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Nat Lipstadt Jun 2013
Why Men Cry in the Bathroom

For so many reasons.
I will tell you the why.
I think you know,
Or perhaps, you think you know.

Men are always O.K.,
Even when not.

We expect the worse,
Accept the worse,
Nonetheless,
We are forever unprepared.

Wearily, we cry,
In the bathroom, in private,
Lest sighs slip by,
We be unmasked,
Early warring, strife signs warning.

Copious, tho we weep
Before the mirror confessor,
It is relief untethered,
Unbinding of the feet,
An uncounting
Of beaded rosaries,
Of freshly fallen hail stones,
Of night times terrors
By dawn's early edition's light,
and welcomed.

But look for the mute tear,
The eye-cornered drop,
*** tat, that never drops,
But never ceases formation and
Reforming, over and over again,
In a state of perpetuity of reconstitution,

The tippy tear of an iceberg revealing,
And I see you peeping, wondering,
What is beneath


Look for:
the torn worm-eaten edges of spirit,
thrift shop bought, extra worn,
grieving lines neath the eyes,
where the salt has evaporated,
discolored the skin.
worry lines,
under and above,
browed mapped, furrowed boundaries.
the laugh line saga,
where better days are stored,
recalled, as well as recanted,
publicly, privately.

Why just men?

I don't know,
Perhaps,
it is all I know.


Jan 6, 2013
your effusive and lengthy comments are each a poem in their own right.  

Tinkered with June 22, 2013
With a push from Bala,
A serial peeper, thank God!
hsyclara Jan 2019
Movie credits descend and sink
to the bottom of the tv screen;
Admire the time travel of a blink,
repositioned on the bed, not keen

Expired pills; motivating my pulse
Hands shifting; trying to keep up
and end this life which by day gets worse
Free this defunct soul and succumb

And in that moment,
the silent tear that doesn't cease formation;
i have surrendered, time is in halt
The sadness salt, in a state of reconstitution,

But death wasn't part of the victory
She was another night of bedridden dreary
Pre-measured mentality
part anxiety
part agony;
retaining me as an emissary
to unearth my mystery

where do my nightmares trail?
who fogs my thoughts at night?
who tallies off my breaths?

So yes, those pills;
those expired ******* pills
did not give me the answer
Instead, i woke up to another whisper
12.01.2014
the curling smoke
from warming fires
rise into the slate
gray sky of the
Beqaa Valley

sheaves of
rising prayers
expire in twisted plumes
dissipating into the
gloom of an ever
looming winter
overcast

refugees from
the Arab Spring's
uncivil wars
gather for warmth
around waning embers,
smoldering in the underbelly
of the lowliest bottom of rusted
steel drums, tended
with scavenged debris
some thought better
suited to fortify the
faltering hovels of
last resort

the fires
join us in
communal rings
straining the
tenuous links of
brotherhood, the
politics of men
assiduously tear
asunder

we count ourselves
among the fortunate,
blessed exiles recused
from the acrimony
of desecrated cities,
welcoming the
residencies of
bewailing lullabies
of colic infants, the
searing hunger of
stunted children and the
incomprehensible babble
the elderly eloquently
speak in tongues
of a desperate
exasperation

our nagging impotence
swaddle us in ambivalent
inabilities to master circumstances
profanely denigrating our humanity

privation is
our daily bread
the bitter manna
feasting on the
animosity the banquet
of rancor generously
prepares for
peace starved
pilgrims

in these
refugee camps
the cold cuts deeper
hunger pangs
grow sharper

our blighted dignity,
vanished livelihoods,
and the presence of
recently interred
loved ones trudge
through our mean
encampment as
fully enfranchised
citizens in our
distressed
kingdom

what was lost can
never be recovered
our homeland leveled
yet doors still stand open
silently pleading all
to cross a new
threshold

the full restoration
of our hope,
the reconstitution
of our flagging
humanity, the
spark of the
holy spirit
willfully uniting us
in the salvation
of reconciliation
is nigh

we are
the divine children
stoking the embers
tending the fire
that light pathways
through the cold
darkness of a
broken world

Oh come
Emmanuel,
dwell among us
Oh come
Emmanuel
ransom once
again the
poor captives
of Israel….

Selah

Music Selection:
L'Accorche-Choeur, Ensemble vocal Fribourg
Veni Veni Emmanuel

Everywhere
Christmas
2013
jbm
Blessed Christmastide Greetings
to all beloved HP friends
peace and prayers
to all
love, jimmy
PrttyBrd May 2017
There was music in his voice
as he whispered his name in ancient tones
straight through my core

My spirit danced
as it basked in familiarity
and pain

I could feel the music reconstitute
a desiccated heart
as it regenerated belief in people...in him

In an instant, I knew what I was once sure of
I knew that, sight unseen, I was bonded
with a soul born in tandem

Circumstance be ******
there will be love
for I already loved you

The second your name sung to my essence
and I realized...

you loved me
52917 ©
...And as we move,
so too does the mind.
Shaped by divergence.
Rendering the oncoming landscape
for our poor pathetic little mind's
to comprehend, whilst true,
natural fertility is shed,
dropped to the ground,
recognized as little more than
detritus, lost to the process
of reconstitution.

As interpretation seems to be prone
to spinning, so too does our willingness
to become dizzy. Blaming disorientation,
never lack of focus.

Only what's in front of us can
slow the onset of nausea;
instead we choose to consume
the calamity, pridefully ignoring
its immensity.
Finding ourselves bent over,
heaving up what's left of the carcass
we're all devouring.
Giving back to that which we all spurn,
the nutrients of survival.

I can't stand the made up plight of man.
The maladies we allow to
overwhelm us daily, simply because
the grind, the acceptance is better
then the stand, the resistance.

All I see anymore are walking effigies,
doing as they're told, becoming exactly
what they were cast to be.
Succumbing to the malevolence
of playwrights whose power
only exists because you've given it
to them.
You're becoming their form of social
interaction.
Now you're stuck between two cameras,
but you can't be bi-focal.

"Faith needs no form of refuge."
I’ve entered the Inner Passage

Thought of as the safe route to Alaska
Protected by friendly coves and sheltered bays
Shields voyagers from the uncertainties
Of the tectonics of a heaving Pacific

The Inner Passage
A compass point of
Jack London’s imagination
Spinning fantastic adventure yarns
of audacious Sea Wolf sailors
And rugged fortune seekers
Answering the call of the wild

The Inner Passage
Fraught with hidden shoals
And submerged rocky promontories
Lay just below the water line
Jutting on the steep banks
Of a glaciated mountain lined sea

The Inner Passage
Precludes an easy escape
To the boundless freedom
Of the open seas
One cannot sail away
One must firmly
grab the wheel
Guide the rudder
map the terra firma
Of a misconstructed life
The hazards and mishaps
Buried in the unconscious sands of the mind
interred to protect the heart
From the walking ghosts
Springing to life
Emboldening
The daily aches of living

The Inner Passage
Seemingly the safe route
Yet the hidden shoals
The ship wrecks
crews of stranded castaways
Call out for recovery, resurrection,
Watchfulness and recognition
Careful navigation is required
To salvage the wreckage
Rescue the unfortunate victims
Of the disasters and gales
I engendered along
my life's journey

The Inner Passage
A promise of rebirth
Reconstitution, recovery
“Can a man enter the womb again?”
The Gospel writer asks.
This inner passage may yet
Deliver me to a reinvigorated life
Let me uncover
What lies deep
In my tell tale heart
Let me tame
the mighty beasts of the sea
That rule the fathomless waters
Of my tumultuous emotions
May Thy Will and a better course
Heal my restive soul
My I finally free
my grounded vessel
From the false sanctuary
Offered by shallow shoals
Freeing me to dive deep
Into the hidden reefs
Of my heart and mind

May this pilgrim make good progress
May I accept life on life's terms
May I practice a well considered
engaged stewardship
May I never arrive at a staid place
And become wholesomely satisfied
with a serene state of being

The Inner Passage
Indeed a difficult voyage
Is underway
a new course mapped
I will pass through
The dark ranges where the
Commanding heights of
Fear, anger, resent and regret
Become nothing more
Then the precipitous peaks
Of a harmless silhouette
Fading away into the mist
Of yesterday's twilight

The Inner Passage
Aboard the Kennicott
Near Ketchikan, AK
8.22.19
jbm

Michael Nyman
The Piano
a note made on the Kennicott...
Johnny Noiπ Oct 2018
And an enemy enemy's enemy transfers
from page to page. If people do not have an injury,
you should be able to reach the bone without smoking,
flowers, the things of the father or night,
without the leaves and the bushes,
if it is less than if it is not; You can put six ounces
in the first place. Inductive love, a loveless snare
in your garden with your fingers, fingers,
kisses, is an old manor property. In other words,
he will die in power
that has power. Death has no practice or death.
He was born. You can treat someone's soul as a helper
for six avatars. Tree bars for understanding
the IHI message. drinking. tourist. He was asleep
a few weeks after two weeks, but soon he saw his face.
Economists, all other jobs have been deleted,
people who can show all the colors
of the devastation of Reis or the ancient secret
of that priest that night, having the master's
shadow. Unfortunately, the result is enough to show
the behavior of girls and many practices
that bring thousands of events to fruition,
and they only remember two things.
He showed his feet in a cave and taught me
that he was the same
as he who was white and on the ground.
I changed the clothes.
I like your child's personality. Homer's service
does not need food.
One evening, I believe in the store. As you approach the kitchen,
someone will be honest.                     An enemy's enemies.
Transfer from page to page.
If people do not have an injury,
you should be able to reach the bones without cigars,
flowers, things of the father and night,
without the leaves and trees,
if you are less than if you can not eat it.
Dining at the moment. [Grassless innocence], the trap
of the garden within your garden
with your fingers, fingers, kisses,
is an ancient possession. In other words,
he will die in power. Death has no practice or death.
He was born. You can treat someone
as a helper for six incarnations. Wood tree
for understanding IHI
content. drinking. tourist. He had been sleeping
a few weeks after two weeks,
but soon he saw his face. The economists,
all other jobs have been deleted, are people
who can show all the devastating effects
of the raison; the ancient secret of the priest
that night, in the shadow of shadow.
Unfortunately, the result is enough to show girls'
behavior and many acts have led to thousands
of events, and they have remembered
two things. He showed his feet in a hole
and taught me that he was the same person
on the ground. I changed his clothes.
I like your baby's son.   Home service does
not need food.       One evening, I believed
in the store.    As you approach the kitchen,
someone will be true. And enemy enemies.
Transfer from page to page.
If people are not vulnerable,
you should be able to reach the bones
without cigar, flowers,                                   things of the father
and night,                                                without the leaves and trees,
if you are less than you cannot eat yourself.
At the moment. Infinite light,
the trap of the garden
is in his garden with his fingers, fingers,
kisses was an ancient possession.
In other words,
he will die in power.    Death has no practice or death.
He was born. You can treat someone as a helper
for six lifetimes. Wood tree to understand IHI content.
drinking. tourist.
He had been sleeping a few weeks after two weeks,
but soon he saw his face. Economics,  
all other functions
having been deleted;     | are people who can put all the endless
reestablishing of the material of the ancient ancient priesthood
and night, in shadow of shadow.                           Unfortunately,
the result is enough to show behavioral behavior
and many acts that have led to thousands of events,
and they have remembered two things.
He showed his feet in a hole and taught me
he was the same in the ground.
I changed his cloth.
                                I went to your grandson.
Home service does not need food.
One evening, I believe in the store.
As you approach the kitchen,
someone will be true. And enemies' enemies.
                                  Transfer between pages.
In the absence of scratches,
people can reach the bones
without using cigars without cigars and trees,
flowers, fathers and evening.
This moment now. Infinite light, his garden
his fingers, fingers, kiss garden traps
were ancient possessions. In other words,
he is to die with power. Death has neither practice
nor death. He was born. You can handle people
with six assistants. A tree that understands the contents
of IHI. Drinking with a tourist.
He had been sleeping for several weeks
in two weeks,       but he immediately saw his own face
In the shadow's shadow where all other functions
of economics are removed, people who are part
of the ancient priesthood and infinite reconstitution
of the material in the night. Unfortunately,
the results are sufficient to show behavioral behavior
and many activities that have caused thousands
of cases,                   and I remember two things.
He showed
his feet in the hole and told me he was on the ground.
I exchanged this cloth.        I went to your grandchild.
Home service does not require food. One night,
                                         I believed in the store.
                            | As you approach the kitchen,                                          
              ­                           |  someone is the truth.|
jim fry Nov 2010
even change, is now changing
and we grasp
for anchors

i feel, as if
surfing a wave
tunnel vision ahead
assurances,
absent
riding,
faith

There are others I’ve connected with, surfing the same front. Some have confidence, some feel protected, whilst others seem adventurously excited or propelled by absence of another accepted option. Each day, the media reflects what I have already felt, experience and life are reorganizing, a soup of energetic reconstitution.

in these least stable times,
we dance
on shifting sands

I note that some have already acclimated to the next age, busy integrating and finding new creative powers. I seek to surround myself in their energies, to assimilate peace, and comforting encouragement.

the world i knew, has ended
as each day
fades
into
night

in next dream
we commence, crafting
dreamscapes

just for today
i’ll paint
what i feel
feeling
what i paint

creative projection
**projecting creation
2006
Zac Walter Sep 2016
Faint smell of waste. Rotting garbage, feces and human body order. The room reeked of an intolerable stench. Cracked eggshells, molding lettuce, slices of beefsteak tomatoes, month old used coffee grounds, and a pair of peed on gym socks among countless other smelly disgusting things like cat ****.
"Close the ******* garbage can"
' it stinks as much as your guilty conscious'
My hand flung forward with indecision, still closed into a fist. What was I striking? I couldn't see and didn't want hurt myself like so many times before. Schizophrenic, pleaded with with myself. Time slowed to make room to for chaotic thoughts. Slow motions, knuckles seeped into a black goo. Other hand flat, slapped at the abyss. The darkness grabbed me by both hands and dragged me into myself.
A full moon and a tender loving voice. Blackness.
A brewing fire floating above a swimming pool like the eye of a pyramid where deities danced. Everybody I saw under its light gazed towards the idealization of eternal salvation. I stared at the pool, fire, pyramid and its constituents. Blackness.
A maze of hallways. Red-brown brick, vinyl, some glass looking down at the pool where children baptized themselves while parents drank the poison of cultural self-identification.
'At least they know who and where they are'
I took a right, then a left then two more rights down a endless spiral. Blackness.
In angry reconstitution, my mind-state formed lists of things to be furious about. These lists of things were all in plain sight.
'An obvious case of nearsightedness'
The whole room had changed from how i once remembered. The bed was moved as well as the bed stand. Clothes scattered and materialistic shrine of self destroyed. The aura of the room had gone from blue to green. I pledged with violent resolution to solve my issues. Until I smelt the room poisoned with pheromones unlike mine. Until I dropped to my knees and felt somebody i loved and despised. Her smile greeted me while, simultaneously, my heart erupted like an early morning thunder shower. I always loved those type of showers.
... This isnt finished yet. Just a beginning of a short story. Also copyrighted btw.
'Melia Jun 2021
bend over
bend backwards
lean over
yell these words from life
all different and quite the same
i'll live until I perfect your name

i walk endlessly around my brain tunnels
reconstitution of my puzzle pieces
my life is the whole framed and the game

of the tunnels i fall into the deepest ones
and try to transcribe
work that was never supposed to be mine

i will spend the rest of my lives
perfecting your name
letting my teeth touch, quick
a greeting for your Name's
arrival on my lips, a meeting
9 to forever

you get me out of my brain
i have learned to fully love
these days
Nat Lipstadt Jan 14
Nov. 2024

For the holy one dreams of a letter
Dreams of a letter's death
Oh bless thee continuous stutter
Of the word being made into flesh


Leonard Cohen “ The Window”
<>
I, too,
dream of letters flying up to the skies,
from books and holy scrolls of wise men,
in hate,
burnt by
heathens, alliterate, haters all

and yet,
now more than ever
‘tis the season to remember the hatred,
and the inventiveness of the haters rancor

‘tis
truth,
no surprise shocking,
dreams of letters rising are older than one man’s interval of age, it is a tale handed down over generations, eons many,
that “multiple”is
descriptor inadequate and no surprise the
the holy one dreams of their receipt & their  
reconstitution and resurrection

I, too
to the window go,
no bonfires visible tonight,
in the city of my birth and abode,
light pollution is the sun’s inverse,
our ***** secrets sent higher, up~returned

and yet,
the letters clear visible
glowing embers crackling dressed in
shades of orange red blackened outline
and they mix and match re~forming wild
mismatching batches into songs and
lines of
perp<eternal wisdom that’s been condemned as dated
The Window
Song by Leonard Cohen


Why do you stand by the window
Abandoned to beauty and pride
The thorn of the night in your *****
The spear of the age in your side
Lost in the rages of fragrance
Lost in the rags of remorse
Lost in the waves of a sickness
That loosens the high silver nerves
Oh chosen love, Oh frozen love
Oh tangle of matter and ghost
Oh darling of angels, demons and saints
And the whole broken-hearted host
Gentle this soul
And come forth from the cloud of unknowing
And kiss the cheek of the moon
The New Jerusalem glowing
Why tarry all night in the ruin
And leave no word of discomfort
And leave no observer to mourn
But climb on your tears and be silent
Like a rose on its ladder of thorns
Oh chosen love, Oh frozen love
Then lay your rose on the fire
The fire give up to the sun
The sun give over to splendour
In the arms of the high holy one
For the holy one dreams of a letter
Dreams of a letter's death
Oh bless thee continuous stutter
Of the word being made into flesh
Oh chosen love, Oh frozen love
Gentle this soul
Source: LyricFind
Jimmy silker May 12
Yer qwerty keyboard
Was arranged
Cos of the mechanical nature
And the way fingers catch
But its not the most efficient
Now that everything is flat
But they haven't changed it
Cos the benefits are minimal
Compared to reconstitution
And all of that retraining
Liminal.
nivek Sep 2019
demolition

demolish

take apart

reconstitution

recycle

construction

construct

constructive.
I know how I like the world to be
settled, ordered, secure, a safe place
to live and grow and have my being
but it's not like that, never has been
fantasy, a miasma of self-delusion

those certainties to which I hold
less solidly founded than I thought
even the chair in which I sit to write
sub-atomic something held in nothing
by bonds of quantum uncertainty

thus far the best that imagination
from manifest ambiguities distilled
an unknowing, a beyond knowing
oft found too disturbing to be owned
undermines my longed for certitudes

scaffolded by definitive predictability
my life patterns, its structures interact
with rules, laws of finite vision reinforced
ruts that stasis and stupor deeply carve
which is fine until the infinite disrupts

creeping up or chaotic in cataclysm
the tectonic plates of existence shift
bonds of grasped reality dissolve
bewilderment in discombobulation
audacious reconstitution required

what to hold fast
of eternal significance
or heading that way
which to let go
to release
refuse


6th May 2025

— The End —