A poet's pen
Drips ink, pools
Of blue
Stained shirt sleeves
A pale nose, bridge pinched
Once or twice, too hard
A dash of color
On the very tip
Where the writer fell asleep
For the first time
In a long time
His eyes would not weep
But his pen
Would do that
For him

My Tango Master

His hair was deep, rich,
the black of unweathered basalt,
slick backed, like his look,
an arrogant dare to stare,
eyes directed at newcomers,
intended to make me,
a novice especially aware,
a bon voyage has begun,
now a worshiper, full of faults,
warning that I sought entry
to a temple where admission was a
sworn affidavit promising
total sacrifice of body

The flat contours of his body
disguised a airy litheness that  
embraced and made me giddy,
pliant to his methodology,
mastering my psychology,  
making the whole of my body breathe,
as if for the first time  

No questions asked or allowed,
he bent me, taught me supple,
the surety of the pleasure of
following a leader unreservedly,
my body straight from within,
but the exterior,
a symmetry of curves,
I am,
his precision human tool

His hands grasped me
with utter certainty,
with a petal light touch
and fingertip precision,
directing me to Rio de la Plata,
where his swivel hips
lift this black robed disciple
upon a golden altar where
I have remained, entranced,
a devotee forever more,
enslaved to our one god

Demanding the perfection
that comes only from rigidity,
irony of ironies,
it was a vocabulary of
spontaneity and fluidity
step by step learned,
this contradiction, soon intuitive

With posture *****,
he taught the history of seduction,
constructing the tale
each time differently,
creating within me
the ravished need for the
surprise of the unknown,
teased me into obediently
accepting the satisfaction of
joined at the hip ecstasy

With boleos that mesmerized ,
but not a one memorized,
he captivates me,
a tandem for a tanda,
until cortina-released

What is your name?

Tango
he whispers,
his name is in his eyes,
never spoke aloud,
I am your new master,
now come and master me

for Alyssa Underwood
~~~

my poems do not trend, go viral,
Fast and Furious!


yet, they do not die


they lay in plain sight pebbles scattered,
smoothed by time,
upon the surface of the
green earth waiting patient, virtuous,
purposed for itinerants bards
to trip over one
one some someday

somehow they accrete a readership,
slow stepping and steady from,
|the seekers and the stumblers,
the droplet drinkers,
meanderers of the tomes and tombs of prior years,
miners for nuggets in the poem pools that form
beneath the alluvial streaming
of the waterfall crescendo
of words

I like this

when another traveler sends me a like,
a petite amuse-bouche bite of appreciation,
for a long ago, barely recalled, writ,
allowing them to carve their initials upon the
external, visible roots of my tree trunk,
invading me, by darkening a prior tree internal ring,
forcing me to look down,
look back,
take measure of myself,
accepting myself as not wanting,
nor lacking in other's acceptance

these statements are neither  boastful or illusory,
yet still joyous, like caramel pleasures,
slow to chew, fast to the taste,
reminding me of old friendships,
well valued,
though no longer fully employed,
their uncovering is my own refreshed exposure,
their discovery is my own re-discovery,
exposing flaws and fallacies,
even fallow,
mostly shallow facts
about me

all of them,
a sundae of truths and lies, sharing a happy laugh
with and at
me,
when I think to myself,

"crap,, did I write that?"

copyright 2015 by Nat Lipstadt

i like writing you poetry -
at 2 am, night lights glowing through
rain streaked windows, i listen to the city
and wish you'd listen to me.

i like writing you poetry -
angsty little love notes where
every word betrays the cool countenance
i otherwise wear on my face when
we're warring with our words but
teasing with our tongues.

i like writing you poetry -
it's where i can tell you the stories
that belong to the dead of the night
and the dead of my heart.

i like writing you poetry -
because it's the only way
i can tell you that i love you
*without you ever having to know.