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Meg B Aug 2015
The breath in my chest
Scraped against my esophagus
As the preacher read his
Introductory scripture and a
Mourning loved one doubled over
In grief and despair as she
Struggled to bid adieu;

The hairs on the back of my neck
Stood horizontally and
Perpendicular to my concrete floor
As I heard the sweetest soul I know
Choke on her sobs on the
Other end of the receiver,
As she struggled to understand
The onset of pain and finality
She was forced to swallow;

My stomach hollowed and
Acidic anger bubbled and carved out my insides
When I read my best friend's texts,
A series of words
That seemed too cruel to be true,
A riffraff of  interrogatories and
Unsettled punctuation,
Summarizing the momentary suspension
Of her resiliency
As she processed the
Breaking of her heart;

And now I lay motionless
On my mattress,
Hot tears masquerading behind my
Tightened eyelids as I writhe in
Empathy,
Alone in my incapability
To end the pains and the woes of
Those around me,
As my body thus must then grieve
For me.
Meg B Nov 2015
What is the crisis
a quarter of the way
through life?

Existentially existing in the moment,
I'm constantly inside of myself
while also out.
Conundrum of being up while
I'm also down,
freedom within a blockade.
Oxymoronic hodgepodge of
tantalizing confusion,
tastes sweet on my brain
and thoughts ponder bitter on
my tongue.

Half and whole,
part and full,
questions answered with questions,
seeing things through in simultaneous
interrogatories.
Top here, bottom there,
rights are right,
and lefts aren't wrong.
Phone, texts and emails,
vibrating inside my skull
as I laugh and I cry,
as I seek to find.

Orange to yellow to green to brown,
seasons coming and going
inside my soul,
and I constantly blossom
and refreeze.
Everywhere feels like nowhere,
nowhere my somewhere as
I await a somewhere that's
everywhere.

Losing myself as I find it too,
letting some parts sail away
at sea,
and too there comes new
horizons,
as I surf, skating on the
foam, on the water's edges.
Wading into one crisis,
I'm swallowed by a
wave,
until I burst through the sea and the
salt;

and then the next wave
comes...
for life, it seems,
is salty and sweet,
one tide coming in to sweep itself away
in place of another.
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2013
How much do I love you?

When you are asleep in our bed,
Takes ten minutes for me to
Slide inside, you to undisturb, you would,
Laugh at my pantomime, my Charlie Chaplin ballet,
If you were to accidentally awake.

When your dreams disturbing,
Groans and shrieks, moans and mumbles,
I greet you when your eyes final-fix upon me,
With no questions, only kisses for both,
And a new poem for you on top of our coverlet.

I love you resting me, when you, beside me do rest,
Then, together, we are always at our best.
I, your soldier, woodpeckers, deer, sent on their way,
Today, five geese invaders, ahonking, dispatched,
Lest my woman's dreams become enmeshed.

How many compositions have I written,
Rhythm and rhymed to your contented breathing?

Amazing grace that every day when we are on
Our island redoubt, there is no doubt.

There is us, always us, and for each restful breath,
Encased is a new and different way,
To answer this question that I pose to myself.

Tho first of many interrogatories that will pass from my heart,
Yet, when mine eyes open to see the sun of your blonde hair.
I have only answers, no questions, no doubts.

September 1st, 2013
Poetoftheway Aug 2018
The High Tender

”for you both once loved that silky guise that so heightened
the high tender,
the match of your (her) pink rose skin letting, no!
making your eyes glisten”


wrote those words,
asking my interrogatories,
from where did I know this truth,
this allegory?

replying lying masking mocking smothering snickering
“you, the great lover, do not remember?”

they, not realizing that I mocked myself,
my cuffed hands that authored those words,
were not so blemished to forget the
high tender
they once contained
#high #tender #hightender
shireliiy Sep 2015
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onlylovepoetry Jan 2020
lovely questions, lovely quiet

them words, soap bubble-burst, in my mind’s eyes,
but no finger pointing, this the way to go, no,
here lies the poem, you need be writing,
here, buy the poem, release belief, be the relief


thinking past loving, glory, pain, depths plumbing,
farewells, opening gambits, unplanned strategy,
first move, drugged highs grand expectations
chase, hunt, capture, surrender, regroup, defeat

skip to only endings directly, where’s the fun in that,
no, lovely must be earned, only years later cannot
recall, name, why we separated, but each, her face,
cut, grooved, in the cells, how I stroked her skin, thrillingly

finger’s cells keep memories in cold storage, summoning
with great and minimal difficulty, reversal atmospheres,
breathing the air we shared, oh god, oh god, how,
could I have let the times escape, each lover lost, unforgiven

lovely interrogatories, each, a cup, half full of changelings,
the passions expended, losses unintended, greater fool,
the chameleon fooled only himself, each memory a blessing,
a curse, and when sleep darkens the eyelids, the tears pool

no peace I find, the wetness caresses both the closure,
and the retelling, drowns me  in measuring cups of
who I was, who I am, and demands do better, do it all
over again, only with lovely quiet, with tenderest kindness

and guilt clings, hope lingers but sleep arrives as I count
my sheep, repeating whispering of “do better, be better,
do better, do better, be better and better, and better still

5:08am
1/14/2020
JR Morse Nov 2023
1 Caligula Sade (add Marx for $ .50)
a simple curriculum simple words
none, nothing, nowhere, never
none left undone (all of it)
none of it all yours

2 Condescends to punish
with ill-gotten gains
such are the rewards
of a lifetime of conformity and complaisance

3 Lollypops candy red
ballgags
derogatory interrogatories
all day long quid pro quo quid pro quo
("Don't let this happen to you !")

4 Dampening urgencies
in a vague meander
lunar etched passage
#4704. feel ?; how do you, (csv)
#1 bestseller; amazon (csv)
yo tambien, Asia !

5 There is but one rule, though:
"Never a sweaty horse to the barn"
once was confusion
is/are (a) temples(s)
upright and pure [not mine. nope- Milton.]

6 What is yours
is yours to own
conflate in any manner
with f*ck-all else
as you surely will
or not at all
Recombination
(recumbant version, ft "get me pictures !").

— The End —