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 Jul 2018 v V v
Marsha Singh
They think my nerves are cold
steel; they call me unnn-real, like
I'm a big deal; they think I'm all
fight, that I've gained deeper in-
sight. Like I'm alright. Like I don't
cry. And all I did was not die.
I had cancer. Then I didn't.
 Jul 2018 v V v
Marsha Singh
Pioneer
 Jul 2018 v V v
Marsha Singh
I like when you
invent fire, when
you discover the sun,
when you say hush woman
hush, believe this – we are one
.
 Jun 2018 v V v
Nat Lipstadt
Refractions of Vivid Emotions

This poem has a story. A few months ago, inspired by
the response from patty m to one of my poems (quoted below,)
I started this poem and never completed it. Stumbled upon it, and asked for permission to post, when I realized the why of the absence of her voice from here, the passing of her beloved, Joey.
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1195106/for-the-love-of-my-life/

It changed the poem.

for Patty M.
and Joey,
who I only knew through
the eyes that loved him


~~~

"dayummmm this is amazing.
I love your foreplay,
the wanton ******,
your words tipping words in
refractions of vivid emotions"

patty m

~~

she hits me
sweetly, unknowingly
with a best shot,
a four lined stanza
of expresso appreciation,
while
shhhhh,
I'm at work

everyone, observing,
looking at me,
cause I am instantly
floored

instant cognition,
emotional reverberation
disturb, perturb,
by her phantastic imagery
a language, a phraseology
"refractions of vivid emotions"

slow conniption,
her phrases,
never didactical,
cause my reactionary words
to refract my emotions,
light rays now reflecting,
breaking off pieces of me,
all scattered about the universe,
and I'm learning me a lesson good,
be careful what you read...

grab the cell only to hear:

"currently, none of
Humpty Dumpty's men
are currently available,
so please stay on the line...
you're caller number one,
expected wait time, well,
ha ha ha ha ha..."

fix me woman!
tape or glue,
won't adhere
where you words have cut me,
sutures cannot close caverns,
reverse magma flows,
can you,
is even possible
to bring me back to whole?

you've tapped some
deep watered notions,
split my atoms,
you have refracted me,
vividly

I have here
writ me
down

newborn needy,
requesting more of her words
to patch
up

and heal
me
~
so I search for a refresher course on
The Poetry of patty m,
and am twice trashed,
thrown twice over prostrate to the floor,
her voice gone quiet,
lost from loss,
sometimes loss makes makes the best silence,
sometimes loss make the best poetry

Oh, this wanton ******!

her news upends,
her words tipping words,
each word,
a companion to each tear shed,
and I cry copiously

a last poem, this time
of an endplay
absent he... absent foreplay

my pal Joey,
though our eyes never met,
a debt of gratitude owed,
for you refracted
from your soulmate

words that made this trying world
such a better place

I too,
at loss
how to say goodbye,
this imperfect poem chile of mine,
for I am inconsolable and ashamed
the overt poverty of my words
that offer but a weakened console

so with pride
I will borrow some
patty-words,
hoping that's ok

~~~

**Beware,

life is never fair,

a trap, a clap trap happenstance

leading me in rapid dance

perchance enhanced with vibrant hue

dispensed in advice I'll give to you;  

run don't walk with backward glance,

hide desire wrapped away

and concentrate on dragons to slay.

Rejoice in thoughts if once set free

would join the world

in unity,

but you and I

can never be,

this I say with certainty.  

then sigh. . .

         as I softly whisper

goodbye.
"For Patty and Joey: Refractions of Vivid Emotions"
Started April 2nd 2015,
Finished June 27, 2015
~~~
How it all began.

On May 12, 2014,
I wrote:

Patty M (Read the new poets here)


I have never been published
or won a prize,
except, yeah, yeah,
the one in the
Crackerjack box

but from that cheap plastic surprise,
much was learned even as a young boy

cull the chaff of life
from amidst the wheat

plant it well and deep,
then forget all about it,
except where,
t'was seeded

when eyes yellowed,
hair turned a color Disney repackaged as
frozen
white,
normally a gift of a hairdresser,
called mother time,
and your pink skin scaled smooth
now kin and kith of the kitchen grater,

then time is in,
cull your plantings

go back into that yards,
pull out the weeds,
uncovering what only time
can provide -

poetry planted and born from
the summary addition of thousands
of days of life,
well felt,
well received,
well recorded,
drawn from earth and water,
well lived

sometimes my nyc sidewalks uneven,
cause a toe snagging tripping,
this loss of balance,
adrenalin hot flashing,
similar to tripping upon a new poet

every time I say no mas,
I must choose tween
left or right,
one can
read or one can write,
but not
both

a voice on I stumble,
making me ever so foolish,
ever so humble,
ever so confused

so at 12:31am
at it again,
reaping what others have sowed

this woman by her own confess,
Trouble with a capital everything
T.R.O.U.B.L.E

only a grownup chile
writs me a poem
re crackers in her vegetable soup,
a naval battle akin to that of Midway,
that makes me crackers with delight!

saucy, that poetess
you better love her well,
she tells you outright
or she'll sell you, the reader out,
for the next one cruising along,
hence this poem, her good graces sought!

but to get certain memories I want,
but can't recall for I never had them,
she, for me doth record:

*Imaginary space within a dream
floats in a subconscious sea.
Our affection grows from
tremulous beginnings
its dramatic unfolding
vestige of the soul whispers
and lingers in twilight and ice

Shared breath,
in time our leisured rhythms
savored sweetly match kiss for kiss.

Words in parody drop,
one by one.
enmeshing me in rippling sorrow,
once again you've moved
just beyond my reach.*

curse the teachers and the genes
and my plain vanilla simp vocabulary,
that don't let me write like this,
but to my backyard I go,
where I cull what other's have planted better,
and harvest the new fruits of
crackerjack superior poets
 Jun 2018 v V v
alexa
i’m sorry.
i’m sorry in advance for the person i will be
when you meet me,
worse off than i am now,
if you can believe that.
if you want to blame someone please
do not blame me,
be patient with me, dear,
i promise i will get better.
blame the boy with strands of copper for hair,
electricity running through him.
i thought the sparks shooting off him
were a novelty
until they marred my arms with embers that
dissolved into flames and i was turned to ash
before he could ever apologize.
blame the boy with those eyes,
sapphires planted in his face where
eyes should be,
such a stunning color i looked past how
he could never love me.
my love, i wasted
two years (and counting) of my life on this
boy,
hopefully,
by the time i meet you i will be
over him.
you deserve so much more than
a girl still clinging to her past
with white knuckles.
blame the boy that i fell for
much too fast,
...correction:
thought i fell for.
by the time i meet you i hope
i know that
no matter how lonely i am,
i should not force something
that is not meant to be.
dear,
i am trying to heal from that,
trying to assure myself that i will not
lose feeling so quickly,
dilute something that was so beautiful and full of life
into something i cannot bear to look at.
my future lover,
i apologize in advance but
if i think i will give you any less than
all of me,
i will let someone else love you.
 Jun 2018 v V v
alexa
red dress
 Jun 2018 v V v
alexa
in a red dress i kissed him
yes, on the lips i touched mine to his
and oh god did sparks fly
and oh god did those embers fall to our
feet and
start a fire that will not
can not die and
my scarlet dress still smells like smoke,
his residual fingers still touching me all over
and he is, and forever will be
my everything,
my North, South, East, and West,
my ocean and my stars and
every grain of sand on the beach
and never will i ever
ever
let him go.
inspired by W.H. Auden, e.e. Cummings, and James Joyce. can you tell i'm in my poetry unit at school??
 Jun 2018 v V v
SøułSurvivør
R.I.P. Clinton Eugene Jarvis
~My father ~

The saguaro an altar
A tree stump a pew
He knelt in the garden
His church all that grew.

Cactus and succulent
Tenderly grown
Were all in his choir
For his ears alone.

From aisles of stone walkways
Stained glass in bright clouds
The sun was his mantle
The stars are his shroud

The lakes holy water
As a child he'd haunt
Skipping stones 'cross a pond
Like a Baptismal Font

Sat he 'neath the willows
To hear their prayer's sigh
The saguaro an altar

His Cathedral the sky.

SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
(C) 5/31/2018
Yesterday evening at approximately 9PM  my father passed away. He was closest to God being out in, and working with, nature. He was a Master Gardener. A member of the Cactus & Succulent Society.  I will write more about dad later on... Right now it's 5am and I've had no sleep. I'm going to try to rest. I'm handling the grief by writing... Remembering him fondly with words. Isn't that just like a poet...?
 Apr 2018 v V v
Nat Lipstadt
tease


I love a good tease that
all the possible endings end in
a becoming becoming,
a flashing flash flashing,
pleasing, pleasant, pleasure passing,
a fancy tickled,
an itch scratched, just a crazy little crazed


but to all you
hot married women
who crave my mind

a happy marriage (yours) is a **** rare thing
so no messing about please
but
if I should you in ny sees,
and I get the vision in my scope, the first glimpse,
my open-carry-you-away
big game hunting license is auto-activated

do not hold me responsible for your
wide eyed look

when
I strip you
down to your
poetic essence

when I strip you down to your poetic essence in  

our
single breath
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