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Nat Lipstadt May 2019
the spring mantra arrives with distinctive citified sparkles

a family of ducklings splash, mimicking young children,
shaking, spraying, squeaking, babies bath bathing,
jumping in and out of a fountain pool
of a tall-storied Manhattan apartment building,
the mother-leader attends them well for she recalls
the untimely end of the babies of last year,
lost to wanderlust on York Avenue,
cars and taxis as instruments of mass murdering,
but new spring is the season of new birth

the Cercis Siliquastrum tree trunk (!) oddly sprouts
unusual pink flowers
well before it’s branches grow up into a fully blossoming tree,
a signed spring time ritual, but since it is a/k/a, the Judas Tree,
we wonder if spring hints of Cerci Lannister’s fate betrayed,
in this, her final May dance, oh, which Judas brother/lover
will bring us a winter fin finale

the temperature control dial busted, the variability too wide,
the youngers are skipping the interregnum season,
going direct to elect shorts and T-shirt, while those who no longer bloom in the semi-warm, recall the wet chill of past evenings,
voting to dress defensively, wearing their aging skepticism
aware that all changes are exact crossing line-defined, wrapped in
medium weight coats, concealing embarrassing gloves in pocket,
decorative silk scarfs for non-decorative purposed,
all betting the under/over the spring is here all-in not yet sighted

the streets are busy, the momentary pleasantries
of warm sky and sun push the apartment dwellers out,
a magnetic force pulls us to the outside to exhale, in order to inhale,
guises manufactured excuses appear, a loaf of bread, a latte necessity,
the children desert happily their wintery confinement,
by pushing their own carriages, containing in their stead,
their lilting accented nannies, excited by their version of spring break

Me? toy shopping for this month brings rashers of birthdays,
more May galorey, singing come Dancer and Prancer, Ian and Isabel, Alex and not-a-baby anymore Wendy, and because the weather so pleasant, cautions ignored, the credit card swiped repeatedly, frequently and joyously, xmas reimagined, another May time ritual, rooted in the September month of *******, of staying warm, staving off winter *******, and winter planting for spring harvesting

children score grand-multiplicities for god made in his place
grand parental substitutes, each with two hands each equal,
so both must be filled with maypole ribbon, brightly colored
toy bags, presents wrapped in paper unicorns and all manner of
sporting *****, as we turn 2 and 6, 7 and who ate 8?

all that my eyes did see when we surfed strolled the streets,
vignettes fell like the spring rains, they, now, from daytime banished,
to after-midnight to do their breast feeding of tulips and weeds,
letting little children grow up snuggling in still over-heated rooms,
naked legs kicking off winter blankety snow remnants while dreaming of springing onwards and forward
into the party of life by inhaling nature’s

nature.
5-3-19  606pm
Nat Lipstadt Dec 2020
just before never...

my last performance,
the words came original
and easy, unlike all its
predecessors; someone
drew me a map of my
life and times, cities,
countries, and roads
well travelled and a few,
not too. Mountains, each with
a woman’s name, who carried
care, until she couldn’t, didn’t, and
time’s weathering returned us
individually into hillocks, and then
rain eroded us back into old soil.

the broad highways and back roads,
always snaking away, fork-forcing
directional choices, usually taking the
wrong way, the easy and safe one,
and how I have come to hate those
words: easy and safe, for they
are the pill combo that leaves you
for dead, dulling the questioning
one inquires of oneself, late, reluctantly.

But there is always the unexpected.

Today I saw a sunset on the Hudson
River with a humpback whale blowing,
running beside a river ferry, plowing the
waters back and forth tween two states.

Lived by this river for s e v e n t y years,
and have seen the whales in many places,
but here, in my city, in the river of my youth,
never.

and I got the sign, message received, there
are still sights and poems to behold, arms to
embrace, youngers to guide if they’ll permit it.

so this title, these two,
just before,
this day, poem, came to remind me, the
days map remains unfinished, there are lands
and voyages and poems still awaiting drawing,
and it is tomorrow, and just before tomorrow, that
recording insistent demands, and a map is just a
moment in time, until just before...never



5:28 AM Thu Dec 10
2020 (a year deserving
of its own line and ending)

Manhattan, between two rivers.
https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EovXVHyXcAAHXax?format=jpg&name=large
Emm Aug 2014
Your old body probably with a young soul
We're not so different you and me,
perhaps,
as I think I start to know how it feels,
clinging to the glory of the fountain of youth.
Yet what should be imparted wisdom doesn't come naturally,
it doesn't come certainly,
certainly doesn't come through your disapproving glances,
or through your continuous effort to invalidate the youngers.
Probably we're not so different you and me,
as I think I start to know the temptation,
the temptation of void self glorification,
a route I think created by the pestering need of self validation,
Yet I don't think I'd choose what you choose,
as much I would think I'm capable of,
I'd choose to learn,
rather than opposing the newborns
Palcion and Ratisbon stood amidst eachother forever-
the father of being and the bringer of non-being stood
And as they stood, time and her efforts in vain, they she could not weather
Palcion and Retisbon looked upon the first to move between them
named the consequence of being and unbeing- Abro, meaning passage
Abro could topple walls and reduce mountains, all while light as a feather

Abro was not the mother of peace, nor the maiden of chaos-
The former was Ritacene- daughter of Palcion, whom he named after his brother
The latter was Phalgacene, daughter of Retisbon, who named her after the other
Abro was the steed of Phalgacene, who pulled her chariots and made her spears fly
Abro was also the bull of Ritacene, who plowed her fields and grew her wheat
And when the sisters argued, Abro would sit between them and wait, and stare at the sky

Abro would count the faces of the sky, and found the sky to be beautiful
‘I am Chazan- servant of Palcion and Retisbon,'’ the sky said. ‘I carry the weight of them both”
‘I am Abro- the eldest of the goddesses Ritacene and Phalgacene’ she told him
‘You are such a strong and fair woman,’ Chazan said. ‘To keep your youngers from conflict’
‘I do no such thing’ said Abro. ‘They are twins, and as above, they are as two as they are one’
‘They, like their fathers, are two faces of one disk-’ she went on ‘and so conflict they do not risk’

‘And you Chazan?’ Abro asked him. ‘What of you, and why above all made but below makers?’
‘I am the throne of the creator of creators and destroyer of destroyers’ he said to Abro.
‘I conceal the made from their maker and the maker from what they’ve made’ he went on
‘I hide the destruction from their destroyer- I herald the light of being and death’s shade.’
‘I find you beautiful-’ said Abro. ‘What say you to be my groom? What say you I be your bride?’
And in that, the swords of Phalgacene glowed bright, and Ritacene’s crops began to die

Chazan’s hair began to grow short and loose, and the face of the sky burst into flames
The air began to heat and the sky’s blue began to lighten- Chazan’s skin became like glass
Abro saw Chazan- his skin pink, orange, green, and cerulean- his two eyes, the sun and moon
‘You lie to me, Abro-’ he said aloud. ‘How can you say I'm beautiful when this is what I am?’
‘Everchanging, ever new- I will shed a thousand skins, but you will still be you’ he told Abro.
‘How can you have a husband, whose faces change, and whose memory of you with it fades?’

And so, Abro stood, and faced the sky. Her legs began to grow tired, and so she went away.
Chazan, seeing this, fell into misery. The sky darkened and the the winds blew strong
The fields of Ritacene were reduced to lakes of mud, while rust grew on Phalgacen’s wheels
Chazan was in tears. His hair grew long and wispy and from them- water crashed into the earth
Then Abro returned, with the beast Malzaphaiatan- whom she borrowed from her sisters
Malzaphaiatan was a beast that plowed fields and pulled chariots and on it, Abro sat and waited

Abro’s sisters made more of these beasts, and soon their numbers would become the land
They’re backs fertile and their stampedes would causes quakes, but upon them Abro sat
Abro sat and waited for Chazan to calm down- and upon Malzaphaiatan she would wait
Chazan, upon seeing Abro, lightened and was delighted. “You have returned! I am elated!‘
He ran through the sky and to the ground at such speed, which created lighting and thunder
He ran to hold Abor and lay with her on Malzaphaiatan- and in their bliss was born Spring.

Chazan would soon change face again- and the air began to heat and the sky would lighten
The glow of Phalgacene’s metal and the drooping of Ritacene’s plants all heralded one thing-
“Abro’s lover was angry.” in his rage, he remembered Abro not, and so Abro stood and went.
She borrowed Zapharagaz from her sisters- a steed of of great speed- delicate and deadly
Zapharagaz carried Phalgacene’s navy, and fed the fields and water wheels of Ritacene
Abro drove Zapharagaz across the herds of Malzaphaiatan so that Chazan may drink

Across the backs of the herds, she carved waterways, canals, and cisterns with Zapharagaz
The tracks of Zapharagaz made rivers and from the places it rested, were oceans and lakes
Abro made a chalice from clouds and gave it to her lover Chazan to drink- and he was calmed
This face of Chazan knew Abro not- but found her beautiful. ‘Be my bride, oh Lady of Time!’
‘Be my bride and this entire kingdom of fire and light shall be as yours as it is mine!’
‘I shall be your bride, and you shall be my groom!’ and so they lay together and bore Summer

Chazan would not change face again, and his memory of Abro would persist, yet he was sad.
‘Abro, my love- Queen of the Sky as I am its King; does it not hurt when I forget you at times?’
‘Chazan, my love- King of the sky who made me its queen; I love you and all your faces.’
‘How could you? What if I forget you in those faces? What would become of us and of life?’
‘I will still love you’ she said. ‘And each of your faces, what face may come, will call me its wife’
And so in a gentle breeze and lingering warmth, Chazan used the sun and breeze on the land

He took the Clouds away, but stunted the heat of the sun. He dried the leaves of Ritacene-
He put the soldiers of Phalgacene to rest and told them to return to their wives and families
He blew across the sea and into land to create the first wind and waves, and so he began
And so with a gentle breeze and lingering warmth, the harvest began and produce came
Upon the backs of the herd- Chazan painted a golden portrait of Abro, and it was beautiful
And so in a gentle breeze and lingering warmth, the two lay once more and bore Autumn

As Abro awoke, she found her husband away from her embrace. Chazan was not away though.
Chazan could simply not be seen. Droplets of hard, cold water fell on Abro’s hands. They spelt:
‘Who are you? I am Chazan, king of the sky. Who are you, why are you here?’ said the snow.
‘I am Abro, Lady of Time, first daughter of the twin Kings of Creation and Destruction’ she said.
‘I am the eldest child of Palcion and Retisbon. I am the eldest to Ritacene- goddess of order’
‘And of Phalgacene- goddess of chaos.’ she boasted. ‘You are in the presence of the gods’

‘You were drunk, and in your stupor, took me to your bed.’ Abro wanted to know what he’d say.
‘Forgive me! I am king of the sky, but humble servant first to the Twin Kings- how do I repent? ’
‘You shall have to wed me! For we shall both be punished if the Twins find out!’ Abro told him.
Abro, despite her love for Chazan, wanted to be wed. And so, the king of the sky wed her.
Chazan froze the waters for them to walk on and donned the land white in snow- as did Abro
Ordained as husband and wife by the twin gods, Chazan and Abro were wed- and bore Winter.

The children of Chazan and Abro would be the essence of the seasons who played together-
Spring, the fastest and most beautiful of the siblings, ran ahead of her brothers and sisters-
Summer, the strongest but largest, ran behind Spring, but could not catch up to her however
Autumn came next and often called for Winter, and came to soothe Summer of his blisters
Winter- however, walked and did not run. He carried with him coal, which he marked with.
Soon, he would not run at all. He would sit and wait like Abro, and forget to run like Chazan

This is why the Spring is so well loved, yet feels as if it passes too fast and too quickly at times
And why Summer is so hot, yet most of the work must be done under its heat and weather
And why Autumn brings peace, and in its golden banquet bring good food, harvests, and wine
And why Winter and all its snow, darkness, coldness and blight seems to drag on forever
And yet in Winter, the only well that does not freeze over is the well that draws forth black ink
And so the myth of seasons finds its Author in the hands of the cold. Behold- the Song of Winter
the myth of the seasons, the story of the lady of time and the king of the sky, and the twin goddesses of order and chaos found the Epic of Ioleksa

this is the second part of the first analects of winter
Dark n Beautiful Sep 2018
Changes
As people we are always asking for changes;
Spiritual, politically or just spontaneously
During the election a number of folks asked
and some even vote for changes
We hate, we love, and we deplore acts of violence
then and now:  Now it haunts most people:
Some even would still consider shaking his hand:
Some got what their asked for, and some still undecided:

Let Us Not Become the Evil We Deplore.” By Amy Goodman

He never goes under the covers: he just love to be exposed
A ***** is a *****: in his eyes: He might asked to see the
Birth certificate, but not the death certificate:
but never the **** kit, the yearbook inputs or the
country clubs initial membership lists:
Birth for him meant still in control: death gone from one’s sight:

I was chatting to a friend one day, I said to him imagine
that everybody on this earth woke up one day
To find zillion of dollars in their procession:
What would that meant to others: the loss of the power:
Money is the leveler that runs the world
The bad things that we done in our youngers years
Will one day comes back to haunts us

The statutes of limitation is just the statue
Time will not be forgotten: Memories lingers
The pain, the shame of being in a humiliated situation
we are living in a divided country
Because, of so much greed and bigotry:

A change is coming: and it's coming soon
who run the worlds Girls!!!
Crissy Marx Sep 2014
The story is known throughout the world
a broken family
the misunderstood offspring
it takes pure chance to become a father or mother
but being a dad or mom is the
hardest work of all
the problem with the world
is that no one understands one another
no one knows how to help each other
that's why relationships can fade
and lives end quicker than expected
and the solution of the problem
doesn't lie in the adults
the children are the only ones who can
terminate the errors of our ways
because if those children
see the youngest of children
having similar dilemmas
then the olders should aid the youngers
if the youngers are saved
the whole world will be in good hands
Hoping to Inspire and promote hope
Àŧùl Feb 2014
Huge are the empty spaces between us
Distance 'tween the two of us is huge
As if we had been millennia distant
Unaware of each other's existence
I believe that we had had to meet
Long before all this life on earth
Beyond scope of space and time
Yes we will be meeting someday
Xenial rituals we both will follow
Waiting since several incarnations
Since eternity we have been waiting
Crescent of our relationship increases
Plying along the tough roads unfailingly
Equally perplexing are the difficulties
Heads furnished with thorny crowns
Fervently sustaining through them
Moving on the road less travelled
Gaining many milestones we go
Jarring like youngers all along
Kissing freakishly we make out
Night or day - we would not care
Ornamental things wouldn't count
Rarely felt is such love which we do
Quintessentially counting will be love
Trembling is that finger pointing at us
Venerable will be the age of our love
With all due respect love commands,
I dedicated this anthology to it,
On behalf of us both... :-)
My HP Poem #536
©Atul Kaushal
Nobody May 2021
I have always been the sweet charm and favorite of all people at home,
But, there always comes a but,
But I am "the girl" I must understand,
But I am "the eldest"  I must know,
But I am "the quietest" I must be smart,
But I am "the senior" I must set good example,
And in this series of But and examples I managed  to keep my dream and passion to myself in order to be perfect for my younger,
But I always sit and wonder
Am I really good?
Or am I teaching my youngers to be fake?
Am I really setting an good example?
Or am I setting an example of being what others except you to be?
What if I am the worst?
What if they found out that I am FAKE?
Will I'd be the perfect person then?
Phoney sulk of elders
Forced bath of lazy souls
New clothes placate elders
Wrath of cold spooks youngers
This definition of Makar Sankranti
I have learnt from some prankers
LylexRose Nov 2018
Burnt out...
I've lost count...
So burnt out...

Yeah...
For so long I've put that pen to page
I never did this to get paid
I mean after all I'm still on minimum wage
"From my window", "scribbles" and shakes
I try to keep myself right, to my kids I pray
That they're future won't be the same... as mine, morally strong but mentally afraid
Fake faces produce hate in my soul
Have we been here before, I feel so old
Out stayed my welcome, rich from the songs I never sold
Take back what I saw with that attitude just wished I'd done more
Maybe I could've been the son you wished for
Want to cry, need to vent, I just want to recall what I said
I will always love you mum but I know what's done is done
I know things could've have been better, should've started before I'd begun
Laying the bricks on this road I run... paused for a second to look how far I've come... turns out this road has turned to crumbs, my body goes numb just slump into **** in the corner of this slum and see how I've succumb to what I've become...
And just so you know! Without you I still feel alone...
Throw a stone in the ocean into an unknown zone with no complicated commotion
Disturb the family devotion, hit the curb, tried to pretend like didn't feel the hurt...

And now I'm all burnt out...


When the tears try drying, endless nights of crying
Lying alone without ******* pillow to bury my grief
Been afraid for so long try to believe it was hard for me
So keep my arm around your neck cos I could go far,  if you'll only see...

"Uh I just don't know anymore"...

Support a family who were left in the dark
Shadows swallow us, these youngers follow us
When feels like you've had enough, knowing you can't give up...
Because no way in hell am I backing down
Sitting down to brain storm and write it out
I know without a doubt I'm the Simon Cowell of writing fowl
"Play it loud" standing proud just to shout it out
Hatred floods the mind but right now there's been a drought
But how's many times have it said that now
All the ******* I spout, I've lost track now and can hardly keep count
I guess I'm almost done, I guess I'm almost out...
of touch my myself,  I'm always in doubt
As the streets lights fade its got me feeling like a burnout
My vocabularies limited, I'm crashing and it's imminent, wanna carry on but just don't know right now...
betterdays Mar 2020
Plenty of time to write,
now as the doors stay closed
at the knowledge factory
and we wave goodbye
to  common sense.
Plenty of time to write,
as we keep our youngers
home and teach them
distance education
the art of befriending
from a socially
acceptable distance.
Plenty if time to write,
small shopping lists,
so one can dart
in and out of local shops
Plenty of time on our hands
as we realize that our house
may not be as large as we thought
Plenty of time to think
the thoughts we probably
should not think..but do
Plenty of information shared
but how much of social pages
armchair experting is truth .
Most importantly plenty of love
and hope and joy to be found
hidden amongst the angst.
Plenty of time to write
of this, to spread the love
and not the fear..
Plenty of time..
We are safe and cosy for the present...in sort of lock down, working from home
Hope you all have safety net too
My hairs are grey
This is aging effect
I keep them black
by regular dyeing
This keeps me in
a perfect fray
This also spares me
of seniors respect
But earns me
youngers status
And brings me
in working mode
But It gives me feeling
of reality exodus

— The End —