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Nat Lipstadt Jul 2015
This is a poem that I didn't plan on writing,
didn't want to write,
but ******
you can't control
psychic blasts from
out of nowhere,
triggers without
warnings
~~~
Six hours ago,
received a message,
  (see below)
another one,
from a fellow poet here

dear god,
it knocks me
six feet deeper
than the six foot grave
that I was already
sunk down in

Lest you think,
this poem is about me,

here's hoping you don't read it,

(since its likely to be
long ,
now, so out of fashion,
most have hopefully skipped ready away)

cause it *is
about me,
courage and
how
I came to write my own
Declaration of Independence

savings lives,
a life all along
part time happenstance habit,
sometimes called
giving a ****,
gets me in to trouble
especially,
when I'm the one in trouble,
cause any normal person,
thinks foremost first,
who the **** is
gonna save me?


my nine lives
long ago used up,
but was hoping
nobody important noticed,
could squeeze a few more
resurrection revival miracles,
from a body that is nearer to
seven decades
than the mere two,
of most of you

so out of work, told,
you dude, don't cut it anymore
worrisome noise, expected, now realized,
was sleep depriving,
cause
I got
mouths to feed

tea and sympathy,
please don't feed me,
cause what I learned
from a life of
giving encouragement,
is the final story,
the way its gotta end,
is at the place
where your sign name to,
the one, the only,
dotted lined destiny that can be called
successfully concluded,
by drawing down,
one mo' time,
your very
own
residuals for believing,
even when your driving
on fumes,
you manage on

which is how I came to write
these ten words, a summary of my future
Declaration of Independence

The hardest thing to do,
being strong,
for everyone else


no matter the state of your state,
lifetime habits don't die,
just go underground for awhile,
spent my independent soul's currency
taking care of others,
getting little in return
only the greatest
Un,
the Un expected,
high of the
reciprocal of kindness

bumps and grinds,
had my fair share,
always bounce back,
coming out better, stronger and better,
but they've put new obstacles in the course,
which makes it that much harder

so wrestling with this contra-diction:
that to be independent,
is the sum of dependency of others
on the works of your hands

when a message arrives
a penetrating light
that strips your gloomy inward lookings,
outward,
the re-direction, a gift of a reminder,
Perspective

once you offer to be depended on,
you can be never go back,
you gone and purchased (and sold)
a one-way ticket,
with no expiration,
the only
kind
for sale

so I refill my metrocard,
one more time,
but the machine doesn't accept
anybody's else's words of encouragement,
then you pocket dig a little deeper,
deeper than the six
you already in,
and pull out,
amidst the
lint and schmutz,
your last dime,
laughing all the time

for you know better than most,
to be independent
is to swear allegiance
to those who
depend on you,
writing down a poem
of sacred honor,
and herein nominated, seconded
and signed,
as your very own
Declaration of Independence

cause kids,
I read the original Declaration
from 1776,
which concludes:

"We mutually pledge to each other our Lives,
our Fortunes and our
sacred Honor"


NML
~~~~~
July 4th, 2015
"Your words of I want you to live,
They began a slow change in my life, today
Ibam in full fruition of that. I am alive, living, working, getting better, taking what was given to me, conquest of my demons. Yes, I have arrived, humbly but with much confidence. Your influence had a great deal to do with my personal and poetical growth as a person. I have matured because you gave a ****, because you knew deep down I could beat everything life had thrown at me.

Know this,
Put it in your mind,
Relish it and be proud;

YOU CHANGED MY LIFE
AND I AM ETERNALLY GRATEFUL."

July 4th, 2015
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

the first such similar message
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1140915/21-hours-ago/

April 4th, 2015

21 hours ago
received the message below,
from a fellow poet, here,
now somewhat, more disappeared,
resting in the shady quietude of
Elliot's servers

a mere 21 hours ago,
a thunderbolt telegram
of virtual dots and dashes,
well received

21 hours ago -

"there's a reason
I got to know you,
even though that might
sound silly.
In a way,
you saved me
two summers ago..."

this message,
teaches me to remember
the power of words
supercharged,
be careful what you
write,
you just might save a
soul...

could not feign
the pain
unintentionally recovered
while looking for
clues to myself,
this purported savior

but from now on and within,
when I see a message
time stamped
**21 hours ago**
I'll be
better ready
for the
explosions of myself
G Popovic Jul 2016
I must have fallen in love a thousand times,
By glancing at every pretty girl,
Who passes me by,
On the sidewalk or the subway.
Whose tender glances and fleeting eyes,
Leave me rapt in utter ecstasy.
Those whom I wish I could entice,
With poetic words, or feeble attempts,
At honest love-making.
Those ignorant ones, whose ****** motions,
Are like those motions of the heavenly bodies.
Whose swayings and turnings,
And peripheral lookings,
Leave me catatonic, and in a silent admiration.
Those whom I wish I could flatter,
With poetic words or tender little love bites,
Or perhaps leave, as they have often left me,
Charmed, enchanted, and with heart burning.
Whose very hearts, hearts I wish that I myself could unlock.
And yet I do nothing.
Whose flaxen, raven, or curled hair, I wish I could entwine with the nimble figures of my hand,
And smooth over or fashion,
As if like an artisan, tying the knots of my shy love.
Whose batted eyelashes,
More so often than not,
Batter me, as if they were Borealic winds.
Whose eyes; green, blue, brown – or a mysterious black,
I wish I could gaze into, endlessly,
And drown in their luster.
So, yes, I’ve fallen in love a thousand times,
With sweethearts in the pomegranate flowers;
Like that sweet-sounding Hungarian girl in Podgorica,
And that German lass,
Wo weilest du jetzt?
Half of my own blood,
Whom I encountered in Ulcinj.
Ajo që ka sytë si në qiell.
And the plethora of ones I’ve never met,
Nor will ever truly meet,
But view longingly from the periphery of my vision.
I love them all fruitlessly.
1) “With sweethearts in the pomegranate flowers;” - Poem by Rumi “Come to the Orchard in Spring…”

2) Podgorica – Capital of Montenegro.
3) Ulcinj – A coastal town in south-western Montenegro.
4) “And that German lass,
Wo weilest du jetzt?
Half of my own blood,”                                                                                                       She was half Albanian but our conversation was carried out in German.
5) “Wo weilest du jetzt?” – Excerpt from Richard Wagner’s work entitled “Libretti” (Act One).
German - “Where do you now rest?”
6) “Ajo që ka sytë si në qiell.” – Albanian. “She who has eyes like the heaven.”
Henry Mulligan Mar 2013
Lovers build first
a language
It is the building
of all things
A language of glances
and learned touches,
the lookings of the eye.
When we left
we were left
without voice
and we cried
illiterate
(march 2020)

..day 16..

yesterday came challenging
perhaps i have tired myself

taken in the news
the numbers

we are promised a letter from
the minister who is sick with it

mild he says
and will battle on

as are some of the other
of the cabinet

a letter that may take my walks away
i fear
so am glad of my garden

it is a country place with planned
wildness
neat is never the word
if i am grounded
so to speak will micro
manage
get to know all the little places

spaces

things broke yesterday, got lost
so i have a list for lookings, mendings
spaced
out

in my diary

police are stopping folk
keeping the isolation
as best they can

i saw he had gone to bed early, was real surprised
looked at the time and i went to bed too.

clocks changed today.

— The End —