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Nat Lipstadt Jan 2017
Yom Kippur this year was celebrated on Oct. 12th 2016.
Leonard Cohen passed away on November 7, 2016.


~~~

faint knocking at the door to the Tower of Song

the ministering angels, hearing a rhythmic, lyrical rapping,
sigh, thinking the atonement day,
the holiday/holy days, are supposedly over,
the human balancing act, the rush to judgement period,
all tallies totaled, the busy sale season for souls,
at last completed, each fate inscribed & sealed,
in the book of life^

but, always one,
the itinerant straggler, the last reluctant sinner, a judgment resister,
flaunting an expired coupon, trumpeting demands for a recount,
waving it, claiming it, the bearer, entitled to a mercy discount and
an extra 30 days

"who shall we say is calling?"

the Angels are stunned to hear,
a familiar raspy, growling, almost indescribable,
yet, stammeringly, beautiful voice enchanting,
equally asking and answering,  how both,
with a strident humility, "a man in search of answers"

this voice, instantaneous recognizable,
the asking superfluous,
all beating wings now, all in vast excitement,
this psalmist, long awaited, one of His best,
a chosen one, a courtly singer in the Temple of his people,
blessed with the curse of seeing and believing,
the comprehension of beauty of the human superior interior,
never being quiet or quite satisfied,
in capturing, its multifarious variations,
in every language spoken

this is the man who took ten years
to compose just
one song,
one poem,
one word,
Hallelujah,
whose faith was strong,
but still needed proofs,
whose every breath of oxygen inhalation,
brought more questions,
every exhalation, only releasing partial answers,
and yet, still, yes, yes! finding hidden verses inside

a simple, everlasting
hallelujah

the hubbub subsides, the man sings~speaks:
how came I here,
was I one, who by fire?
that fire afeared,  that my finality was spirit consumer?

one voice, answers,
in one voice, the swaying back-up singers answer,
not by fire, not by water, not by stoning or
even drowning
in tea that came from all the way from China

when sing we Angels, the Judgement Day poem,
we alone, on high and above,
we, keepers of the books and records of everyone,
are permitted this to query:

Who by Sufficiency?

you, the sidekick of the creator,
special commissioned by him, anointed to live a life of research,
record in word and song the mysteries of musical gene strings,
that intertwine the skin cells of man and woman,
man and his fellow us-human,
your soul commandeered, ordered, delve deeper,
into the consolable chasm tween divine and mortals,
all those who are poorly constructed
in his image

he, who has earned his place, his best rest,
his works adjudged sufficient,
he, who best answered
this judging,
this calling out,
calling in
incantation,

Who by Sufficiency?

now forward on, write only of answers,
wade in the troubled waters no more,
no more passports, or borders to cross,
no more measuring the days,
the last road trip finale
finished & feted,
fate meted

no more changing thy name, changeling priest,^^
sing songs of solution, salvation,
for the questioning hours of confusion,
the urgency of revolution,
no longer need a hallelujah resolution


                                                    ­| | |
Who By Fire                             Who By Fire, Who By Water:^
(lyrics by Leonard Cohen)     (A Yom Kippur Hebrew Prayer)

who by fire                             How many shall die and      

who by water,                                how many shall born,
Who in the sunshine,                 Who shall live      
who in the night time,                   who shall die,                      
Who by high                                Who at the measure of days,
who by common trial,                    and who before,
Who in your merry                            
                                                          Who by fire
month of May,                                 and who by water
Who by very                                 Who by sword,
slow decay,                                       and who by wild beasts,
And who shall I                      Who by hunger,
say is calling?                              and who by thirst,

And who in her,                           Who by earthquake
lonely slip,                                         and who by plague
who by barbiturate,                      Who by strangling,
Who in these                                    and who by stoning
realms of love,                               Who shall have rest,

who by,                                             and who shall go wandering,
something blunt,                            Who will be tranquil,
And who by avalanche,                  and who shall be harassed,
who by powder,                            Who shall be at ease,
Who for his greed,                           and who shall be afflicted,
who for his hunger,                      Who shall become rich,
And who shall I,                             and who shall become poor,
say is calling?                                Who will be raised high,
                                                         ­     and who will be brought low
And who by brave assent,                  
who by accident,
Who in solitude,
who in this mirror,
Who by,
his lady's command,
who by his own hand,
Who in mortal chains,
who in power,
And who shall I,
say is calling?




^From the liturgy of Rosh Hasanah, the Jewish New Year and Yom Kippur, the  Day of Atonement, there is this truly stunning prayer (https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Unetanneh_Tokef) in the Jewish liturgy. The Book of Life contents the fate of every sinner. From the first day of the new year, until ten days later, on Yom Kippur, depending on whether the sinner repents or not, his fate is sealed.
Yom Kippur this year was celebrated on Oct. 12th 2016.

Leonard Cohen passed away on November 7, 2016.

^^"A Kohens ancestors were priests in the Temple of Jerusalem. A single such priest was known as a Kohen, and the hereditary caste descending from these priests is collectively known as the Kohanim.[2] As multiple languages were acquired through the Jewish diaspora, the surname acquired many variations." Today, with no temple, the limited role of the Kohanim is to bless the Jewish people on the high holy days with a  special prayer with abeloved tune,  instantly evocative (see wikipedia.org/wiki/Priestly_Blessing) The Kohanim are still revered, honored, and always called up first to the Sabbath reading of the weekly portion of the Old Testament

A thank you to Bex for proofing and encouragement.
Part I of a trilogy
For a  more detailed analysis of the roots of the song, "Who By Fire," and its origins, see:
_____________________________________________
http://www.leonardcohen-prologues.com/who_by_fire.htm

He worked on the song Hallelujah, arguably his most famous composition, for ten years.
xcvii Jan 2016
One Saturday night I found myself stuck to the dance floor at Brick Street Bar and not a moment later I'm stuck to you-
And of all the girls in all the clubs I think we were the only two laughing genuinely.

Four dates later I stripped you down to nothing but nail polish,
And god we ****** for two hours
On a cheaply made bed whose frame was never built for such passions.
You fell for me over and over, and I for you-
There was a sense of urgency in your face every time,
Something your hot Latina blood gave away entirely.

Now I walk you home in thirty degree weather and cling to you so you stay warm
You wear the bracelet I got you for your birthday
And we lay asleep under the red blanket you bought because you know that's my favorite color.

This is how we went from two strangers pressing smiles together in a bar,
to passionate first lovers,
to something so comfortable and right.
TMB. I can't wait to evolve with you.
Lily Peacock Jan 2017
It could be the comprehensive blow
of short sharp needles to my torso,
or the merciless ache
of looking at a sunflower with one eye shut,
or the unrelenting urgency to walk
the map of another.
but,
there are spaces,
where leaves use to be,
and now afternoon air moves between,
and there are dusty birds,
who flutter to the sound of the rain.
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say?
‘A posteriori’ leads the way
For the extra and the ordinary
Axiomatic sway,
In the gravity of corollary,
‘A priori’ interplay
Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation,
As the innocence of dissonance delay.
Practicing semantic contemplation,
In willfully prevenient interpolation,
Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray,
Forecasts in vague extrapolation
Contrasts the millennial contagion
Already underway,
Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves,
To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves,
A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves,
Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves,
Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves,
A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves.
The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates,
An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states,
Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates.
Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates,
Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates,
Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates.
An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion,
Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion,
The personable recluse fighting an illusion
Breaking down the nuances of every institution.
Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity
Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility,
An opinionated adversary,
to the realist without evidence,
Theorizing in futility,
Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community.
Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified,
Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified,
Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide,
Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide,
Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified.
Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity,
As consequential regiments are expounded universally,
To unstratify the residents indiscriminately
And identify quantum elements spiritualistically,
Changing collective behavior individually,
Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
This is an edited, expanded, expounded, confounded, reverberation of Linguistic Illusions to Probable Solutions written months back.
laura Sep 2018
sometimes i think about you
other times you worm yourself
back inside my dreams like a solicitor
strain to hear your voice

i'm striking attitudes with you as the sun sets
of course, young and stupid
can't really hide my emotions
at all when i'm around you

we're always together where
i last spoke to you before; at that **** park
i don't go to anymore because memories hurt
since you killed yourself, aren't we always depressed

speak to me your secrets and the signs
i've always failed to see
give me all your wisdoms
and the sense of urgency in your voice
before i wake up broken from the dreams
stuff that melts my heart into wax
voice to a whimper
bones like water
body empty
and thoughts missing you
but running forever
Alex McQuate May 2018
Great tragedy suffered,
Impossible circumstances conquered,
The warrior walks upon the field flanked path.

The wanderer's armor tells a tale,
Battle scarred and partially rent asunder,
A face of stoicism that hides the haggardness underneath,
Peeking out beneath the mask of a hardened soldier.

The clouds clap ahead, preceded by flashes of light brightly illuminating the world,
Accompanied shortly after by the rainfall.

A trickle becomes a downpour,
The battered individual trudging along as the road becomes a bog of mud and slop,
The message firmly planted within their mind.

Coming upon the dark outline of the castle ahead the warrior picks up pace,
Reflecting upon what would happen to those that the Warrior helped.

The pace is now fueled by a different kind of urgency.

The rain is cold upon the faces of those that it falls on,
The torn edges of metal digging in at places,
Some already wounded and tender,
As the final hilltop between them is crested.

The gates are closed,
And this loyal soldier is for the moment shut out,
A fist is raised,
The declaration of allegience given,
An angry detailing of the warriors achievements and adventures shouted,
And a challenge of one's path,
Building in anger and fury as the dam finally breaks and gushes forth,
Threatening to shatter the gate and doors to splinters and twisted metal.

A long ago promised gift to be rewarded,
For all the things endured,
Things that could be considered so cruel,
The storm picks up in force until it's akin to that of a hurricane,
As if brought forth by the warrior's grief and pain finally being released,
For the first and only time.

These things ringing out dispite the storms roaring wind,
Gathering force,
Perhaps in affirmation of the warriors words.

After a pause the gate begins to lift,
It's metal screeching,
The doors groaning as they begin to swing outward, and the embattered soldier is bathed in light,
Taking the weight from the warrior's shoulders,
As the threshold is finally crossed.
don’t leave me!
(the leaving is in the writing)

she whispers in his ear,
after they’ve climbed into bed,
their tiring bodies both embraced,
soft sunken into, by, a familiar mattress,
after a sophisticates city night out seeing stars,
stars, human and astral,
city lights dusk heightened the vocal sparking,
singers singing songs of love from
radio days long ago

don’t leave me

she intones, a prayerful demand,
equally a command and a begging behest,
puzzling what prompted this pressed request,
spoken with urgency born in her breast

don’t leave me
drifting off and into his thin place,
but tugged back by this cri du coeur,
unsponsored and unwarranted,
nothing recalled that justly provoked,
a statement topping of anguish and fear

don’t leave me
he repeats in a rising questioning inflecting
puzzling riddling unbefitting a mellow-toning sleepy ingredient,
whatever do you mean, I leave you only
to dream, to purify, refresh and deep rest reset,
and return come morning with new poems,
what angst comes to stir this asking,
delaying my adventure to nightly restoration?

don’t leave me
repeated and repeated, dressed in urgency,
for I see the little things,
the wavering walk, the slowing of the thinking,
the walls, black n’ blue, whining about your into bumping,
the instant eagerness with which your body accepts
your voyage to dream places where
one goes and gone and must go unaccompanied,
some who are chosen and some who choose, not to return

don’t leave me
for the signs are ample, a certain weariness
dresses your face and crowns thy graying mane,
the slight labored breathing from steps once
bounded and leapt, the seeing and the hearing,
each slightly weakening, two orchestral instruments,
together off key and lessened in their triumphal vigor,
these words of mine, a royal guard,
keep them in your dreams

don’t leave me
minor missteps in the elongated negated of dying gracefully,
my tuning forks are sensitized,
and any slowing motion
both visible and hearable, and filed under inevitable

I will not leave you tonight,
my body warming as per usual,
your cold feet intruders indicate it’s you have left
for your own nightly visitors, occasional terrors,
you’ve woken me from my allotted sleep hours,
many poems now retrieving and in need of scribing,
while the fingertip digit flys across the digital keyboard,

I am more alive than I have ever been;
the leaving is in the writing,
each poem a steppingstone,

but the poems come fast and furious,
sometimes two at a time, the muses are bemused,
the prognosis is for thousands more and warn:

do not wear out your olive oil anointed forefinger,
the lubricated pointer of the way, wherein is contained

through that index
finger,
your body of works in the
“yet to arrive, yet untaxed filling station,”,
must be seen to fruition,
for it is only then that,
only love poetry
is ready for long lasting
eternal realization





5:36am 12th April, two thousand nineteen
Josh Nov 2017
Neatly coating the floor in thin white trails, woven into floorboards like cotton twine, sunbeams snake their way across hardwood.

Books scream to be read & my yellowed pages ache to detail my experience as a widowed reader of time.

Magazines pile, while my simple hands grow a day older.

Heat on my neck.

The driver of time exhales grandiose,
tells me to travel while I'm young,
visit regions on this globe that grow green with age,
listen to honest trumpets before I gray,
wade in pools of clear urgency.

He said:

"Find a walking stick out beyond the ether
laugh with veracity, poking fun at Saturn & the Stars."
What will the future hold? Only Time will tell.
The uniVerse Jun 25
I heard a bird
it chirped
with glee
my phone it burped
with urgency
I looked outside
and then to screen
another message
from you to me.
A poem about our relationship with nature and technology.
https://www.instagram.com/p/B0ZONOHnkjR
Tip Your hat
And curtsy low
The masses so mandate absolute guile
A handshake, a smile, a proper and refined bow!
To adorn thy head and semble wit
And do your best!
Take pride with etiquette
If not informed
Ye won't last a mile
And differentiation between animals distinguishes you,
Resplendent child
Wash your hair and underclothes with soap
Lest ye resemble sow
And goodness dear
Have I forgotten now?
Always remember to smile!
So I'll take your Winter clothes with zest
I'll scramble on point
No unruly mess
Oh, did i forget your coat?
No, I've got it, relax, care for a smoke?
My apologies, please forgive my latency
It must be warm in here for my blood
In fact...
Boiling over kettle within
Prevent me from committing sin
I do wish to vent
Pick up this pen
And release red wells from his dainty, fragile neck
Or...
The underbelly. It's beknownst to me entrails are thick
Now whatever shall I do with this fresh clutter?
I'll act for free, so cordially!
With my chivalrous lines
But can you, my friend, respond in kind?
After all, it's only common courtesy
It's over now, my fantasy
It dissipates with urgency
And this is my confession
Yes
Imbibed in me from every grueling, tedious lesson
An implication of uniformity
The daydreams borne from the perfunctory
This is for anyone who has ever worked in the retail industry. As politely as you can possibly express it.
patty m Aug 2015
Emitting deep sighs old things fall apart

around me.

The roof leaks

leaving in pin ****** of light,

reminding me of the overgrowth

encroaching.  

Rickety table

slanting against the weight of my books

even the lamp seems to dim

against tired eyes.

.  

Love can be tiring,

a mountain of work;  

pleasing everyone usually means

you've given in

or had to bite the bullet.

Perhaps one day I'll be relegated to a museum,

titled the mindset of a previous generation.

I remember seeing the Neanderthals and shaking my head.

Is that how they'll see ME?

Words, how they stir me

a lost art,

buckling the flooring

only to be sanded away along with my emotions..  

Years of complacency

have softened my resolve,

now as I condense my belongings to fit inside

a shared house

I see photos of people no one after me will know or love

and my tiny self posing dynamically, hands on hip

the future sparkling in my eyes

before life smacked me down.

Now heavy rains seep into the living room

leaving me perched on circumstances

with an urgency stirring within,

the need to write.
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2018
a television interview, Oct. 2018  with Sir Paul McCartney

~for all of us, forever~


<•>

**** you Paul, old man
you trying to make us all look bad?
guess you’re just another
‘miner for a thousand years’
or more,
cause we haven’t seen a reason why the vein should run dry,
for the stolid earth resupplies endless old metal and the liquid veins
supply the need, the urgency of a warm gun of composition,
a drug nonpareil

and the things that provoke,
still provoke once more and again,
love and need, even memories,
petri dish cell regrown,
breathing atmospheric nutrients in the hotheaded hothouse air
of the human farm

‘tis why I paean you at 4:25am understanding full well,
better than most, for once I wrote,
it’s always the next one, that will be,
the flawless poem,
that will permit the laying down of the pen, the guitar

but even flawless is not
“good enough yet”
for all of us, forever


for “yet,”
even more than forever,

is the most unlimited word we share

~

5:02am 10/17/18
Franchesca Oct 2017
But I know what you're going through.
I know that it hurts.
I know that the pain is breathtakingly exhausting.
I know.
I know that your lungs give out everytime you scream their name, internally.
The shades of sadness you wear are now thicker than the blood your heart would bleed out everytime the image of the future with them was at an edge.
I know that everytime you look up from the grey gravel you drag yourself upon, a strike is ran within your nerves because you can no longer love with your eyes anymore.
I know that although you weren't the one that brought it all to shambles, you hopelessly imagine that they will open up the curtains within them that restrained them of the love you had to offer.
I know.
I know that breathing around them after it has ended is the most dramatic difference because for so long, the love you both shared was formed in the most  synchronized pattern.
It was all you knew.
I know it gets better from this point on,
But I also know that the urgency to chase after them is still pulsating within you.
Right now, it is all darkness, but you have yet to encounter the light.
I know.
Soon you will too.
Tom Spencer Jun 14
because I looked
I saw the hummingbird return

to the same bare branch
on-top of the sunlit tree

and noted its zealous
round trips to the feeder

on the porch
and because I listened

to the katydids calling
only half understanding

their urgency
but certain of it

this otherwise quiet evening
signifying nothing in particular

reminds me of everything
in particular


Tom Spencer © 2019
Kenya83 Mar 24
I went searching for the moon
With urgency to tell
Stars looked so deep in to my eyes
That it filled me with uncertainty
I rushed barefooted to the back
And then the front
I couldn’t bare
To never see the moon again
Tommy Randell Sep 2017
Leave me
On the ice when I can write no more
When the fast flow of my poetry
Slows to an inutility of words

Leave me
In the darkness when my rhymes hang dangling
As a lifetime of dreaming
Fritters out to rambling

Leave me
Homeless in the hedgerows in some final isolation
When the urgency of rhyming
Has reached its abnegation

Leave me
To the long night of empty pages
Staring back at me finally
While the Silence in me rages

Leave me
For my own good I do not want sympathy
When it's stopped I will know it's stopped
The Heart of all I've ever been
ChildofGodyay Oct 2018
Letter to the devil, and the pains of this world.

Dear devil,

How you doin with the fact you have already lost?
How you doin with the urgency of Jesus' second coming soon?

Just to remind you, you already lost, and, do I have to remind your suffering in the fiery lake of fire and sulphur...forever? Ye...I don't think so.

Depression, stop hanging on to them, stop hanging on to me! Stop pestering the children of God, and just stop blinding them of the light of the Joy of Christ. Stop it! You somewhat comforting and soothing feeling, yet is the sharp sword that really kills...

Anxiety, stop making me stop in my tracks and feel like a failure, stop making me stop in my tracks on doing God's will and plan for my life. Stop dragging me down.

For the pains and diseases in the world, you would never stop them from being loved by God. Never ever.

Final note: God rules, God wins, God is in control, God is the Most high, Most pwerful, All mighty, Holy Holy Holy, the Holy one, worthy of all praise and glory and whole-hearted sincere love and trust and obedience. You are not, devil.

Sincerely and truthfully,
The one you tried to hurt and pull down.
Ye, back off devil, God already won.
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