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 Nov 2016 wehttam
John Keats
Think not of it, sweet one, so;---
      Give it not a tear;
Sigh thou mayst, and bid it go
      Any---anywhere.

Do not lool so sad, sweet one,---
      Sad and fadingly;
Shed one drop then,---it is gone---
      O 'twas born to die!

Still so pale? then, dearest, weep;
      Weep, I'll count the tears,
And each one shall be a bliss
      For thee in after years.

Brighter has it left thine eyes
      Than a sunny rill;
And thy whispering melodies
      Are tenderer still.

Yet---as all things mourn awhile
      At fleeting blisses,
E'en let us too! but be our dirge
      A dirge of kisses.
 Nov 2016 wehttam
DEW
There's a penny for every sob story,
and a dime for every winner.
A dollar for the tax collector,
and Benjamin pays himself.

But you, my friend, are forgiven,
forget toil and bore;
where you lounge on laurels,
others hunger for more.

There's nonsense in fiction,
truth in law.
But law guarding fiction:
the beast's toothy maw.

You write the laws, my friend,
you are the fiction and truth,
you are the red hand,
you are the beast's jagged tooth.

On and on, the mercy rolls
Are you winning?
Check the polls!
Is it fiction?
No one knows,
but the crown drapes from your head,
to your toes.

Life worms its way into your moth holes...
99 problems; 101 dalmations: you do the math.
You plug the holes with your fingers;
end up with no hands to stop the flood.
That empty feeling lingers,
so does the blood.

Everything's shot to cheese,
but the truth isn't cheesy.
You beg for no mercy,
but you don't say please.

In the end, there's no mention
of how you were spared.
Dare to infract again,
only devils have dared.
I started with the third and fourth lines of the sixth stanza:
"You plug the holes with your fingers;
end up with no hands to stop the flood,"
that I had written weeks ago and had actually intended as a proverb for my fantasy novel, "Brightvoid," which I am currently planning/writing.

Since I had misplaced the note with those lines and put them into my poetry notes, I sat there, staring at those words and decided, "You know what, I'll do it."

Those words will still be employed in my novel, but they'll also be employed in this poem. They must be poor, working two jobs, poor things :(

Enjoy!

DEW
 Nov 2016 wehttam
Reese Mauro
Sometimes I wonder,
Should I wander?
Should I leave this world,
Should I become a ghost of my being?

Then I remember,
I already am a ghost.
My memories and feelings are existing too much
too little.  
I'm living,
not living.
 Dec 2015 wehttam
Nat Lipstadt
Time: 7:30 pm
Temp.: 68F

~~~
overlooking the runways,
festooned by
accidental heavenly whimsy,
or humanistic whimsical inten-sity,
all the the planes and trucks are flashing
electrifying speckles, of eclectically synced
red and green

it is not my holiday,
but no matter,
like every New Yorker this day,
I am happily celebrating its
double U,
unique, unusual

"record breaking warmth"

yes, the Fahrenheit is outtasight, and by the dawn of
early eve~night,
the Centigrade is spiraling in reverse retrograde,
as the temp eases on down, just below seventy degrees,
on this dewinterized twenty fourth day of
December, two nought and fifteen

traffic is light, the terminal, an unbusy, slim shadow of itself,
the maddening crowds gone, now all are among
the dearly departed and either/or, the newly arrived

so composition of the observational, brings cheer and smiles to my faith,
(I mean my face),
the crowning quietude of clear skies, the absence of street smart
city  bustle and hustle,
the languid atmosphere at the gates,
(where seldom is heard an encouraging word)#
makes me reconsider the true meaning of
the au courant phraseology of this day

"record breaking warmth"

for there is indeed
a calm invisible warmth suffusing all tonite,
chests glowing from fireplaces within,
contentment chamber containers in both hearth and heart,
and I am thinking
miracle,
about all the human warmth
on this celebrated evening,
holy night

indeed,
it is breaking records of
recorded human fusion,
the united commonality of millions warming
his and her stories world-over,
that your personal poet is
warming to record
# but not tonight, as I am
unbelievably,
upgraded!
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