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Nat Lipstadt Aug 2018
the angel amongst us

~for Alexander, master splasher~

flexibility is important when poetry writing in a warm tub and a long day ahead is scheduled; so willingly accept the autocorrect
for I am both an experienced poet and bath soaker and
believer in wondrous mystery and unexpected fumbles
that lead to to miracle touchdowns

~•~

the two mathematicians examine the angle, measure the degree of difference at intersection and bless it with an identity,
calling it by its name,
perhaps obtuse, perhaps right, perhaps both

two sets of eyes examine the angle,
study its ****** expression

the old man says:
see the angle on the clock formed by the big handle on the twelve and the little hand on the eight?

this is angle of eight o’clock:
time to stop the splashing and start the get-readying
for we have miles to go before the ocean can say hello!

little angel says angle no go
and slashes the water with both
hands to establish the firmness of his views
and change Einstein’s time from present to future

the angle depends on the perspective of the viewer

the old poet comprehends leaving a warm tub is a regretful thing

but he measures the degree of difference at this
intersection
of time and bath and blesses it with an identity

“time to go”

the angle of my angel is now 2 pointed arms, pointed straight up,
at the twelve o'clock,

as he stands up in fevered protest,
my arms sweep his little legs to
a point at eight o’clock,
angel, commenting on his swift flight
disputes the grandfathers physics

"no go now,
now go later^"

though the angle is unchanged
the perspective of time and space
(and traffic),
yet differs

one sees an angle,
the angel sees time
eternally folding in on itself


that is the angle amongst us
^Surprising as it may be to most non-scientists and even to some scientists, Albert Einstein concluded in his later years that the past, present, and future all exist simultaneously. In 1952, in his book Relativity, in discussing Minkowski's Space World interpretation of his theory of relativity, Einstein writes:

Since there exists in this four dimensional structure [space-time] no longer any sections which represent "now" objectively, the concepts of happening and becoming are indeed not completely suspended, but yet complicated. It appears therefore more natural to think of physical reality as a four dimensional existence, instead of, as hitherto, the evolution of a three dimensional existence.
Nat Lipstadt Feb 2016
~~~


in a four lion pawed,
old fashion
bathtub,
soaping and playing
with my two boys,
then, young children,
splish splashing,
playing games,
a wet version of capture the flag,
the winner gets to scrub someone else's back
with a flag
of the slipperest bar of soap,
ever,
in a game we called,

catch the cockroach cuckoo

***.

the floor is totally soaked,
your mom's gonna **** someone,
the bath mat weighing now 'bout five pounds,
not including the no tears shampoo that miraculously
is bubbling up from it,
an actual
groundswell of
shining eyes

and oh crap,

your pj's!
on the floor!

we all gotta go hide real quick
in the crazy better-be-on-high dryer,
more happy shouting, tumbling,
to get them and
our selves
back to a
ready-to-wear- state,
with a wearable, Johnson & Johnson sham-poo,
sweet-smelling encasing,
ready to be swept beneath a talcum powdery snow-angel coverlet,
into a slippery ready-to-sleep state

"quit all that screaming you guys,"

a piercing late entrant
to our Las Vegas gaming bath~table,
heard through the door,
deserving of a ten second
almost silenced,
fearful, giggled appreciation

then some one sang out

catch the cockroach cuckoo

and the fun and games recommence,
all of us,
soap search engines,
began again,
fully reenergized

don't gotta clue,
why this old fool fills
his memory sac this day,
with this silly,
refried-ain't-worth-a-hill-of-beans
peyote poem-visions from
decades older(1)

nowadays, he still plays,
still a super soaker bath man,
reliving old-fashioned soapy games
with a new Kingston trio,
me, myself and I,

and still hearing voices,
absent and present,
coming thru the walls

"you making a mess in there? better quiet down!"

but today's voices heard
are from within born,
not real,
an updated, revised recollection of the
went, and now,
gone gone gone

these voice now mocking the messes made
of bathrooms and
lives,
his own,
and the other players,
their lives
that this man sealed and help fashion,
for better and some,
for worse

and the
updated "better quiet down" sound heard,
well, that's jes me trying
to convince the too familiar new trio,
that the
harmonies of that vision,
ain't real
no more

and he finds-the-soap game
nowadays,
can't give you relief,
cannot remove,
the uncleansed residue of them
other
oldest soap **** guilty memories,
consisting of too many undisclosed,
then, unrealized mistakes,
that any parent,
all parents,
or this particular parent,
raises up,
seals and makes


~~~
5:21pm
1/30/16 NYC

(1) I subsequently realized that Pandora
played Crosby, Still and Nash singing
"teach your children well.
their father's hell,
will slowly go by"
STLR Nov 2016
I've spent too many hours trying tower my accomplishments
I stole this art, replaced my heart with everything that's opposite
reverse the hearse, this inner peace is quite a compliant
my yin and yang are but centerpieces upon a ledge
if they fall off, these elements will simply crush a head
solar optimist, a bi-polar writer with floppy-disk
decoded so you can't comprehend

no counter weight for this heavyweight of a mentalist
as I pick up the pen you can see that a flame was lit
since this is my movie, let's keep it groovy and toss the script
I can't wait to show the world what the **** monumental is!

this flow is brilliant to extravagant
I guess what I'm feeling is happiness?
no resilience happening?
Still, don't know who my pappy is

happy pieces of laughy taffy
enough motion from the potion
will have a girl callin me pappy quick

I stay railing like locomotives
the motive is, I'm to motived and focus with all this poetry
unleash my inner locust, then leap on to new pageantry  
I'm well adapted like strangers blending into scenes
I gave her the wood in return we nurtured a tree
its double sided girl this **** isn't ever free
If you don't like the price
there's the door you can leave

but look
I know I don't have a car
but soon I will buy a Toyota
pick you up so you can sleepover
I have a super cobra that shots like a super soaker
whenever you're doing yoga
Hulu view for the two,
Youtube view interlude
Netflix an Chill for the mood
Tv on dimmest setting
an inner room lit like the moon
smoking **** watching views
give me snack like I'm ****** do
I just want to lay with you

I picked you out of the many few
from the ocean of this social media stew
girl, what would you like me to do?


November 22, 2016 / Tuesday 1:37 PM
Drafted in hello poetry -
November 22, 2016 / Tuesday 1:40 PM (First Offical Hello Poetry Poem)
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2013
In the morning, shower.
But at nite, yo, burn off the fright,
Super-Soaker I become.

As hot as I can stand,
Till my face is a strawberry field.
An hour or two, easing on out
Collected aches and mistakes,
If doable, think on how to make them
un-mistakeable.

Slip slide, music and shampoo,
Tablet baggied, ready armed,
To read and write,
Of and if and about
Us, our poetry,
At the intersecting crossroads
Of life.

Sometimes, I let the water out,
But down don't get out, just sit there,
A sticking stone.

Woman comes by round midnite,
To check if I am
Dead or just well done.
She sees me in the empty bird-word bath.

She doesn't have to say a thing,
Having seen me read your pleads,
She knows, I am drained,
The symbolism, too obvious.
Created October 20, 2013
Josh Apr 2014
Recognition struck me dead in the face.

A blast from the super soaker of fear,

drenching me with surprise as I wobbled near.


Red-faced,

pacing around the room,

their applause sent my emotions straight to doom.



But later

I reflected

on what I did that made me respected.


Then I realized

I deserve

their feeling that my talent is prodigious and absurd.


Josh Dublin
I tried to use rhymes in this poem. Any thoughts on it?
Yggy Dec 2016
Polarized penny-****** rubbing clam on hand to seal the deal of sweet body feels, the temple of joy for obtuse bush-beater toy.
Springs of regurgitated hate steep the pores with slime veneer seeping out of the hole you swear holds silver spoons for delivery to the mass's benefit.
Stuffing slits with ignorant mindless droll to make it feel full of life while seeds rot in your gums and thighs, the tides don't curb friction hide.
Polarized poker gives the charge to the joker in the root, rendering the point and the poke moot, popular for being the first smoker, slack grappling super-soaker satisfaction ******* shoot me in my ******* make me feel cute.
Step down to justify rotting apples in the eye, pungent odor from the motor of super-sized ego hoarder. Super-sized meat-fold folder.
Sniff it. Eat the thing. Lift it up to sing, bring me everything for I have nothing. Teeth on petals sting.
**** the stems and never breed.
Mateuš Conrad May 2021
some variation from a reference point:
that (the reference point)
being a blank canvas...

            to begin with: nothing to "work"
with... beside imagining
a congestion of letters:
that letters become words:
that words become sentences...

writing about: writing...
which is at least a tier above:
writing about reading...
or writing about drinking
a mystical cup of coffee:

or something about either Buddhism
or Tao in that 1960s h'americana vein...
well... for something absolutely different...
californian mathematics is racist...
covid-19 is racist...
god is gay...

how terribly i must feel to not read much
of what women write...
any ******* expression
always suited me more welcomingly...
tongue for a phallus
an *** for a mouth...
                                while Balaam finally
managed to trot to the same
pace of the four don quixotes...

in the age of celebrating womanhood...
crippling words: worded junctions...
the entire problem with nouns...
"problem"...
otherwise the certainty of verbs:
for some... the much necessary distinction
between no nuance no metaphor
no misnomers no fiddly-bits-&-bobs
& clogs & knobs...
vectors: prompts... turn left... then turn right...

so far only one certainty:
the madonna-***** complex...
              and no ambition on my part to
court a nun -
or attempt to subjugate "my" genes to
this carousel of time...
so "selfish" of me to bow out...
so that one ****** two can persist
with that cuck-soaker of
an interracial transcendence of forks
in the road...

perhaps it would just break my heart
to have a daughter...
perhaps i see how too make it into
the realm of mythology
of the highest nobility, that of swans...
****-flinging troop of chump...

mind you: there's already a lady in my life
that never disappoints...
a ms. amber with whiskers
a ms. amber as beer as gods' ****...
a ms. amber sweetest of all: mead...
no wonder i personify this liquid...
only today a supermarket cashier
smirked and said: you drink that like
water...            indeed i do
i replied...

well... if at the end of it i squiggle out
if at the end of it i squeeze out
a poo'em... and don't box myself with rhyme(s):
a drink to joy! a drink to health!
a drink to mew-sic!

ni z gruszki ni z pietruszki:
du tun spreschen deutsche?
              from out of nowhere!
                      not from a pear - not from parsley...
a pear's a pear
but... herbs and spices are not
required to have an indefinite article...
it would be impossible to write:
a cinnamon...
a parsley... unless... a stick of...
    a bunch of...
parsley's parsley (is)
  
         it will always come down to
the idiosyncratic of this love-affair
of:      erworbenzunge

                    (acquired­ tongue)

what can't be offered re. some slurring
and oath-making
in light of what happened at the Bataclan?
the boiling of water...
but in general: a malaise...
a glance... a skim-reading...
a toleration of Semitic and nomadic
*******...

      'there's no water in the desert'...
well... guess what...
there's no ******* arable field in a forest
either! those roots weren't going
to just drop dead...
berry picking in the blackest of thicket...
****'s sake...
said some Inuit on a north american
tundra...
or some Mongol passing through
the butter of Siberia...

                but i guess that's what happens
when you've been sitting on a stash
of dino-juice (oil)...
**** for brains....
           why would a Pakistani ask me if
i believe in god in the presence of an arab?
captain Ahab over 'ere is
building... what exactly in the desert?
luvvy-dubby-bye-bye...

            and it's not i conjured up the term
camel jockey...
it took a Bangladeshi ripping into an
Egyptian to come up with that...
the Egyptian replied with:
bush-monkey at the Bangladeshi...
        and this was in a high-school
where the majority where Irish Catholic...

there was a time when...
there was the proper grammar police...
and when people had faces...
there was a physiognomy...
you could even lip-read people on the tube...
this one instance with a nurse:
i just told her... apologies if i'm not looking
into your eyes all the time...
i'm lip-reading...

  hell... before the pronoun debacle -
you could abstract someone...
you could have a whole range of...
rancid chilly... turmeric...
saffron... cinnamon... chocolate...
               oak bark...
         piggy: albino sheen...
                         pink-froth...
           rabid mongol mongrel...
Caucasian...          flattened occipital bone Turk!

if we can't understand ourselves as
different... by "divine instruction"...
                     n'ah... i'm not going to undermine
the freedom this language affords me!
Cedric McClester Sep 2019
By: Cedric McClester

Like that Batman character
He’s the Joker
But it’s clear to one and all
He’s no Al Roker
As a weatherman
He’s less than mediocre
And he’s no prognosticator
Of who'll get a soaker

He warned the folks
Who live in Alabama
That Hurricane Dorian
Would no doubt slam her
And he didn’t even
Say it with a stammer
Which caused meteorologista
Everywhere to clamor

The man’s lacking in curiosity
And doesn’t study
Reports that he should see
Like Marvin Gaye, all I can say
Is, “Mercy mercy me.”
He’s the leader of our nation
But, how could that be?
When he’s on vacation permanently

Lying is like
Breathing to him
See he prevaricates
On a mere whim
And the chances that he’ll change
Are none to slim
Because his prognosis has gone
From bad to grim


















Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2019.  All rights reserved.
Listen huge Johnny fish mission, I'm hooked on hooking you 'cause
I am a fish ****** by attrition who begs justice of Jesus for His Sin
Our normalized poker glands deal to us manually-dealt poker hands
soaked like clean, noduled midgets under kitty-littered soaker sands
that bubble old gin that's gingered to queer what Al Roker demands
as I tearily care not where the lard *** of the wife of Al Roker lands
This is for the real street givers dime hustlers and gun shiverers
See the rhymes I deliverer cold steeler ball game Anthony Peeler
Salt to a weak Casear Brutus death pleaser mister soaker squeezer
Caskets is loving only a few could recognize the Houdini shew
See that birds that flew over a coco nest I manifest like a game of chess
Ponds is front line crooks is rook and I'm the king behind
No check mate only from the rhymes I created divine mind
Queens sitting as my beautiful feline still sipping off of ballotine
Feeling genuine so anxious like when my guns bust cold crush
Scenes of a family members dream crashed in on your dreams
Bomb baby itches for loot like its scabies no if and or maybes
Its crazy schemes to be plotting mind rotting gangsta theme
Same of mean streets gold teeth packed more heat than sweets
Twisted off the metal cannabis mental a pretzel forming ******
Be on the bolo sacrifice everyday for the inferno yo hells above below


Tactics of a hyena funky coldmedina yo tell me have you seen her
Beat misdemeanors like Sylvester schemer far from a dreamer
Black as coffee no creamer freak chicks that ain't screamers
I'm thinking of spreadin those wings of a dove see the peace above
The clouds of the golden gate awaits lust at the third pate
It's never to late to annihilate strategize love off of hate
Too many folks can relate to the sneaks of a jake I gotta make
Moves screech ya eardrums like needles to the groove move
To the beats soaked up ya seat im too hot to trot skills iron plots
Leaking like opening shots miss the body rott 3 hots and a cot
Everyday it's like a prison day only diff is I get pave my own way
Tried to see Franklin's brighter days but down the line I see AKs
Still rep for the seven signs, so haters make way, or else face the gun line,
End your sunshine, watch darkness, carry out deaths spine, sitting divine,
High and mighty with the moonshine, looking at the moon shine,
Feel me going off the timeline, flashback to the days when I had a woody bat,
Crack these fake cats, imagine that, me chilling wack, but the gods is black,
Ac dc charge and all that, timeless essence when I bless the tracks stats,
Climbing higher than ya desire, miss the flames of the eternal fire,
Satan's must the messiah, cuz jesus always tapping the wire, Angel's in filthy faces,
Skipped the cases, once I plant the different money races, new face lifts,
Off like Castroy to Travolta, pumps jam to a super soaker, eating fried okra,
Yo it's over, waxing the deepest terrains on your membrane, kin to Caine,
Hung with Castro, cigar blowing in circles, knowledge bans of purple,
Check the electro disco, kid breaking down all these new gigs, split wigs,
Like digs from oil rigs, let my girl puff her e'cig, see the whole world rigged,
But took the steps to miss the bids, stabbed the illuminatis eyelids,
See the secrets, been revealed will I see heaven or hell, miss the carousel,
Traveling tryna make bail, my thoughts failed, tryna carry out the mail,
Folks too busy tryna sail, onto the ocean of a false notion, as I'm coasting,
Only to the real, so I hope yall feel, these words you'll eat like ya last meal,
Supper thirteenth hustler, scope the Judas's this is ludicrous, analyze this,
Tik tockers walking, gangsta stalking mad cuz I took the kings steps of Walken,
Christopher set trends, smoke out myBenz, no lends see hearts of evil, collapsing,
Chris Chaffin Jan 2021
I am acutely aware of my Adam’s apple,
its bobbing motion mirroring
that of my chest and stomach as I gasp for air,
submerged in the hot waters of the soaker tub.

I lean forward to turn the heat higher
and I can’t help but notice how old I’ve become.
My tough hands have become soft gloves,
my strong legs are weak little pins,
and my back is eager to loose its burden.

I see every discoloration, every errant spot,
every crooked joint, every scar or remnant of pain.
I lean back, sink further into the water,
hoping the mist will thicken even more
and hide my eyes from my own body.
TREASUREI Sep 2
Lil babe be pulling a Uber my super soaker wanna get it right now.
But everytime i touch city you acting greedy like come give me thousand.
Like Jiggy you wouldn't be litty if i didn't make ***** wanna be Bowser!

I just wanna watch chowder
Why acting so childish?

Cause you never been up  C.v. when all ******
Wanna change up the router.
You love me then tell me it's nothing I m acting funny càuse im holding my power.
You think that I talk to my ex, for good *** man that ***** a coward?
#lovepoem

— The End —