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 Oct 2016
Nat Lipstadt
circumscribed circumstances circumspect  

~


these then
the circumstances,
that circumscribe
my essentials

the surround-sound orb walls of choices
made and yet-to-be-made delimiting me,
making me wary of the unforeseen,
more circumspect of what I will someday have chosen

recall standing on the now crushed,
destroyed subway platform of the
Cortlandt Street Station,
debating

take this job or that

took the one but a crow mile fly away
(and not the one that didn't survive)

come that day,
me, audience observer then,, not one of the
death undefying unwilling circus performers, and heroes,

when I pass the covered up burial sight,
the many nearby and  forever crinkly crape draped firehouses,
or open the drawer where
I have
saved the tidbits of that
particular day's memories walk home,

a covenant reaffirmed,
a circumcision of the soul renewed

a circumcision upon the soul,
the renewed cut, sheds, allows some light
into the circularity of life



9/11/16
true story...
The Angels
blow their breath
into her ink,

Each one of her words
are a reflection
of her pure soul;
a direct link.

By Lady R.F ©2016
 Oct 2016
Ann Beaver
Everything blue. Invisible.

Crashing, collapsing  
Gold swept away


The back again to stay the winter

Weathering stone to sand

Hand-in-hand to spring

*Soaking everything in gold
In blue
Graffed at the Dali museum in Monterey. Italics is my boo Dragon Lily
 Oct 2016
betterdays
ignite the flames of memory
amazing in their strength
and synchronicity

cavorting with fibonacci numbers,
expanding exponentially

dust motes spinning crazily
life
exploding,
destabilizing,
imploding
without a 
 whimper
or a
warcry

these are the high days of spring
verdent and fecund
glances fervid and askance
lead to ***
under the still warming sun
 Oct 2016
wordvango
of picking cotton almost
or fruit from trees
you ***** a finger
bruise a knee
the children now
so brought up
without need
think a lack
of wireless is the end of the world
but
I see young men
strong going to war for our country
like my generation
and those before me did
so I hold out hope
that not all this new
generation is blind
and all about greed
some
are
truly like my and mine before
see
beyond this horizon
 Oct 2016
Fay Slimm
Poets Like Me..

Suspended at portals of rigid
and well-defined
thought reclines most whimsy,
which poets like me
welcome and use to un-stick
rusted up vision.
Freeing the mind we care not
where reality ends.
Wonder notices even the tiny
and gasps at gross,
the newly dry gossamer wing
seen as fillagreed
diamonds with eyesight, night
versed with ghostly
metaphor, the tides as emotion.
Humanized nature
allures the inventive in scribes
bent on perception
where real meets make-believe.
Awe, understood
as a lever appeals to romantics
like me addicted
to all ethereal's seducing fancy.
Idealized love
presents realms of impassioned
expression, themes,
versing spirit personified holds
complusion, creative
vision awakens to other worlds
where, finally winning
utopia becomes no mere illusion.
What feels real merges
and mixes with linguistic flights
of beguiling imagery.
Life through the eyes of all poets
like me changes
at will from the galling mundane
to that which excites
inspiration for evocative writing.
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