Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2019
the woven intercept

the crescendo soft ascending,
commandeers our riveting,
we do not surrender, taken, nonetheless,
our deference to an elegant wand wave,
combo hopeful and all encompassing, the helplessness

both well understood

the progression higher, steady on,
a rapture going to a defined ending,
concluding voyage occluded, for now,
but the setting sun rays us a plan, a path,
teasingly, soto voce lips moving, “this way”

follow on the unsteady water

restraining resistance failing, flailing weakly,
it is both early morning and late afternoon,
the light warms, but each, a timbre different,
the pitch and intensity tho one and the same,
yet, order confused, still, we are given-in

giving in unwillingly

absolution unrequested, but awarded anyway,
shelter from the storm of safe and warm,
children begin first school day, but adults
know better, beginnings full of risks unforeseen,
the season changes, normalized, but would be refused

if we could

the waiver offered, the woven intercept read,
emotional intelligence so fragile, on and on,
sidekicks, lovers, connected by a dotted line highway,
the space between permitting anything we want,
but contradictories say, wanting everything, impossible

but the viable solution singular

how do we leave it then? we leave it thus, clarified,
separation is a kind of attachment, voidable, when,
kissing comes calling, from all around the world,
the crescendo ends, we each have read the intercept,
it concusses, interpretations differing, yet we don’t care

lying through embracing lips


our tune is a mismatched matching,
a vision ending and yet anew hatching,
this is love, understanding, undefinable, undefeated,
a changeling definition, paths possessing multi-endings,
loving is the unceasingly, desirable imperfect struggling

unique, singular just like everyone else’s

9/4/19 9:07am

nml
(she'll know)
The rain makes me want to write to you,
To tell you things I should have said months ago,
When everything was easy and it didn't hurt so much to breathe.
When there’s no barrier between what should I say and what could I say.

You said we’re young.
You think we’re too young huh?
You think it is best to ignore every echo that concusses my heart
Every time I start to say something I really feel about you?
That I have to lie afterwards and say that I’m fine,
Put up a smile so it will not look like regret.

No, I want to dream.
I’m tired of seeing memories of places I will forgot,
And people who never really had names,
Just because you don’t want yourself to be dreamt.
But I don't want to lie awake at night knowing that somewhere you are in pain.
For I remember you saying “Don’t you know your heartaches are my heartaches too?”

So now I am confused,
And honestly, I’m in the midst of giving up.
So tonight, I’ll forget that we’re still young, and let myself fall asleep again,
Go back to the places that will be forgotten soon,
And ask people who never really had names just to find the answers on those questions running inside my head.

As the cloud is still dark but the rain is gone.
I’ll slowly close my eyes and let my soul fly away.
Iraira Cedillo Mar 2014
Necessities
BY RUSTY MORRISON
In through our bedroom window, the full dawn-scape concusses.
Difficult to sustain sleep's equilibrium of wordlessness.
Naming anything, like stepping barefoot in wet sand up to my ankles. . . .
(20 minute poetry)

Going forward
I'm back on track.

I wonder about the travel of sound
when I'm down here
travelling on the underground
does it speed up or slow down
does it meet London
coming or is it already there?

I also think about ice cream
In various flavours.

Where the light concusses
the head of the queue
and the day sirens in
what can we do but
wonder

who hasn't?

Never a seat when you want one but always the beat in your eardrum and usually it's usually the left one.

The next station.

Not a station of the cross
or Whipps Cross nor
Brent Cross
I get cross
at Waterloo

I wonder
I do
which is
nothing new
nothing is.

Putting things on the back burner is no way to turn over a new leaf.

I fall as autumn falls
soft and slow
a patchwork of evening stars that
cover me
and only the jackdaws to bother me, but they'll fall silent too

sometimes I wonder
I wander
I do.

— The End —