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Nat Lipstadt Jun 2018
why I love certain men


it’s a raining and writing Saturday,
a washout for the beach visitors who chose their
calendar lottery tickets poorly

but hurrah and huzzah for the poet
in the no-sun-today-room with
steam collecting on his face from his 20 oz. Canadian mug,
and the rest of him cozied neath a
wooly mohair knitted and tasseled blanket,
from a now shivering alpaca goat in Turkey or Tibet

perhaps we’ll make a tiny dent
in the 1319 poems
in the ‘sorta started to do’ list

****.
new one sneaks in demanding immediate satisfaction
and threatening my mind’s incarceration unless
serviced and unleashed as the Frenchies say
Frites, immédiatement!: (french fries, now!)

I love most men; certain men more than others,
not because they are soft to the touch,
look great in thigh highs, can fix a backhoe,
lay hands on animals, just as they do upon their grandchildren,
or write better poetry than me,
because
they make me weep from zealous delight at
their capricious unprecedented constancy of their
honorable actions

they are soft to the core, which is itself
wrapped in a leather soldered steel
which defines them by their self questing constant,
asking themselves preface and postface,
doing it well, in between,

what is the honorable thing?

this honor idea of which writ previous
doesn’t dissolve - indeed grows crescendo stronger,
like the miracle of the Yom Kippurs rams horn
crying out to heavens at the concluding end  
on the holiest judgement day,
a shofar miracle for it inhumanly grows ever louder,
ceasing only when nightfall marks a new day begun,
reminding both sinners and saviour each,
to inquire of their colluding selves on this forgiveness-giving day,

what is the honorable thing?

some are borrowers and some lenders,
of anything, the substance or the whom matters not,
but the bonding bonfire from which the deal is done,
is of a uncharted chemical organic chemical matter unrecognized
but millennium ancient


here I stop

the call to breakfast must be obeyed,
for it’s with lovely made, menu man-poet requested,
this is too an honorable thing to do,
and the 1319 half blood~half writs poking my eyes,
can be faced with new courage afterwards
on a perfect raining and writing Summer Saturday
for the next one hopefully and woefully

may not come till the September (Rosh Hashanah/Jewish New Year) when acorns fall

certain men will greet that fall Sabbath/ New Years Day,  
when Atonement begins, a ten day process to the final conclusion,
by asking of everything living and of every act human performed,
for the forgiveness requested inherent in the absolute bar setting of

what is the honorable thing?

which by the by,

is why I love certain women too...

and all who are honorable
will read this honorific and remain
clueless as to whom it is addressed...

oh god, I do so love that best!

what could signal honor even more...
Nat Lipstadt Feb 26
a man privately asks, can you help?
you say, sure-no-hesitation

let me think on it for a day or two, he says
yet you act even before he comes back,
too late, you say, when he returns,
too late, he repeats in puzzlement,
yup, my check is in the mail,
cause one senses the need is dire plus,
plus you well recall the immutable obligation when  
a vague commitment of “just ask” was inked in a long ago message,
a poem born from/in the days when you slept in the car on the street

this vague promissory,
a more enforceable judgement in your own court of law
than any state construct or the judgmental eyes of a silenced god

word, honor, do.

thus it begins, an unwritten contract inked,
an egregious interest rate of 0% proffered and agreed,
commences a plain white envelope trickle,
a check inside, by postal mail, slowly it came,
month by month, inch by inch, Niagara Falls ^

years go by, and then comes a day,
when the accompanying check and its gift wrapped note says,
Paid In Full!

and so much for the tedious minutiae...

like kindness, I do,
Thank You and Your Welcome
are high on my list of proofs of
daily human extensions existential,

Paid in Full,
now rests at the top of the list

let me be blunt, the thrill of being a party
to a deal with no handshake, just coated in the
honorable words waterproof sealant,
with a person I likely may never meet,
made me so better assured of whom many claim I am,  
a mathematical proof revered and kept mind inscribed,
it was an aspirational ****, an unforeseen monthly blunt,
the best feeling good smile,
a kick in the pants about what really matters

being paid twice over and me,
getting by far,
the humanity confirmation,
the better half of the deal

write too often of honor,
and yet, will instinctual do again,
again overpowering my rays of will,
for there is no deflection, only reflection

for the glorious riches gifted and received,
without compare
the return on my honorable investment the best ever


oh brotherhood, oh brotherhood,
I am paid in the currency coined from brotherhood...
^ from a Laurel and Hardy routine
yup, true story
"This above all: to thine ownself be true"
which denies the escape
of being false to any human.”
“Never forget”
It’s structure set
there’s something that
I just don’t get
When people told
to take a sec
The thousands lost
Their lives just swept

And many more
forever wept
An empty hole
with families wrecked
Commemorate
the date is set
As if a giant hurdle leapt

Most people easily forget
A numb that lulls
themselves will let
They patronize
like I’m a pet
Their pettiness
to me will vex

It’s takes more than
just bowing necks
A promise
for one day is kept
Real charity
Not on the net
Read Facebook posts like
“What the heck?”

My boiling blood
want to snap necks
A danger sign
like floor is wet
Not military
or a vet
But a salute
those lost will get

Just for one day
forget the rest
On this day we will act our best
Let bias and all hatred rest
Each other love
Hearts will be blessed
I took the original down just so it wouldn't take away from this draft. After taking a day and then coming back today to read the original through, I realized that the flow and sentiment of the poem was served better to rearrange some of the lines between the stanzas and/or moving some of the stanzas themselves.

Written: September 11, 2018

All rights reserved.
As it should be,
for the greatest honor
           one can achieve
     in being chivalrous
     is dying chivalrous
                (a loyal death
           for a loyal cause)
     but where is loyalty
        in leaving behind
everything one swore
to protect?

    Chivalry,
    synonymous
   to blind loyalty,
  is man always
achieving perfection
in all ways
man can in order
to achieve the satisfaction
of the greatest
  state of being
   he can be in:
Loyal---
to the Lady,
to the King;
to the Lord,
                      but never loyal
                            to that loyalty
                     as if being loyal
                 is an excuse
             to transcend into
a separate reality
that asks no more
than the least
of a person's life
who would give so much.

Chivalry
                is blind loyalty
         to the blinding offer
        of honored dignity
  (of death with dignity);
of offered death
and dignity.
       Dignified,
         justified;
dying in order
to be satisfied
in leaving behind
the thing that one
is terrified to lose
because a blind man
is never terrified
to choose honor
an be glorified
of a life misused.
NOTE: Chivalry is death
~for Wendy ~

with my almost two years old poetry advisor,
who loves her Sunday rituals, an extra sabbath,
of waffles and Shrek, kid’s gym and artistic endeavors,
cozying up with Nana and siblings in a big old bed,
snacking and chewing on the good silk sheets

as always, she and and I go off to have an intellectual conversation,
letting the older ones to do kid stuff, while we converse and debate
topics of nature vs. nurture, the weather vs. climate change,
and the future of everything, unbeknownst to everyone else

which is greater, love or honor, she inquires,
sensing my thoughts are preoccupied with matters of honor...
as she strokes my itchy, scratchy day old face,
insuring her having my full attention, while
taking advantage of my loving weakness

grandpa:
honor over everything my opening gambit,
while she coyly harrumphs in response,
one can love without reason for such are
our natural souls programmed,
but honor needs concentration and contemplation,
and if done right,
then love will surely follow!

She-Woman:
ah ha! once again you sidle up to nurture,
cause love is too inexplicable,
old man, old man, did I not love you before
any season of reason crossed my brow,
and my vocabulary consisted of just
more, no, toy and hungry

what did I know of Aristotle, logic, codes of conduct,
the definition of honor yet abstract,
while love is nature’s illogical construct,
coming first without restrictions,
while honor is malleable and
property of the eye of the beholder

grandpa:
wise beyond your tears, you are, and unquestionably correct,
but while coming first, love cannot last,
until cover-coated with honor,
for honor gives us the because, and locks down the why,
honor gives the insight, the rationale, the rules of how to say
yes and no, when love is tendered and an R.S.V.P. is requested

She-Woman:
absent experience, for now will concede,
but be warned this is not over,
fo you have not brought me a definition of what truly honor be

grandpa:
honor is the housing of love, and though you granted me your favor,
comes the day that you will demand proofs that
what was unearthed & unearned
is now earned, a course in credit, a baccalaureate in life’s lanes,
when to heed them, when to crossover, when to say I do, I do,
no to someone else alone, and yes to your honorable self

She-Woman:
adult double speak, I suspect, and you will rue the day
when forced to concede, with a wrenched
‘child, I do not know,’
meanwhile change my diaper
after I karate chop your knee

Grandpa:
yes child, but know,  two of your requests/notifications are
honorable acts and/know real love can be ONLY be exchanged
tween honorable humans
see photo for her  in position preparing to strike

3/3/19 9:45 am
Kim Essary Aug 2018
Sometimes our eyes don't see even though they are wide open.
Mistakes are plenty but humbling ourself to admit them is few and far between.
Could we survive only on our needs instead of our wants?
Do most even know the difference?
So many things in life we take for granted.
Why is it so hard to compliment the things done right yet so easy to point out all you believe to be wrong.
The world as we use to know it was full of morals, manners and respect.
The world as we know it today is is full of rudeness, hate and violence .
A man use to stand for what he believed and his word his honor.
Now he stands behind nothing and speaks no words of what he believes or doesnt.
Who made the world as it is today I ask, as I already know the answer.
It's easy to blame our "leaders", our neighbors, or the generations before or after, but my friends, my brothers and sisters, if we speak the truth as we know it, it was you and I that changed this world when we stood silent.
©kimmied1105
If we all stood for what we believed in and stopped standing back in silence each and all of us are to blame for the ways of our world today.
Nat Lipstadt Mar 2018
I'm your man,
your very own first Northern Star,
the first of the 3 legged stool,
upon which enthroned poets,
the world, do rule

the honor bequeathed me  
to be a  first follower cannot be
disdained nor diminished,
in this case,
the greatest is to be the first,
a quenching of thirst
so long in the parching,
the throat left burning

so come to me,
message me a message,
find me a find, a poem so fine,
I vow,
our vowed embrace will n'ere be broken

give me this honorific,
let us together be terrific,
raise our glasses,
arms entwined toasting you
and all that breast of yours
bursting full of fulfilling future~contains

I am a father.
I am a grandfather.
I am a First Follower.
I am a First Responder
for all who need a leg up.

my legs are as old as time,
measure me not by the rings and  the
metered scales of gray hair aging,
but by the muscles of my affection,
the solemnity of my irrevocable promise

this,
the blessing we earn when you post,
while we wait in quiet attendance -
for your good works

"Blessed are You Lord our God, Ruler of the Universe
who has given us life, sustained us, until just now,
allowing the reader and the writer, to reach this day."
Farzaneh Qaf Jul 2018
.
And I sit there
All ear, head to feet
Dear
Listening to his footsteps
As if a Santa Clause waiting for his deer
Painting his majesty
Through defenceless eyes' pastels
Asking for aid,
O' holy hands
There, hassles
I see a purple heart
Hiding blue dropes of hopes
as if a mask was to keep my face look like mokes
Over the balcony
Amongst the trees
Saw a friendly shadow
Of my ever lasting companion, on knees
O' Thy honor sir black hat gray shadow!
Real illusion, of whom art thee?
Chasing me through the looking glass balcony
Never mind, promise, not to miss a symphony...
.
Farzaneh.Qāf
Ken Pepiton Mar 6
A transfer of energy
e=
ye know, in the higgs,
do we still honor the guy
that idea had? Capital letters confer honor,
in my literary culture.
Honor is not always due.
Higgs did the math, so H is honoring
his attention to detail, there for duty to honor
knowns predicted by men augmented
with reason, conlogique, mit prehensile
minds capable of accounting for believable unseeables.

Despise not the day of small things,
the boson thinglet, math says those ef
fect, in fact, make
mass, any thing that ever matters
at all.
'Justathought.

( A syllable at a time saves stitches,
don't run with scissors, beware
the concise)

Whet the Mobius edge,
Ping, inside, outside, one side, one edge, light
glint, bent gravitasish, bouncing,
crissing and crossing at every vector in time from this
particularity, a dimensional dialectic duality,

whys and hows dancing

that's the field at work, maybe,
whence things making matter matter rise up,
may be not.
Real quick decicisions happen
in that field idea.

Nur Herr Doctors, Master Professors of
Sophia's Sacred Secreted Truths may enact the
Matriculate's escape from dominion of higgsian rules
by endowing
hidden treasure, for baksheesh,  in power spells
and chants and cheers and degrees of
blood sworn oathz.

E pluribus unem is one of 'em, I learned.
Too spiritual a' idea to be allowed
but to them whose cogitatin'
warn't troubled, them
secret keepers,
the civilizeers'ad vizeers in Teflon tenured towers
overlooked some honorable ideas,
Higgs, so what? We all know
Things be that we can only imagine seeing.

Which reminded me, not all bubbles are spherical.

You know. You have seen big long stretchy
silicon re-enforced detergent
bubbles, on TV.

The higgs field of reality is such a bubble,

to my mind. Can you imagine that?
to my mind away

we went as if we were wind, whispers
in the storm.

Settle down. All that can be de
constructed can be de
solved, dis
cerned, de
fined,
As re-al ways made where no way was.
Riddle or rhyme, which is easier to remember?
Riddle locks to keywords
Ryhme locks to a sound and sound locks to
tune
tones, frequency
found, perfect peaks and troughs then
keywords unlock the channel
where living and life are wave and particle,
medium and message sent.
=========
If there were shame on your nation,
was that shame on you, like an extension,
or like a pro jected ob jection...

juxt aposit just a point in the field upon which

the story you know is no lie, it mattered and
may rise,

knave to wizard, if you

tell it funny.
funny only hurts when evil people do it.

Be the clown, bounce into the spot,
"Gotdim, gotdimimim, fuggafuggagubbledy boo"

Magi fool, lies about the futil-if-ity of sisting,
in the world, he will eat you alive, lest you know
the word. Or the riddle.

Inspire, expire, that sort of thing, but
spiritual. A trans fer of con
served en
ergy, via demiurge, per
hapmayhap and
magi transisters

regularizing the flow
through the locks, in
formation
for ward
flow, that's all they know.
Our servants who motivate us,
all they do is use our breath and our blood
to charge up the ATP batteries by the billions,
until we cannot withstand the pressure.

A fugettin' consarnation story teller,
who then lies, and sows discord among bretheren,
by adding to and taking from the story,
pre suming knowns unknown are
mere myth the magi invented
mit wit and subtle twisting.

Novices, apprentices,
those ain't allowed to eat pearls 'til they wisdom
teeth come in,
that penultimate major marker, of maturation,
in the gut
brain input-putout exchange system,

once those have changed the way
vortices of taste
swirl words down the eustacion
spiral, then

The frontal cortex kicks in and God only knows
the tune we sing in ryth'm
with the snow flake rhymes framing my window pane.

If there were shame on my nation, like a ***** snow... then a flood,,,
dark, near no light, shame, shame shame... thick, glacial
filth filtering frozen
liar shame, bully shame, lover of twisted rights shame;
war would never melt it.

Thus global warming. Just in time.
Detached Aug 2018
I have been denied such honor to explore thy flesh. I long for the day that it shall be mine to cherish. Savoring every inch, savoring every scent.

I'll thank God adamantly for a gift such as this.

Once permitted, I shall lay thy sweet vessel upon thy pillow and ravish thy flesh until my hearts content.

Whispering sweet, wicked things in thine ear. No decent mortal being would ever want to hear.

Seizing thy body, as it is mine to clame.
Peeling away what stands between I and my domain.

Passion nearly lost, beholding what was underneath. So much desirability, you hid beneath.

Such seduction, such physique. Deny me this not for satiation you will reap.

Stand before me now. So I may admire thy beauty. Appreciation is yours for the taking.

Come to me my dearie. Allow me the honor to have thee.

Forcing your body to the wall. Muttering, I must have it all.
Without delay. I rest a kiss on thy divine lips. Soaking in your taste, ah such sweet bliss you possess.

Drawing you closer as I relish this moment. My temptation has won, finally bested.

As our passion heats, goosebumps do meet.
Your skin tingling, feeling your craved relief.

To late to cease. I must have this sweet, sweet release. Laying you down, preparing my feast...

My coming Honor.
Fredrick Njoroge Sep 2018
I woke up today a brief few
Seconds to thank the man
Upstairs another chance to
Better myself challenges get
The blood pumping opportunity
Uplifts lower spirits proven time
And time again never switching
My motives the truth comes to
Light while dishonesty lurks in
The dark cleansing my soul of
All evils by doing the walk of honor

Courageous steps as the day
Starts enjoying the depths this
Life has to offer temptation
Always just around the corner
But it's not enough to satisfy this
Grand journey of improvement
Afternoon turns into night but the
Focus never gets out of sight stars
In the sky to guide me home as my
Eyes dance the streaks of white light..
Richard Barnes Jul 2018
Art wrongfully disgraced by authority.
A poet made tongue-tied by rude ignorance.
Purity of honor made shameful.
The poor and dying made into a joke.

i do not regret leaving any of these behind
in my restful death, but i cry and
have remorse only for love, a hostage in
the middle of these corrupting diseases
and inhumanities.
I don't know,
  Am I up to 52 poems this go around?

I've been to school of hard knocks-

I've shaken hands
With the devil,
You know

Or God, was it;

I have colluded

With Russia
I've told Putin that he is a *******
Royal
And he went along with it.

Will that be my non crime
Or my sentence
With other criminals.

Every sentence
Must have a period.

I didn't make the rules,  

Dude,
Man, how does this hang
Richard Barnes Jul 2018
I live in the light of a purple sun,
waters deep,
oceans black,
hurricanes  glow red with their own light.

****’s madness rules with no mercy in sight.  

Wretched souls rise with the tide  

then swallowed whole by the purple sun’s light    

The soul cry for peace but receive only carnage and hate.

What god approves this madness?  

Greatness born and dies in filth and mud. 

No honor to the dead and the living becomes a disease.
Nat Lipstadt Feb 2015
this is a very important poem to me,
about me, and how Obama slurred my people. and never apologized

<•>

there are mornings when I wake up
in my nativity,
in my born/bred,
these struggling to be happy,
United States,
strangely hebrew-speaking,
Jamaican coffee
morning-thinking,
tallying up
what I am,
who I am,
commanded to be,
on this Earth

the labels that the
outward-looking apply,
the tags,
that you have caused
yourself to be defined,
been staked
to your claim,
in infamy and in fame,
that you have
by action and indeed,

have allow
to be presented
as entries on your
global entry passport,
with visas from the
lows and highs,
places where
your have sinned and saved,
all the acts accumulated,
and those,
in pain,
you have been a witness to

word titles that
tinge and suffuse,
summation of my presentation,
sampler of words
like
father, poet,
American,
even,
a for-real
community organizer,
and of course,
bien sûr,
a
Jew

the quality of all these life's papers,
which I grade myself,
I,
the harshest marker
of all

once a young man,
safely away in college,
under the fresh-air freedom of the
university's in loco parentis,
in the early years
spent quantifying oneself

nearly fifty years ago,
now he,
revealed and recalled
when
his college typed-letter,
lately uncovered amidst his,
recently passed mother's papers

"Don't know what kind of
Jew
I will be, but be assured,
that I will be a
Jew
all my life"

so here I am doing my post-sabbath,
top of the week,
right it down,
qualifying myself,
coffee enraged engaged,
a new Sunday tally

taking all my terms,
reordering,
re-prior-itizing,
what was prior, first,
is no longer

decades decay,
events sway,
simple words change me, stain me

nearing on five decades later,
when this
son of speakers,
son of humanists and 
son of
 writers,
son of proud
Jews
rewrites his list

today I write/substitute,
a new order,
a tag gladly taken,
a marker given,
some what in pride,
some in shame too,
first and foremost,
à la manière d'Lincoln
I am
of, by and for

"a bunch of folks in a deli"

proud member of them
that so identify,
for they are among those
that shall not perish from the Earth

those
happenstance-not,
bunch of folks in a deli,
I claim as
mine own,
as they would
have claimed me

no subtly professed,
a diminishment intended,
and now
an honorific taken,
Medal of Honor provoked and embraced,
proudly inscribed,
visible on my forehead,
in the black ink of mourning,
a Presidential Cain Citation,
a tattoo of letters,
not numbers,
now moves up to
head of the list,
I am
now and forever,
a member of that corps
(appreciate that double entendre)
I am
Je suis
JE JUIF

*"a bunch of folks in a deli"
Just google that phrase

Obama’s slur
Temporal Fugue Nov 2018
There's blood upon the flag
no, it won't wash out
patriots and tyrants
of this, I have no doubts

Fathers mothers brothers
sisters daughters sons
no one as more another
all together now, as one

Living in a world
where honor is contrite
rising above the bar
brothers in arms, unite

Bring me back untethered
from places where I've burned
mind and soul so weathered
homeward, have I yearned

I've been there my friends
I've held the flag on high
all the way to the end
for those of us
who died
Thank you, for the opportunity :)
A presence
presenting
a continuous torment
torturing
incessantly
until, even with cessation
only a tenuous self
is present
leaving only the resin

The maniacal
manifestation
is an infestation
festering around in my head
Its existence,
a creation
created at inception,
hacking my brain
Forever a trap
creating a
maniac

Acrimonious
to all mankind
Not acting
like a man
Not one word
that's kind
Committing crimes
and getting oneself
committed
A deviation
creating a deviant
Shifted values
due to a devalued
self

An esoteric
essence
seemingly sentenced
on this journey
by judge and jury,
not by one's peers
because the many
not able
to peer
into this individuality
The duplicity
of duality
that is my reality

Challenging myself
to a dual
One in which
I both
win and lose
But in the end
not breaking even
or coming out ahead
Always ending
further back
instead

Its back breaking
and always aching
Pain from which
not capable of
faking
Effort I’m taking
Of myself making
Time for a new king
For kinsmanship
is aloof
And this man’s ship
has sailed away
Sipping a port
at a shipping port
And yet
slipping away

Deeper still
In the depth
of still water
Sinking
into the abyss
Lost and gone
But not missed
Is this the end
of our fable?
Or will our “hero”
enable himself
and in the end
be able
Deciding who to be?
Cain or Abel?
For the hurricane
is hurrying along
Its aim always the same
Constant pain
A payment he feels
for the displaced
placement
which just in case
is placed
same place
he went

Ink in the face
A disgrace
When suddenly
encased in his brain
are racing thoughts
of a plan
he’s ace’n

A label of insanity
given by those
who claim sanity
when the reality
is their thoughts are free
and optimize
a sanitized
and homogenized
batter
And in the end
it doesn’t matter

Offering suggestions
in which they
feel threatened
Pathways congested
and protested
Testing them
Even worse,
bested
A problem beset
upon them
Time to steady
the flock
Roll n’ Rock
Inoculations we’re getting
Start the injections

“It’s been an honor”
Mounting my Lipizzaner
A disarmer
A charmer
The armor
‘mi amor’
Leaving me
wanting more
But as they keep score
the task is daunting
A life that’s haunting
with such splendid decor
-
Yet, can’t take any more
Their taunting
is leaving me sore
So to the atmosphere
I open that door
and flying up above
I soar

Forever more
Feel pain no more...
Written: August 17, 2018

All rights reserved.
T'was the night before Christmas, And at the back of the bar

Sat a man all alone, Lighting up a cigar

The waitress ran over and waving her hand

You can't do that here, Smoking is banned.

If you must smoke that thing, you can go to the street

And stay away from the building, by at least fifty feet

The man took a puff and with a voice like a croak

He said, "You're kidding, right miss? You're making a joke"

I'm sorry, but sir..I'm afraid that it's true

But the law is the law, and it's not only for you

That we must say **** out, please extinguish your smoke

So our place can be filled with other fine folk

For ninety two years I have walked on this earth,

I have broken no laws and you know what it's worth?

Bupkiss, no nada it's not worth a thing

Would that law still apply if I was a King?

I've been coming in here for 60 odd years

And I think I've consumed a truckload of beers

I've smoked in this corner on many a night

Now you say **** out, I don't think that's right.

I fought for this country at the end of the war

I came home with a war wound, and you know dear...what's more

I came to this bar to have drinks with my friends

Who all weren't so lucky and met terrible ends

They died on the beach, heart as big as a house

Taking on the unknown for their country, their spouse

They battled for honor, the right to be free

And they all weren't as lucky, to come home like me.

I was here in the sixities when Camelot died

I was here with my son, and we both sat and cried

It was that night in November, I remember it well

That my son said he'd joined up and was heading to ****

He had joined the marines and was all set to fight

For freedom and honor and he knew it was right

Because I'd gone before and stood with others like him

And I said just be safe, and come home son...my Jim

In the years he was gone, I came down here to think

Of why he was there and I shared smokes and drinks

With friends, all now gone from this world of distrust

Now they all lie beneath us, decomposed back to dust.

My son made it back and we came right down here

To spend time with our friends, both from far and from near.

The years passed us by and my grandson joined too

And we sat and we prayed in this bar, for we knew

He was fighting for freedom and the rights we hold dear

Like having some fun, over smokes and some beer.

He never came home from his war, don't you see

That's why we're sitting alone here, just you and me

Tonight is the night that his letter arrived

Saying "We regret to inform you...that no one survived"

So, each Christmas Eve I come back to this bar

To savor my memories and to drink from this jar

And I finish each year thinking of what now is gone,

Of my battle scarred boy and his now deceased son

Now, you come and tell me that I must go outside

To continue my smoking and so I'll abide

'cause for 92 years that I've been on this earth

I've broken no laws and you know what that's worth

Then the waitress reached back and she pulled out a match

From a box on the bar with a rusty old catch

She said Sir, I am sorry I didn't mean to offend

For this one night each year, the law I can bend

So please light one for me on this Christmas Eve Night

And Thank you from all who continue the fight.

Merry Christmas and HAPPY NEW YEAR 2019
A Christmas Eve Poem that was posted earlier, I have not added much, but, I think it is fitting to read so those of you who haven't seen my older works, and The Street Poems, may get a chance.
poetryaccident Dec 2018
There is no doubt that kinks exist
from the vanilla to the extreme
sadomasochism asks for pain
while the fetish defines bliss

outside these avenues attraction lays
in the realm of pure appeal
not confused with the sport
playfulness between adults

oddities more than strange
no related to loving souls
relationships stand beyond
these attempts to spice it up

be they hetro or something more
pairings are based on romance
one to the other becomes their norm
declaring more than kink explores

put aside the prejudice
disregard when hate equates
depravities of the mind’s eye
with amour when spirits court

no matter how the bits may fit
acknowledgment may extend
to hearts entwined as one
asking all to honor love.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20181216.
The poem “Honor Love” was inspired by a Tumblr meme that stated that LGBTQ relationships were not a type of kink.  Declaring these valid relationships as possible aberrations of behavior does them an incredible disfavor as people strive to find somebody to love.
GreenTrees Dec 2013
Never forget

That I love you

To be your shield

And the  sword you wield

That our love is not the flower but the field

To love and honor you

To this I vow no regret

And to never ever forget...


COPYRIGHT 2013
Karl v.
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