"attendence" poems
punto / contrappunto (patty m /nat)
(on the why of messaging, on the Underground HP)
none can fly, all can fly
except in words, in deeds, indeed,
yet others turn those who believe turn
lead into gold, golden faerie dreams real,
penciled in the salvation hints inked upon the skin
of the host, the blessing are the blessings of the host,
of solving great puzzles. deeds of salvation solutions.
Yet unbeknownst for many. known to all
its jiggling all the quarks, the clashing of the neutrons
spinning electrons that within all of our protein protons
affect many, effected upon each,
invisible all is hidden. where all was hidden, now visible
the message that isn't let our acts speak ever louder
transmitted, realized,
holds no power, yet it a time for action
remains a black screen for each message, now an action
in the catacombs in the clarity of daylight
waiting, waiting there, no longer waiting,
millions of little pieces each action a deed
when finally viewed the summation total
grows gargantuan
funneling radiation
from the sun.
Climbing roofs, to the streets leaping
sliding down drainpipes knocking to open all doors
to the street, filling the stadiums & squares
I'll wait with you, no laggards, all in attendence
**they will come,
poet after poet,
spreading the word,
words to deeds, each of us
a messenger and a conductor,
orchestrating the symphony
of revelation.**
Patty m. Nat
Jun 9, 2017
Jun 9, 2017 at 11:50 AM UTC
It’s a hot summer afternoon, perfect in every way,
A time to enjoy and relax, loll about and play.
But the afternoon’s long shadow of darkness makes it clear,
That for a particular group of students, disaster is near.
And this unfortunate bunch march into a hot class that noon,
With filled stomachs and eyes full of blissful slumber,
But still, there is a sense of impending doom in the air, and soon
The class will have to face up to a nightmare they fear.
Then at half past one a man walks in,
He smiles and says,“ good afternoon, class, lets begin!!”
The sir then starts his physics lecture,
Much to the students agony and dismay,
And while they curse and snarl silently like a mangled cur,
They wish they had never lived to see this day.
And in no time the teacher sends out a barrage,
Of “physics”, from lasers to parallel rays, characteristics of a coherent light source,
Reflection, Wein’s displacement, sinusoidal wavefronts and an electron’s charge,
He shouts his voice out till he goes hoarse.
I too, as part of that class, try,
To make sense of the gibberish spoken,
But its hopeless, I give up with a sigh,
I doubt his explanation could be understood by the smartest of men…
And in the sweltering heat of the afternoon, with the lecture being a bore,
The students just can’t listen to him, but can certainly do a lot more…
And within minutes of the lecture the class is in its own world,
Where life by quantum physics is not obscured…
Boys start throwing paper pellets at one another,
While mocking the teacher behind his back,
Meanwhile the girls giggle and nudge each other,
Laughing at the jokes they crack.
And oblivious to all that is going on around him,
The teacher goes on to say why the LEDs glow dim.
And I am caught, in a whirl,
Of various activities all around me,
And while I pen down a poem, think about my favorite girl,
I am amazed at the sight I do see…
The class becomes more and more unruly, falling apart,
And at a certain point it is too much and hence,
The sir stops talking about the critical value, and does start,
To take the class’s attendence.
No sooner is the roll call done that the herd stampedes out,
With many a push, a yell and a shout.
The same phenomena will occur again next week,
Isn’t it an example of college life at it’s peak?...
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 10:42 AM UTC
this title has begrudgingly waited for some loving kindness, fulfillment-needy, since October of Two Thousand and Seventeen
which is not quite as long as the decades I have been waiting to
accumulate the words to provide us both, an inspired solution
my days are numbered
in decades, decals, varying lengths of hair,
belts with notches that ain’t reachable,
suits various, both too big and too small to fit,
the who who used to own them,
begrudgingly, writes this
city born and bred, with the pale skin needed to prove my urbanity, each day came unto me begrudgingly,
even, especially, the good ones
when I was ten and rode my bike from freedom to mystery,
and back again in a city that was ok, if you stayed out of its way
and knew the city’s vocabulary and its erogenous zones
when nothing come easy, when even the easy, when it comes, comes begrudgingly
when you think of love, and the next immediate thought is:
how great the cost - recalling too well,
the pain of childbirth and child rearing
and the staining, paining fluid is in perm-attendence,
that doesn’t ever fully departs and
is not never entirely stain-stick-removable,
and the children come ‘n go according to their schedule,
someone else’s vast eternal plan
life in the same apartment
where my parents died,
listening to the stories of joined lives,
listen to the sisters telling them
over and over to a stream of visitors
earned from and of a 98 year life,
given up willing but, begrudgingly as well.
the story-telling skill because of them,
my mist-matched parents who did ok
and their very best,
gifted us hyperbole innate genetic
and all of us now registered
tall tale tellers;
some write for a living,
some live to write,
some write to make themselves clearer,
after honestly confronting their subway reflection
words acquired bot ‘n sold,
they too are stains unerasable,
very always handy,
the one thing we shared, word skill,
was never at loss, words never held a grudge
no matter how long they waited to serve
this fact, begrudgingly confess;
all my-word skill was freely inherited...
and I hope it satisfied the title
and you, those that waited patiently but,
begrudgingly
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 4:00 PM UTC
I always lose my shoes. I eat a bowl of popcorn every day and never put the bowl in the sink. My hair doesn't always stay in the right side. I told my sister that I wish she killed herself the other day. I have terrible attendence. Deodorant covers up my smell but not my stains. I don't write good enough. I don't like sleeping at night. I'm lonely and I make people leave.
I love deep. I can make kick *** deserts. I tell funny ****** up jokes. I make a mean *** of coffee. I like to swing. I like to dance in the rain. I know every word to the frozen movie. I have good taste in music. I'm impulsive. I like coffee and mini golfing and ice cream and hula hooping in the store.
If you hear me when you are crying wondering if you'll ever meet her. If you need a lover a friend a companion. If too sensitive and slightly child like makes you smile. If your heartstrings play music when you read my words.
Then love me back as much as the moon loves the sun. As much as my galoshes love a puddle. As much as a smoker loves the taste of the inhale. As much as I would love you.
I would love you.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 5:31 PM UTC
Down in the dirt.
Beat to the ground.
Hit after hit.
Strike after strike.
Bruises on and in me.
Cuts deep and sharp.
Get up I will.
Stay down I can't.
Things aquire my attendence.
People need my presence.
On my feet now.
Steady myself.
Stare it all down I must.
Take it head on I do.
More pain is sure to come.
It's ok.
It's what it takes.
I'm not alone.
I have been healed.
So come on!
Take your best shot!
Jan 12, 2021
Jan 12, 2021 at 2:00 PM UTC