fear of remorse, for they have run their wilting course well, no prayers but a devoted thank you, and asking for no more than, to be accompanied by with no words of farewell, not a trace left behind, {that} the last thing on my mind (1) and even this shorted-warning in thought only pronouncing in hebrew for it is originated knowing that in Hebrews(!), ‘tis scripted “all men have an appointment with death” לכל הגברים יש פגישה עם המוות, but wherefore art thou saddest, loneliest of dispatched angels? is a puzzling delight, that poets adore ruminating all about but here and now, i chew mine selected edification/glorification of words in every language employable, variety untold what will be my trace left behind? if not this body of poems, it surely not be this mortal flesh which eagerly wilts deliberately atrophies, hid to be, into fine dark moist Jersey soil along & on a jagged line pointing formerly knows as the X-axis, now freed from linear aristocracy, now ensconced from upper left to lower right, A spaceship ocean liner majestic slow going, a whipped crossing its old path into a solidified negative territorial perma-au courant of these familiar nearby waters, a most X appropriate appropriation and I write this without my three most trusted allies, sun moon woman who no longer reads my poetry, all of whom have deserted me, the unlucky and the strong, and this be my persistent ark~tic winter, despite the calendar’s persistent instant! disapproval it is spring forward! alas, alack, William, my symptoms belie what my eyes see only dimly, squinting of no assistance and I do, hear here the greek chorus of death’s crystalline weariness in every part of my requiem sing song embodied pieces ~~ adieu adieu no longer possess the poetic power to trans form rain into dew, for you, for you, & for just you ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<nml~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Con Te Partiro (English Translation) “I will leave with you” When I am alone I'm dreaming at the horizon And the words are missing Yes, I know there is no light In a room when the sun is missing If you are not with me, with me On the windows Show everyone my heart That you have lit Enclose within me The light that You've met on the road ~~~~ But “when you touch me like this” And you hold me like that I just have to admit that it's all coming back to me When I touch you like this And I hold you like that It's so hard to believe, but it's all coming back to me It's all coming back, it's all coming back to me now… songwriter: James Richard Steinman (1947 – April 19, 2021) ~~~~ and “To really love someone is to set them free I promise I'll see you and I know you'll see me And when life tries to break us In ways we may not understand I will hold you And you will hold me And we will love With open hands, with open hands” Josh Groban