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Jessica Golich Nov 2014
Rehabilitating through escalating rhetoric emanating; animating fascinating literary representations of the subtle decorations encircling this imagination
Magniloquent passages full of enigmatic contaminants; imparting the multiplex peculiarities of an introspective, retrospective detective  
Indulging in perplexing idiosyncrasies and infusing ethereal rhapsody into the universal tapestry.
Impulzez Aug 2013
I sat to write to better your countenance
to uplift your spirit for you were moody
However I found myself professing my impulses
confessing my feelings
Your flame is for the lucky bulky ones
yet I'm blessed with your burning fire
To feel your well tanned beautiful,
so soft looking skin in silky slide would be volcanic
Your lips are for purple satin love
that only flows from royal *******
Your tan is as Angels in the Sun
Even Angels woo you
Your hidden priceless treasure deep beneath
rouses upon the blouse undone by macho and sapphic
innate peculiarities, best known over a length of time
Your awesomeness leaves many a dummies
pondering on your wonders of nature that glows
beyond this world
Your sexiness sweetens the aura around you
creating the hot halo feeling that envelopes you
Your attraction is spell bound
i couldn't help but be addicted to you
Words from your lips hypnotize my feet and thinking
giving me a better feeling
just like seeing an Angel in the Sun that you are.
Mish Mar 2012
windowsill views: this smile has gotten
      the best of me..
peculiarities particularly interest me
during these (almost) spring days
           because I know I’m free

hometown nights not so silent anymore
streetcorner w/ a reputation:
        but it’s always the people I see..
Now I am blessed by the fellowship of man.
Poem # 031.
Philip : 20/10/20

Now I am blessed by the fellowship of man.
Of the pure unadulterated unconditional love
We men and women that inhabit the earth

In the constant search for a secure foothold

And wishing to be all things to all men around
Men and Women and genders betwixt the two

Being now away that we have a brotherhood
Loved by a community of lifelong friends
Earth Angels and guides which hold the skills
Skills which are perfected and so peculiar
Standing alone in their particular peculiarities
Excellent and everlasting good friends of mine
Diligently looking after their own fellowship.

Boys and girls coming out to play in the world
Young and old rich and poor sick and healthy

Together in a loving unconditional relationship
Having no blood ties save for holding the spirit
Especially the wondrous God spirit of passion

From whatever theological following you hold.
Every good turn you do unto others is returned
Loving your neighbor as thyself is a starter.
Loving your father and mother well deserved
Or your brother or sister , cousin or kin.
With blood relatives it’s seen as a given.
So be it for the population of the World.
Having established that relationship you’re OK
In that there is nobody to hate anymore
People outside the fellowship may gossip

Or continually sandbagged a reputation
From now on let us develop this “Fellowship “

Making time to consider the other fellow.
Accounting for a balanced life of compassion
Now I am blessed by the fellowship of man.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The fellowship of man is the most important agenda they we should be following.  Start with unconditional love and go from there.
Oliver Philip Nov 2018
Now I am blessed by the fellowship of man.
Poem # 031.
Philip : 20/10/20

Now I am blessed by the fellowship of man.
Of the pure unadulterated unconditional love
We men and women that inhabit the earth

In the constant search for a secure foothold

And wishing to be all things to all men around
Men and Women and genders betwixt the two

Being now away that we have a brotherhood
Loved by a community of lifelong friends
Earth Angels and guides which hold the skills
Skills which are perfected and so peculiar
Standing alone in their particular peculiarities
Excellent and everlasting good friends of mine
Diligently looking after their own fellowship.

Boys and girls coming out to play in the world
Young and old rich and poor sick and healthy

Together in a loving unconditional relationship
Having no blood ties save for holding the spirit
Especially the wondrous God spirit of passion

From whatever theological following you hold.
Every good turn you do unto others is returned
Loving your neighbor as thyself is a starter.
Loving your father and mother well deserved
Or your brother or sister , cousin or kin.
With blood relatives it’s seen as a given.
So be it for the population of the World.
Having established that relationship you’re OK
In that there is nobody to hate anymore
People outside the fellowship may gossip

Or continually sandbagged a reputation
From now on let us develop this “Fellowship “

Making time to consider the other fellow.
Accounting for a balanced life of compassion
Now I am blessed by the fellowship of man.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Now I am blessed by the fellowship of man
Lorraine Sep 2016
Attraction

Eyes lock, souls intertwine, worship like a shrine.

Bubbling, effervescent youth - flirtation to finality.

Eagerness to cultivate, move to the next occasion.


Repulsion

Slow demise, one could only surmise - it's time to let go.

But peculiarities, they become extraordinary.

Take you as you are.


Endurance

Long-lasting, soul enhancing.

Moments like these, quintessence of eternal.

Utterances of love are immortal.


Acceptance

Unwavering faith and trust, passionate conviction.

Any cacophony of doubt, silenced.

Take me in, fully.


Synergy**

Two brilliant bright lights intertwine.

Illumination.

Status is divine.
August 16, 2016
featherfingers Nov 2013
It is almost five a.m.
With each thump of the echoing bass,
of the synthetic revenge and heartbreak,
angry percussion wraps me closer than your arms ever could--
tremulous and heavy,
more absolute than the sunset fictions
you contentedly let me cling to.
A venomous chorus drips from my lips,
once-swollen eyes now itchy and dry.

This is the still serenity of the predawn slumber,
the yearning of the yetsummer,
the quiet before the birds begin scavenging
through grass, trash, and recycling.
I protest--
tongue, fingers heels teeth and lungs
restless in spite of themselves.

You have chased me out of bed,
across dew-dampened grass,
over uneven pavement as treacherous as your voice.
You follow me.

Sleep is merely a forlorn memory
peering sadly from a forgotten heap of warm cotton thread,
whimpering futilely against the anxious pulsing
of overworked headphones
and overthought peculiarities.

You introduced me to this time of day.
You summoned it once with impatient chords
and a staccato keystroke melody,
casually ignoring the plaintive honesty
I willingly accompanied you with.

But the sunrise casts a strange glow, I guess--
rosy and well-intentioned,
fickle and fleeting, like your grin
or the capricious depth of the summer sky.

No one remembers that wandering blue
the same color as her eyes;
but it seeps through your pores,
curls into the caverns of your chest,
an aching in azure only because you let it.
You have bathed too long in the sun.
As the scarlet sunrise erupts across your shoulders
the sky settles into your lungs.

But don’t trust that sky,
that constant companion.

That sky is a cannibal
and it will eat you alive.
I'm torturing myself tonight with my backlog because why the hell not?
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2013
"The longest trains in the world run in the US, Australia and China, as well as in some mining regions in Africa. These trains can be several kilometers long. The longest train ever was an ore train in Australia with ~7.3km (~4.5mi),  consisting of 682 cars and 6 engines."*

What know these train buffs who measure length,
In mere miles, kilometers, numbers of cars,
These mechanical movers, impressive to the eye,

Yet,
I have witnessed, not just seen, believed,
In a train that overwhelms not just the eyes,
But the heart, surpasses the limits of the mind's eyes.
It breaks imagination and says it is conceived,
Announcing to anyone, all who board, your are now,
Our newest,
Strongest link.

This train knows no regulation, track nor load constraints,
For it travels on invisible tracks on the Internet,
If need be, the good people at HP will add
More server capability.

This train, intercontinental, more,
Global,
And I have on god authority,
There are participants from
Other
Planets.

But shhhhhh! That's on a need to know basis...

This train, never reaches a final destination,
Coursing thru the veins, our arteries,
It has a heart that forever beats, cannot, ever,
Die, it is unstoppable, once in motion,
Transferred to the next one, by kiss ethereal.

For it has an energy, a peculiar one, not capable
Of being explained on Google or Wikipedia.
Try it, you non-believer, there is no correct definition of
Poetry In Motion, as the longest train ever...

Each car a different color, a different song,
No two alike, no two in tune, yet all in concert, a choir,
I have no explanation, other than to describe this as
Miraculous.

There are some peculiarities re this train,
It sometimes labels a car behind you as a follower,
Now this is accurate perhaps with respect to GPS,
But I call them readers, fellow travelers,
As we exchange loads of words, and then leadership,
As I move on, another comes up to the forefront,
Baton passed.

This train of poems, one grasping the poem right behind,
While another poet grabs the first and sends him forward,
In motion, unceasing, powered not by wind or petroleum,
But an energy of spirit human which cannot be consumed,
For with every baby, a new poet and poem born.

So let me correct an error of mine,
This train is not just poetry in motion,
But perpetual poetry in perpetual motion.

Should I fall by the wayside, lose a step in my stride,
Whatever I have given, here remains, to be carried forward,
By you, by new carriers, by new poets, new countries,
That have yet to speak their words, say their
Peace.

So here
I close this loop, throw this on top of the
Coals already in place.
With words of another,
Who said it simpler, said it better,
Let it be.
This took awhile to write, so let us call it the last poem of the day.
no truth login Jul 2020
how can it be,
the mathematicians,
the statisticians,
can so well predict

the curvature of my day;
is my life so impoverished,
so undifferentiated, my course;
the climb, the leveling, the
ultimatum gliding, a summary
path to an unremarkable landing

probable outcomes of my
statistical profile so calculable;
my dreams, their peculiarities,
essences, massaged into conformity

hatch plot, deceive, it’s cool,
write a poem, unpredictable,
who could foretell, this scheme,
let’s keep a secret, tween us only,
cover the keyhole, so their eye
cannot peak inside the you and I,
two twice ten thousand indecipherable,
writer and reader, we one, inseparable

only we can decode the true meaning
island poet Aug 19
is like no other early morning, man reborn, in the delivery
room of sky blue, the offsetting water deeper bluish hue,
the trim-all-around of the mixed salad greens of the staff's
scrubs as they usher in unity,  with no imp-unity, the risks,
while the supervisory sky, disperses cumulus clouds in
peppercorn patterns of white chains, or big wide solitary
brushstrokes on a a ****** canvas, gettin' the feel in the
palm of the heft of brush, the viscosity of the paint, the day's
palette reflecting available colors in order to create a uni~cued
original of what has been painted an uncountable times before,
and before…

tho short weighted, was the sleep of the prior night's restful,
he awakes to the early morning light, the sounds of early
island rouse him, even, arouse him, for the August chill
foretells of the early onset of memory loss of the peculiarities
of this summered simmering, human warming and baking
and natural braking of the slowing of the heart rate, to better
accommodate, nature's hints and hidden reminiscences
of the true purpose of the summer's intervention upon our
collective and unique bottling, our individualized containers,
un~lidded, uncovered, eager for the fuel of sunrays replenish-
ing the length of our lives by the elixir of the summer

it is a chill 63 Fahrenheit at this time of day as we crossover
to the nigh day, from the cooling air conditions of dark,
the occasional helicopter intrudes upon the morning's calm,
the water placid, the geese honking regarding my watchful
rewarding presence, a slew, a bevy, of female vocalists, to
ease this transitory performance unfolding, and though one
feels the existential of his solitary singularity, as he thinks,
nay believes, he is the only one in attendance at this ritualized
emergence, he takes in the cool of, the heat of, the admixture
of both, the clashing integers of each, and he, fully invigorated,
goes silent, for once more, he has uncovered new combinations of
old words to accept and describe a new day's creation, miracle of miraculous, defying the odds of this ventures's success, his own continuance  on this sheltered but open all around island implanted tween two tines of land, as if all the surroundings were created just to protect this, wholly holy place…


7:00am
Silver Beach
Shelter Island
Aug 19 2025
Zachary William Oct 2017
I'm not losing my
grip on reality
though it may
seem that way
with how abstract
my writing is
starting to
become
on the contrary
I somehow have
managed to
get a death grip
around the throat of
reality and the harder
I stare into the now-turning-blue
face of life itself
the more and more
nebulous it gets

Gone are the
didactic binaries
of right and wrong
and good and evil
and love and hate
it all just sort of
blends together
in a sticky narrative
of just what it means
to be alive and well
carving meaning
out of the universe's
hide in order to keep
warm against
the endless chilling
gusts of strangers
sighing and God
shaking his head
at the fact that
we stunt our
lives by
trying to contain
it in vessels
that hold the
organic flow of existence
in stasis for long
enough that we can
look at all the peculiarities
of this world
and classify them
without the risk
of living among
fellow human beings

why do we cling so
desperately to the past
and the ghosts of memories
of those with whom we
no longer speak
is it because they stay still?
because the ground underneath
our feet is constantly
shifting and rolling
with each new ideal
and we hold on to the flickering
still-life images
of summers long gone
as a means of anchoring ourselves
against the storm?
there has to be so much
more to this life other
than doggy-paddling
from buoy to buoy
memory to memory
endlessly bracing for
the next wave
the next wave
the next wave
until we finally
reach dry land
and can rest easy
on the beaches
of longevity
relaxing in the sand
made up of the bones
of those who just
couldn't make it
to the next
flashing
lighthouse
MereCat Dec 2014
A dancer’s world is brimming with mirrors
So that you can identify the flaws
And meticulously correct them.
I saw that I was too fat, repulsive,
My leotard stretched too tight
Across rounded plains of skin,
I tried to correct it.
Thinner, thinner,
I said.
Better
Better.

One day
A collection of voices
Paid me a holiday visit.
They liked it so much
They never went home.
I don’t know why they liked it
All they ever did was shout at me
And tell me I wasn’t good enough
And make an insecure monster out of me.
They chewed me word by word and swallowed.
I asked to be left but they never repacked their suitcases.

I never meant to be a murderer, death’s employee
Not even when I was killing did I intend it
It was all accidental, I swear, honestly.
But even that won’t convince me
To stop washing off the blood -
Maroon aura blooming
And blooming until
Washing, washing,
I thought the
Stain got
Smaller.
Not.



'wait a minute shall we not dissect further and twist the scalpel and tease apart sinews until they're all just science and shall we not draw diagrams and observe the peculiarities of their ways and shall we not uncover their biology and their phycology and investigate a hypothesis without coming to a conclusion shall we not forget their humanity write them down as chemicals and failed reactions and have done with it shall we not turn impersonal and...

sorry, I forgot they were people.'
I'm not too fond of insensitive people
JS CARIE Jun 2018
At times I wonder if you are stable and how you are able.
You lay in the bed for what seems like days on end without food or water to begin
In the deepest part of your sleep, you let out a howling wail I can only resemble as a boy in heat
When I come up to check on you, like any crazy human you'll either shoo me away or rub my head so true
After you hibernate in numbers, the amount of milk you consume would put me in a diabetic overdose slumber [to be welcomed]
When you go to the room where waters pour from the ceiling and *** in a bowl of water that looks refreshing and appealing
That's when out comes the dragon, throat roaring, bloodshot vision, blowing smoke like a continuous cannon
And you'll stand and stare at the mirror, this you can't hide I've been with you a long time here
Not looking at yourself or your grooming, you look at what you've become and why you can't bury six-deep this glooming
And truthfully, I get it. The solitude, the independence, the struggle to live alone, when you leave every morning and return at dark
After having many companions around and now not. I'm the last cat standing as well, I get it
The desire to be nurtured and massaged only to be shoo'd away more than half the time
To eat the same foods day in and day out
Have a growth of hair breed on your face and body and scratch the itch feed that need, only to wake up everyday looking like yesterday, I get it friend
We have an innate nature to feel our peculiarities are alienated, but our similarities are there and that can not be denied or debated.

Thoughts on You, from the cat
Once again I'm up all night.
But tonight is different.
There's not any tossing and turning
Or thrashing about.
Just the stillness of being by myself.
The air is chilly and unbroken by the sound of silence.
Cigarette smoke wafts straight up with no  change in pace.
I wonder if it's linear motion is predetermined or coincidental.
How peculiar.
Alzet Weideman Nov 2017
There is a leak in my heart where you shoved your coarse fingers in so impertinently.
I exposed my soul for you, revealed my naked body for you to see,
but you watched and all you really saw were the parts that aroused your virility.

I gave you an ultimatum, but, to you, the rest of me was like the speed fines that you were never going to pay.
You devoured my dreams with a mouthful of empty promises and destroyed them,
now you're an epitome manliness...

and I?
A scarecrow in the clean eyes of anyone capable of accepting all my peculiarities.

You say that I left you,
but here I sit on the sidewalk, desolated.
A prose about my first time - careless and unkind.
The lover was a heroic boy for taking my virginity. I was regarded as a promiscuous girl, unworthy of the love of any other man due to my 'transgression'.

This was four years ago and today I am loved - not only by a wonderful man, but also by myself. For I know that the guilt I felt for many years was caused by unsolicited societal gender norms and sexism; and every last drop has evaporated.

Fight gender norms and sexism!
Do not stand back and watch young ladies hate themselves due to male "masculinity".
Dag J Apr 2013
Endlessly... we fall...
connecting through
cognetive strenght as we
endeavor the practice of
never looking back...
trembling hands
reaching out for
intricate parts of reality...
concerned... we fall...

Positive emotions dance happily
as morning mist turns into droplets that
run down the side of your face like tears
and I rejoice while we
climb as
high as can be,
up into the sky, over the clouds - over the sea
time slows down... stops...
endlessly... we fly!

Freefalling ... waiting for the wacky 'chute to open
Falling further and further away from the ground
silently ... without a sound ... we rise
life in three acts ... or something.

© MMXIII by Day J
Nat Lipstadt Nov 2024
this semi-seemingly sad refrain~reflection, more truth than
one can even understand,
for my physical self slowly
disappearing, diminishing
though no visible pieces
as of yet,
gone missing

few of you have come to visit me
in NYC, so you cannot be sure of
anything you’ve been told, for the
great liar claims, the internet bleeds
disinformation believe this
if nothing
else

for I’ve been a dream from my very
naissance, a vision imaginable by
those who contemplate my whereabouts,
my visages, we bemused, while
you imbibe, tongue |taste
mrs
written bouche amusante

well,
if you want them pieces & parts,
poems in the fleshes,
seek outa one eyed guy patched
by a rivered walk path,
see a troubadour on his soap box
amusing the real peoples
who pause to reflect
cause
them
give respect to his peculiarities,
listen to his truths bout
himself and them
selves too

if you can’t camp this far,
then believe in your dreams
cause my come and go,
fly out the window
and have reached as far as
the Phillipines, New Zealand &
the Land of Oz

I’m their break from the news,
indeed call me ‘the new news,’
which so cool, makes us laugh,
cause there ain’t no much new
by this foolish OG, ‘cept for the
rhythm of and blues, I spin, the rhymes
that they fet/met/net me with dollar bills,
loose change and half used joints in lieu of cash-is-trash

So I dream, they dream,
together we scheme,
each of us composing,
in separate and equal
prepositions preposterous
and share all who to be heard,
especially those who wish to also
have their dreams be
seen
Zajan Akia Jul 2012
Mighty,
she thinks, sizing up the
sheer rock face
gazing back at her

all the world falls away
dismembered
reality sorting itself
into its peculiarities

scaling heights
with undue levity
she ascends
at no light price

peaking into secrets,
locking eyes
with eternity
there are no dreams here
they are but fragments of thought
dismissed and abandoned to the wilderness
of our imaginations
to intersect or collide
perhaps hundreds or thousands at a time
to create some kind of patchwork mosaic of
tossed millisecond ideas and flashes of imagery
that have nowhere to go
these are not dreams
a vast wasteland of connected disconnected energy
of the mind

last night we walked together
and discovered our shared love of art
and ghosts
while the world slept
while I slept
I later met you in a book store
where we paged through Vangogh prints
and discussed the peculiarities of  'The Smoking Skull'
I awoke to a beautiful Sun and for a few joyous seconds…thought to
call you

there are no dreams here
Khoisan Sep 2018
I sat there mediocrity
Was my middle name
Funny built had a skinny frame
Peculiarities a topic
For gossip at the way I dressed
Always overlooked for the popular
Wasn't really a nerd
But I sure got the association
Trying to fit in was tough
It was always the Becky's the Archie's
And Veronica's
I'm happy now got a great marriage  
Successful kids
I even have the job
I alway's dreamt of
Needless to say the popular
Pluses attended the
High school reunion.... lesser
But that's OK too
It's not a thing with me
Peer pressure is hard especially on high school you Will survive
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2018
porch talk, simmering in a Bud light sauce
everyone chair-rocking, even the boxer dog,
in his self-propelled 360 degree swiveling chair
eavesdropping and spy eyeballing the farm for
strangers and any creatures as of yet, unsmelled

get done with weather, the crops,
the neighbors,
the weird, and the truly neighborly,
grandkids escapades, hopes and desires, comparative literature and regional dialects and philosophical dialecticals tickling,
bs’ing and tall tale telling,  breathing the windy geography of the air over the land that dictates the how we live,
open another Bud for the buds,
did I forget to mention
farm equipment?

skirt politics cause nobody wants any
nothing-to-be-done-****-aggravation,
leaves nothing mo’ to ramble on about ‘cept the

absent women

no worries all above board no secrets uncouthed,
but the mood softens as the pale daylight wisps come rarer
as now
nearer to nine pm, obvious saved the best for last,
a very manly-way of ordering things,
big silent pauses in the converso conversation,
guy-sighs many,
as the last essay of the day is being jointly authored,
denotating the generalized listings of
how they drive us crazy,
listing the repetition of ever changing instructions,
which doesn't recognize bi-coastal mannerisms,  non-differentiating
just  humanism-isms

and the peculiarities of each (a list kept)
in a compare and contrast,
an end of the day summation,
and the boasting-outbesting,
of each of their
specialisms
which is sadly now forgotten and which haven’t been
brain-recorded so cannot be disclosed
other than it’s now ten
and all that’s left is
to sleep, perchance, to dream,
of private things
and bigger and better
John Deere tractors
Songs of Oregon  No. 4
Al-Farouk Jun 2016
I am cog in the wheel
do not dismount me
I am cog in the wheel
of a not dreary chariot,
A marginal chariot chasing the
uppings of me.

I am a cog in the wheel
never detach me
I am cog in the wheel
of an ecstatic chariot,
A fancy chariot with horses
smiling at me.

I am cog in the wheel
dare not disentangle me
I am a cog in the wheel
of a suprising chariot,
A royal chariot hopping
to peculiarities of me.

I am cog in the wheel
suppose not disaffiliate me
I am cog in the wheel
of a heavenly chariot,
A pearly chariot scampering
towards hallucinations of me.

I am cog in the wheel
absurd not disassemble me
I am a cog in the wheel
of a spacious chariot,
A majestic chariot skipping
beyond incubus of me.

I am a cog in the wheel
please do not disassociate me
I am a cog in the wheel
of a cordial chariot,
A regal chariot escorting
development strands.

I am a cog in the wheel...
I am just trying to motivate my self towards my personal develooment.
David Barr Dec 2013
The spirit of the age projects a myriad of peculiarities which are diametrically opposed to the wisdom of our ancestral manoeuvres of foreboding contemplations.
It is sufficient for me to say, that I have rolled up my trouser-legs in metaphysical resignation.
Lest you forget, that the history of our posterity is shrouded in post-Edwardian etiquette, as she balances on the brink of relinquished community.
wordvango Aug 2018
Once
     I was a dunce but
In my head I had
       Arranged
This view of
       Me supreme superior
 In order
        To hide from being
Inferior.
      So deranged I was
I invented my purpose.
      Which was, to be honest,
A ploy to hide
        Myself in shadow.
And then I met the one
       Who sang my praise
Like I had done.
       I was amazed
She really believed
       In me. How numb
I felt to her touch
       Until I looked
Into her eyes.
        And knew.
She actually believed
      In me. Knew all
My secret peculiarities.
      But, she, my angel
From  above loved
       Me unconditionally.
And there I now know
      Because of her,
All of me
        Is all of her.
Bonswan Feb 2016
A man kills a man. A ****** blasphemes the resplendent soul of the angelic; ravaging the virtuous house by way of his wicked rapine. Yet the effulgent heart has relinquished the curse of enmity - the noble finds no solace amid the rancor of Hate. Hatred is naught but a vile curse, a bane which plagues the wielder with strife.

Truly I maintain, a condign response commands grace and repose. Do not tolerate the sedative pleasure Hatred bears, for alike an ****** the analgesic peculiarities will soon turn to misery -  unloosing the very wickedness the righteous heart held in such abhorrent contempt.

Only Love can oppose the venom of Hatred and lead the wicked to righteousness. Love will invariably triumph.
A little different from usual, I hope someone gets something out of it. Composed during meditation.
LoRV Aug 2013
I realized it while I was high
and my mind was wandering around.
It completely blew my mind,
how I always want you in my life.

I am crazy in love with you
because I realized how much you love me
because you accept me the way I am
with my craziness and peculiarities
with my impulses and eccentricities.

I realized how I had never been in love
because nothing felt the way
it now feels with you.
How I yearn your touch
and long your kiss.

Because I find so hard to say
the way I love you.
How I can't write
how you make me feel
(all) the love I feel within.

I realized how much I love you
wishing you would feel the same
finding that you feel the same
deeply in love, quenched by love.
Dark soul Feb 2015
She had this
          quite a way of refusal
      for the things I needed for
               consanguinity .                                     Yet I now understand why
    all the downs and downs
           she's been through
          All she can do is die
       inside a little bit more
                  for a while
             Well don't worry
                 my little girl
                  Am here to
        lift your soul a little high
               Will never bid you
                             A
                      Goodbye
♥nidhiifogaat
Skylar May 2015
It is in the midst of cruel December
That cynicism springs forth
Lush, verdant and fruitful.

As people sit
Firmly fastened in front of computers and televisions,
    Their pale, two-dimensional illumination
    A vicious imitation of the golden glow
    Of which we have been deprived,
The trite uniqueness of each falling flake
Is regarded with the same appreciation
Held by a prisoner for the peculiarities of each bar of his cell
While mercantile endorsements
Perform their annual joyless Yuletide jig
Complete with sullenly cheery music.

Indifference plods with a purpose across the pavement
On feet uncomfortably shoved into boots
And sometimes wielding a shovel.

My own feet angrily railed against the bus-stop sidewalk
On this particular day.

I forfeited the ice-block bench on this occasion,
Preferring to crush my feet into the ground
Than to risk cryogenesis by the unfriendly seat.

I was waiting for the next vessel to drift in on a tide of noxious diesel
And take me home
So that I could put cables through my ears
And stare blankly into a vividly opaque window;
Fingers performing a well-choreographed dance
While I wrap myself in warm, gas-heated euthanasia.

As the bench reclined behind me,
She sat down upon it like a ghost.
Slight and spritish.
Silky black strands dance in brave escape
From their woolen armour
And guard green isles floating on white seas.

Where have I seen her?
This person so maddeningly, forgettably familiar?

A breath of persimmon and greenery.

She extends forth a creamy hand.
The snow eats the vibrant blood as it leaks from her wrist.

Seized by panic,
I leap from my station,
A lifesaving scarf in my hand.

Hers presses to my chest.
Her pale-sunrise lips move to my ear.

"Wait and see." She says.
"Read between the drear to find what you seek:
"That which you remember and yet have forgotten."
The vital stream returns to its tributary by a volition of its own.

Did I faint at this surreality?
Did I go into shock by it and return to my abode in an ****** ambulation?
Did it take place at all?
I awoke at home, seated in my parlour
And watered by the melted rime.

For weeks after,
I would, with expectation and intrigue,
Await her arrival at the same stop,
Search for the silky black strands playing in the crowd,
I even sought her in vain through my nocturnal oneiric haze.

Indeed, she must have been a spectre,
Either of our world or that of my brain.

Nevertheless, this I know is true:
I did feel her gentle hand against my panicked heart
And her delicate voice still echoes in my ears.

It is Spring now, and still my memory of her persists
As does my recollection what she had to tell me.
Her whisper is in the snow-melt water
And her eyes cry joyful tears from icicles.
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2021
I live on a small (25 sq. mile) island, accessible only by ferry.

                                                  <>

“For we are dear to the immortal gods,
Living here, in the sea that rolls forever,
Distant from other lands and other men”

—Homer, the Odyssey (translated by Robert Fitzgerald)

                                                    ­  <>

sea air inoculates the slowing breath-taking ferried voyager,
our landed cares felled, fall into a wake, trailing, sunk & submerged,
a ferry’s ramp contact-clangs, belling a “Here, Here!” alters our mien,
the softening airy enveloping, fragrantly, a greeting of immortal gods


no matter that we can vision-easy the neighboring isles, with
their trafficked-light busyness, the to and fro of mainland life,
bustle necessity of hustle, our riveted river moat cancels out
imposing surround sounds, our untucked flavor, floating free


wafting perfume of quiet inlet, creek and harbour, touch us safely,
alternating currents of gentle breeze, stiffer sailing winds, gusts,
bending us, these reminders, we humans too, creatures of elementals,
water, sun, forest, sand, animals, singular upon co-hosted menagerie


the brackish water, where fresh + marine waters mix, live + die,
reflecting our pooling diversity, so few of us born here, yet so many,
adopt and adapt the isle’s peculiarities, endearing all without any
distinction, we blessed together by Immortal Gods to shelter together,

by, from, the seas that roll us into one peaceful island, nearly, dearly,

and now departed


                                                      ­ <>


Shell Beach,
Shelter Island
August 2021
Bus Poet Stop Apr 2015
Ha ha on me.   eye still have a full head, of laughing hair...


eye am vain like you, and though advancing steadily with daily doses of aging, and since I am titanicaly nearer my God than thee, i.e. the finish line...end of days...whatever...having a nice head of hair is a happy happenstance for nothing "ages" an immature person faster than a lack or absence of hair....

some say it is all genetic....could be...but my theory is different...I laugh at myself all the time...my foolish words, my creasing vices, my dastardly prejudices, are absurd in extremis...and am in possession of a willingness to be the **** of my own humor to bring creased smiles in others's to the fore...

though serious, I don't  take myself seriously...and this self disrespect means I laugh at my own pomposity, posterior and peculiarly peculiar peculiarities.

So I laugh a lot as I am one of those idiots who reflects on the state of himself and goes, eye eye eye!

the laughing releases a dosed vial of special testosterone which makes my hair grow and since I fully expect much sorrow and to be living homeless, on the streets, in my end of days, the fact that I will have a full head of hair as I go down into my grave makes me laugh which releases....

ha ha on me
Still Crazy Nov 2014
For Al*

your limbs,
a finger, a toe,
an arm, a leg,
cannot be amputated,
without your presence...


when the men
drive in the car together,
the women, best friends,
absent,
temporarily away,
their men,
time release the
the secret shavings
of truthful conversations,
the unconstrained sharings,
spoke, untold,
free from the raised eyebrow,
the serious shushing
of censoring partners,
Lionesses-in-Absentia

who else
where else can you tell
the complaints unspoken,
the peculiarities, the ironies,
that make you smile/wince
laughingly grimace

and now the men are
friends

so when he asks,
come to the movies with us,
tho you are neat beat,
dead on the feet,
you now know,
too late, too late,
always and evermore
say sure,
cause,
now that he is gone
in a single swoop felling,
his oak trembling,
fallen
oh my friend,
now on his side,
lifeless

you say sure,
always
sure,
cause you have to be there,
just in case,
it is time they declare
to severe sever
one of your very own
limbs
Zywa Nov 2018
All beginnings are difficult, but
shall his heart grow with mine
and will not matching sensitivities

be given a warm place anyway?
Can it be big like an elephant?

It already is, trumpets one
yeah ha ha ha, stamp the others
grandma Phant blows my hair in a mess

don't hold on to your questions
she says, better come with us

She trunks me between her ears
chatting about phants and people
with their peculiarities

we reach a wide field
of waving colours

The children phants start tasting them
crushing more flowers than they pick
but with love, new ones grow

you see, grandma Phant says
it's easy

if you give space to the sun
Collection “Webgarden”
Nat Lipstadt Nov 2015
How Many Calories in a Poem?


visualizing the invisible,
we deconstruct the content,
the in-titled label reviewed,
querying,
is this one worth the cost?

looking for true fiber,
then further inquire,
perchance,
are there grams of
kick-starting emotive proteins,
stored and lurking within,
homes for the cells
that will inspire, transform,
mere readers into mountainous writers

lean on those scripts,
injected with just hints,
resting ribbons of flavorful fat equipped,
for there will always be
the tyranny
of the those of the sparse faith,
those writers of haiku brevity,
believers that
fat free,
is the only,
but lonely,
bene of beauty

death from ignorance to those
who would poison the fruit
of the alphabet tree,
coat produce, with glossy chemicals,
that preserve the shiny exteriors,
cooking up false feasts interior,
saturating us with the trans-fats of trite,
oily verbosity and labels of organic,
that conceal the risks of
hyper-pretensivity

an every poem, seasoned for taste,
a dash of diamond sea salts,
scatter on pinches of pearls
of Caribbean cane sugar,
sprinkle human sins and cinnamon
for zest and tang,
for inspiration and flavoring,
for the souls tonguing tastebuds,
needy for reasons
to celebrate  commissioning
the enticing exhalations of appreciative
oohs and ahs!

Warning!
this poem was processed
in a old, out-of-date factory,
that is most assuredly not,
nat-nut free*

but even if allergic,
be unafraid to taste the acerbic,
for there are
poems
suited for everyones, even your
peculiarities

you want your essayed poems
to brim healthy caloric,
grow them as offshoots
of your very own organs

you need not seek anothers certification,
if filled they are
with the mettle of iron,
built to be
calcium-fortified structures,
with the perpetual strong bones
of rhyme and sonnet

let each worded edifice
be the food,
stored to be gifted
to our progeny,
by their ever living on,
marking us,
marking them

omit the trite,
we ken no need,
for it is the false emptiness of
misleading carbohydrates,
that only fatten,
for the briefest satisfaction,
purposed for the killing of fulfilling,
dulling that which only
a well prepared
dish poetic,
can bring to healthy enliven
the human spirit




Nov. 12, 2015
Aboard Delta #2499
5:10 pm
when you are trying to lose weight, you obsess about bad calories
in everything...

— The End —