"weaklings" poems - Hello Poetry

<> The Instigation: Edmund Black, commenting on “weary weighted,” I agree with Kim; This is poetry at its best :)“ <•> *both of you shush! there is no “better” in poetry mine yours theirs, alive or not, just gasps tears and blood whimsical smiles and isles cuts and burns of pained revelations, hidden in fog, that words try to delete away, through the shrouded mists of human tissues, unconstrained by the bounded shape of the human cell, our first, our own self-imposed jail tissue, too, baby soft, or, purple beating majestic bruised blotches by those weaklings whose kindness never fully developed; or old man mine whose skin cells erodes, so poems and light weary weighted, lightly flake off for your “betterment” mostly tho for worse good humans all await, in patientce lightly hidden, residents of dark sunspots in the glaring existence exposer of the unlit lighthouse whose time will come they get it how we get there unimportant get there GET THERE get there that is the poetic mission critical no path best or style preferred- no compare just, but, any path that lifts and elevates, to the commonplace* the common place *where all costarred, universal, where common is the temple mount of highest praise, holy smoke rising, a place that that discloses and closes, is scribed/described honestly as a connective, which is the simplest successive call my poems, blessedly common! that an honorable, so gladly accepted and so much more meaning-full than merely best or better* for that, I’d gladly weep, for no praise ever been bettered 8/2/18 406pm on the jitney to my isle

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Aug 2, 2018

Aug 2, 2018 at 4:15 PM UTC

nat-lipstadt

the common place... (for Kim Johanna Baker & Edmund Black)

<> The Instigation: Edmund Black, commenting on “weary weighted,” I agree with Kim; This is poetry at its best :)“ <•> *both of you shush! there is no “better” in poetry mine yours theirs, alive or not, just gasps tears and blood whimsical smiles and isles cuts and burns of pained revelations, hidden in fog, that words try to delete away, through the shrouded mists of human tissues, unconstrained by the bounded shape of the human cell, our first, our own self-imposed jail tissue, too, baby soft, or, purple beating majestic bruised blotches by those weaklings whose kindness never fully developed; or old man mine whose skin cells erodes, so poems and light weary weighted, lightly flake off for your “betterment” mostly tho for worse good humans all await, in patientce lightly hidden, residents of dark sunspots in the glaring existence exposer of the unlit lighthouse whose time will come they get it how we get there unimportant get there GET THERE get there that is the poetic mission critical no path best or style preferred- no compare just, but, any path that lifts and elevates, to the commonplace* the common place *where all costarred, universal, where common is the temple mount of highest praise, holy smoke rising, a place that that discloses and closes, is scribed/described honestly as a connective, which is the simplest successive call my poems, blessedly common! that an honorable, so gladly accepted and so much more meaning-full than merely best or better* for that, I’d gladly weep, for no praise ever been bettered 8/2/18 406pm on the jitney to my isle