Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2017
A message heart delivered by a musing troubadour
left footprints upon a well weathered rivers’ rocky shoal

the lazy days of the summer’s simmering
ethereal breezes lazily waft astir

Unknown distance ‘tween yonder skies azure;
thoughts of nebulous distances fearlessly ignored to be sure,
connectedness sown and deference’s soar from high above,
yet beyond vast breadth afar the great divide

His brimful heart in hand fulfills passersby thirst

needing love here, hearts on sleeves sincere,
wellspring sensibilities handed out willingly here
voids filled by word of quill …
right now is the known needed time

Glasses half empty suffused to their half full brims;
do unto others you will reap just what ye sow,
a poet beyond the bounds of his own demure,
bearing immense understanding

The quintessential essence of family love
drips from heart like heavens rain,
testifies the heart's purpose for being

A poet’s voice speaks in soul’s timeless tongues
unknown breaths from another understanding realm
too deep for words;
yet the word sayer struggles to see his forest ‘s poetic beauty
for to see beyond the pendant beauty
within its magnificent grandeur
of his own gifted heart’s nurtured trees.

~

The Twist

This poem was not written by me.
It was written almost four years ago,
lying fallow in some passing cloud.

Writ for me by someone effervescently more talented than I,
and one of the poets whose quality of work, and command of our shared language is something to which all of us should aspire.

I post it now as yet another homage to the true author.

For in reading it, never was a poem was far more clearly,
an unwitting self-portrait.

It was written on August 21st, 2013
by Harlon Rivers


by Nat Lipstadt
one of us, his tongue Moses-stung, with a hot coal of language's divinity
~
this would-be poet,
weighty troubled by misdirected words
of a musing troubadour,
for if ever a reflecting pool ought be
a two-way mirror reconfigured,
this poem is deservedly reversed
and of him homaged

by time, well weathered the poem above,
it's simple elegance tips and tilts the scales,
double blinding the justices supremely,
binding them for honesty for the subject,
is the auteur, one who sees too well
and yet l!
cannot perceive himself in his own words,
when now needs the judgement of their verdict
and your worthy recognition

now I ken better distance 'tween artist and art,
I, a workingman's daily dallying in simplistic machine craft,
my works deservedly lost in the waterfalling
of the endless also rans

non-nebulous distances.between skies of
Oregon country blue
and
the worldy worn asphalt grayed words of a graying man aging,
then let clarity speak, in plainest harmony,
know my deference’s soars to the high above,
one of us at birth, god gifted,
not I,
one of us, his tongue, like Moses-stung
with a hot coal of language's divinity

blessings, the keenest of nature,
where they divide and how they intersect
his brimful heart in our eyes fulfills the passerby's thirst
for revelations, small shards of shared sensibilities

my voids filled by the words of his quill

"to see his forest ‘s poetic beauty
for to see beyond the pendant beauty
within its magnificent grandeur
of his own gifted heart’s nurtured trees"

This was written April 15, 2017
for Harlon Rivers
by Nat Lipstadt

behind the poems,  travels another world…
Nightwolf Sep 22
The elixir of life is no fairytale;
we call it coffee.

I was recently gifted with a
Starbucks gift card.
I hate Starbucks but one never knows
when one might find themselves without
and it's always good to have a backup plan.

Just such a morning was this!
With no coffee and no money, I remembered
the giftcard in my wallet and
started off for a cup of coffee that tastes
nothing like coffee should.

I arrived at Starbucks where I was
greeted by an over enthusiastic "Barista"
- I hate that word -
and placed my order of a large
medium roast with room for cream.
(You must let them know you would like room or they will fill it to the brim - one of the few redeeming qualities of this chain.)

I headed out to a small patio
located on the roof of the shop and on my
way up the stairs, my foot slipped
and down I came in slow motion - my
eyes never leaving the precious
elixir in my hand and, somehow,
managed to set it gently on its bottom
on a step above me as my knee and
shoulder crashed into the stairs.

A little spilled through the lid and onto
my arm, but only a little.

My coffee was saved!

As I mull over the events of this morning,
it only goes to show that no matter
how much I may dislike a particular
coffee chain, nothing could be more
terrifying than the thought of
facing the day with no coffee at all.


©Nathan A. Brock 2019
Cindra Carr Jan 2011
There’s nothing special here
Hearts are trampled by and by
Lost looks go searching for lost loves
There’s nothing special here
Long thoughts and short lives
Descending riffs rush by every day
There’s nothing special here
No tour bus stops for the lonely souls
Smoke drifts wafting lazily
Hazily the air never clears
There’s nothing special here
High times never made it through
The door stays shut as often as not
Slumped shouldered fools look down
Frowns etched sketched amid the lines
There’s nothing special here
Just lost souls and hazy minds
There’s nothing special here

cc0111
P E Kaplan Apr 2014
First I spied the neck, sagging innocently enough,
one might even say blissfully, reflected in the glass laptop.
The phrase "whodunit" came out of nowhere,
and a low, silky, voice whispered,
"Aw, don't stop before the good part."

The villain left a few clues; the wispy hair strands;
some scattered age spots, skin tags, a few moles,
listless, crinkly, skin pale, lightly pimpled,
and a weird, wrinkly crevasse teased,
"Aw, don't stop before the good part."

Totally hooked, curiosity piqued; southward I spotted
where a once perky treasure "chest" was hidden,
two solemn, half-empty grain sacks, laying sideways,
basically lifeless they lazily muttered,
"Aw, don't stop before the good part."

The final chapter, the mystery solved,
no crime, no villain, nothing stolen, just flesh alchemy.
Where once a taut, flat, plateau of supple skin, resided
now a lumpy, bumpy, flabby belly, murmured sweetly,
"Boston Creme Pie and a cup of tea would hit the spot."
Julian Sep 2016
webbdoodle: decline of kinesiology because of technology
twatterclap: frustration with writing
grangull: witty yet naïve
dormitage: finding the best AirBnB and roommate
wayspaying: reckless neutering of men by feminism
wartle: a slow war by a pathetic guerilla enemy
tranception: communication of souls in eternity
rittle: a mind-teaser for dumb people
Minkumpf: a book on animal genocide
pregromanging: predictive programming about cool fashions in the future
Shilluminatus: a fake illuminati person
Ralphiesque: Someone on the wrong side of history
cognoscenti: real illumination
whasper: Ghostly contact with ghouls
frimple: folding your clothese every day
Treecheese: money to be made in preserving rainforests
tattermedalion: pretended poor person that lives in poverty to disguise his wealth
flocksturr: focuses on avionics of top secret craft
panejectifron: time-travelers exiting their cars
pancledes: time travlers that can be identified
covertthow: an attempt by spies to gain more power
martle: someone too slow to survive on mars
marstion: foothold on habitable planet
wibble-wabble: tergiversation in high pressure situations
flipsquire:99th percentile IQ
frankquibber: 98th percentile IQ
cloveryield: the earnings of luck on aleatory circumstance
actsequlade: quaint TV sitcoms
gimply: with a great gait
fourteenfive:genius level intelligence
qwence: the place for elite people to congregate
Bilderberg: the crownpiece of kapstone paper that selects comfort lazily based on nepotism that worships enough owls until the decided date and that foists roosters to meet with clement (exceptionally) and inclement fate
frohemian: black hipsters
Effrogallant: Bold non-linear flirtation
Sart: coffin for poor people
Ralsk: secret underground subway system
riniguss: landlocked prosperity
tryme: corruption in court for poor people
whyern: beginning of stardom
marzarratea: Ghoulish time-travelers who talk too often
Awgrudge: underwhelming emotional reaction
Virtualasis: long-distance non-physical romance
wikken: genocide of sentient but stupid humans
qwask: infiltrate the untouchables
rijuice: A preordained outcome of an important game
Lagonagria: The uncertainty of scores even with prophetic insight
wopper: someone who is permanently oppressed
axile: carefully being cut or carved
pruke: ***** that comes from nausea that is forced
pluke: excessive absorption of new knowledge
ghallitosis: Fear of the unknown in time-travel
jimpster: a contactee by liaison with time travelers
sessomotto: rocketship
whilded: anticipation of death (thanatopsis)
praken: Aeolian winds of mythical divinity
mustreacle: expectations that are unrealistic that ruins lives
klangquant: making enemies of the aristocracy
pyer: effigy of a dead person bearing no blood
crabwhisker: when two people have such different associations they have no emotional propinquity and therefore can't relate to each other
prull it: implode a building
wetringle: droplets of vaginal fluid
cravvel: people with VD that pretend celibacy
revdection: the art of inventing new words to gain an advantage
New English Words
Mallory Dec 2018
21
It is no coincidence that I was born on the lightest day of the year; Summer solstice. With me, you will be always brightest here. I chew glass. Like cotton candy my love will melt you from the mouth, inside out. I linger like smoke mixed with summer midnight air. I glow like summer morning sunrise. Erasing every forged signature, you’ll feel me breathing down your spine. I’ll surface like a bruise you want pressure on. A sunburn you feel peeling. I sting and heal like salt: seawater on cuts. I am the hottest days, grabbing, clinging, giving meaning to body. Wet. Sweat trickling down back. I am rooted in the grass outside all of the flower beds, like morning glory, I will choke you out if it means I am still growing. I am dandelions, and daisies. I am melted buttercups dripping lazily, under chin. It is no coincidence, that I was born on the brightest day of the year; I am a flame in darkness. With me you will always burn brightest here.
Siting lazily on my sofa
Patiently waiting for that one call
Your voice is soothing
Your laugh is uplifting
Like a torch in winter cold
Floating above the white fluffy cloud
You put smile on my lips
Eyes are sparkling like stars
Forming a galaxy that shines from afar
I wonder why I seems so crazy about you
One thing I am sure of,
I'm truly, deeply and madly inlove
Wish you'll never tear my heart apart.

#feelings #inlove #call #youTome
Did you ever felt this weird feelings? Like waiting a call from someone like crazy or even makes you smile while reading his/her messages?
Can't hide it. Never!
grace snoddy Mar 2018
for so long,
i made one with the cracks in the road,
making sure i never stepped on one.
and i never cared to notice
how tired i was from doing it.

maybe it was because
the innocence
and easygoing youth
shielded my eyes
like the white linen curtains
that used to hang lazily on my window.

for so long,
the nine o’clock news
never bothered me
as much as it does now.
and the fact that everyone seems to drag their feet
at the same miserable pace
never struck my mind.
days keep growing faster
at an undetectable rate,
and i’m just starting to see that.

maybe it was because
reality tore the drapes down,
letting all of the light
shine on the things that were
left in the dark.
because growing older
was one of the things
that i chose
to leave in the corner.
Matt Shaw Jul 2016
you can go **** yourself!
and she laughed lazily, applying It to everybody
forcing them forward in time with her mind powers
killing the girl over and over in her head

realizing looser control in less of a mind
except me
what if i came back as a bee, or a firefly
i'd forget what humans were

getting high and snuggling pathetically
in the Bring Black Pluto! shirt
receding into rotating personalities

hating her voice like fingernails in the back of her skull
confused by the sickness and disjointed aims of her own diary
emasculating herself because where has he gone

to the sky! in smoke,
on nights.

with rear view mirrors that pigeontoe inwards
she cannot reconcile that she spends to much time
deciding what to reconcile,
an unbecoming that does happen from time to time
narrows her eyes, could catapult her
over that divider
only in dreams

he will be he will be he will be
mariamme Sep 2018
how can you be so comfortable
with my body, with my heart
see me soft, my love like a river
lazily winding its way along
veins, pulse picks up at the idea
of love not spoken but felt, in
tangling of legs & tongues but
my tongue tangles when i try
to speak my love properly, and
misspoken affection is a curse.
30 septiembre
12:36 am
gracie Oct 2018
two shimmering goldfish on display
in a run-down pub, swimming lazily
in milky water, suspending translucent fins
like angel wings. one stares numbly at the glass
with beady eyes, entranced by his own reflection;
the other darts between the rocks, twitching
itching
to escape his murky prison.
not really a poem? oops
Next page