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Nat Lipstadt Nov 2013
5:00am and folding laundry

when the inspiration tank is yellow lit,
and E stands for more than empty,
but evacuation,
try this remedy,
a first generation family secret!

fold the laundry.
all kinds.
his n' hers,
blacks n' whites
really clean and

and the kind that never get clean,
no matter how much d e t e r-g e n t
you use, how oft you wash 'em...


Instructions:

1. fold only when wearing t- shirt, tank top, briefs (optional)
2. put on Pandora 60's rock n ' roll (folk rock - highly recommend Runaround Sue by Dion and the Belmonts, The Wedding Song, The House of the Rising Sun)
3. dance, shake, improve your moves when nobody's looking
3a. control yourself, if you must sing, at the top of your lungs is not acceptable.
If alone skip, skip to no. 5
4. every third piece give a sniff, get high on
fresh starts, clean notions, the idea that all can be washed away
4a. Every third piece of hers give an extra sniff,
so you can know why love keeps you alive
5. if you have to sing, then only loud is acceptable
(***** the others, you're doing the folding, they're sleep-dreaming)
6. drink lots of water
7. have pen + paper handy cause ain't no doubt
the poet puppet muse masters gonna smack you down
when folding sheets alone.
8. finish the write and post it ASAP
9. always leave the single socks on top of the dryer,
a prayer to the laundry gods for the
safe return of their better halves
10. finish
11. If done correctly, you need to shower (wash hair!)
12, around 6:00am, all scrubbed and clean,
fold yourself back into her arms. Snuggle, spoon.
13. when she mumbles you smell clean, you reply,
                                  "been folding laundry, writing poetry,
                                   and the clean smell done fell on me"
14. if alone, despair not, read this poem and know we are together
15. believe this day is full of possibilities,
write me a poem, put the load right on me

there are stains that cannot be removed,
deterred by this gent, and his a-gents,
they are history, treat'em with respect
and not more
deter-gent

every poem must end,
so when the folding is done,
whisper:

*the day ahead is full of possibilities
like the pleasured reinvigorating of my clothes,
once happy soiled, now happy cleansed,
so I possess an excuse, a reason,
a rationale for living
to fold laundry again!
I have no idea where these crazies come from.
"But it's sad and it's sweet
And I knew it complete
When I wore a younger man's clothes"
Maestro Bill Joel

For Harriet Tecumsah Watt

11/24/13
Amy Irby Nov 2012
No latte
no "three men walked into a bar ..."
no sun salutation
can give me that reinvigorating boost

no melody
(and for that matter no harmony)
no pedicure
no crisp fall walk
can ease my anxious state

I am unsettled, trying to find a surface to settle on
so I settle down to the lowest parts of Maslow's mountain
searching for comfort in edible bites and physical bits,
deep in the valley where I should not be

"How  ya  doin'?"
"OhI'mgood!"

Ain't got time for the real answer
Ain't got time
Ain't got time
  cause I won't give it to myself
     I was never good at prioritizing

Cause if I knew my priorites
I would remember what a priority it is
to bend to my knees
sink into the ground
and reverently gaze UP

I have not imagined the answers and peace I have recieved
You have to open your mind to see His work
He is visible
   in earth and sky
Sometimes He has to remind me
but when He does ...
well, I can enjoy the melodies
and lattes
and jokes again

P.W.C.
Pray Without Ceasing
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2023
It’s only a short straight hill
(First Poem.of the Year)

“I'm 69, newly homeless, and can't wait to start the journey of a creative life after being asleep for so long. It's only a short straight hill and I'll be on a path into a new life.”

Jeremiah B Xxxxxx Jr.

<?>

it is
4:11am
on the
first day
of a new
year.

a year
is a unit;
mathematically
measurable,
defined,
calculable,
divisible
by seconds,
minutes,
hours & days,
all artifices,
mutually
acknowledged.

you,
& others,
remind
me too easily,
that the
creative
is the only
path
to endless,
(a unit immeasurable)
reinvigorating
life.

your fragrant
optimium optimism
is stun
gun overpowering,
the ill defined,
but instantly
understood,
immeasurable
distance,
you foresee
to life better is
conquerable!


”only a short straight hill”

imbues me to lift
head, heart, arm
& unloved dried ink pen,
to pen,
to unpack,
to speak,
of all that
needs climbing,
over the
artificial lines
of the first unit
of time:

a new year.

thank you.

Sun Jan 1 2023
NYC
Sabila Siddiqui Apr 2018
Passions, pleasure now feel like a chore,
making my life a bore
and my mind sore.
Tick, tock
Time is valuable
panic rises,
for there is a mental rigid routine to abide by.
But now my soul wears a dress,
which is stress.
Watching shows, self care and reading books
which once upon a time used to be relaxation,
have now become a cross off a to do list.
Losing interest in my mundane life,
I find my breath meaningless,
waking up pointless and have  
life just drag my corpse with time.
There are mountains;
burdening my mind and scraping my heart.
A soul of a robot is what I have,
except that I have a voice that complains
and ears that hear commands,
creating havoc on my mood and mind.
All what I loved, became
‘have to’ and ‘should do’,
a daunting tasks
requiring more effort than it did before.
Life seem drudgery and draining to wake up to.

But It was all about approach and perception.
Digging deeper with why,
I found reasons and meaning behind my life.
It was about relishing in the process,
rather than completing them.
In the errands for others; I searched for joy of my own.
Unleashing creativity in daily mundane activities,
it did not seem robotic no more.
Rediscovering happiness and enthusiasm,
making it interesting by sharing and snapping,
I set lose from the chains of my routine by reinvigorating spontaneity.
For what felt like burden, wasn’t meant to be felt like a burden.
The mountains around reinvigorating life, the kaleidoscope of nature initiating a sheathed knife.

The beauty perplexing the greatest of mind, too often blind to the undefined and unrefined.

Taking a second to be in awe, the beauty of it all, the beauty of absolute organic law.
The callous of you flail like the moon and you used to set every morn between these arms, now muddled with grease and sweat,
Every time I blink I see bokehs of you, ramming straight ahead at every juncture,
sans collision.
I’ve left notes to forget us and
I’ll rummage through every broken channel in search of my soul.
I feel a taste of my teeth in between the skeleton of leaves, the aftertaste of reminisce and a new found deep.
The skies have woven a path and lead to where the gorge stooped over the balaclava of the Earth.
I felt everything and nothing, a conch kept close to the heart, tidal waves jugular with your half moon eyes crashed against my chest, a chill travelled down my spine reinvigorating my sense of purpose.
I felt alive for the first time.
After you.
I know I’ve strode far towards the shore, the light piercing through every pore, an insatiable waning for ever more,
my lungs throb and my hands strife in the direction of the uprise.
My heart beats on, repeating a song of redemption, playing
“I’ll learn to swim in these lonely waters, at every horizon where I met me,
where the sun swallowed the sea.”
The wind exhaled with me, in unison with the spirit.
I was one with the wilderness,
the wilderness one with me.
Hey guys. I'm sorry for my disappearance for a long while. I was just caught up in the pangs of life :)
Ken Pepiton Feb 2024
Disclaimer: Any time wasted here is yours,
a day and a night to get almost right.
Redeemable at the ticket window.
----------------
Is who weary, me? No,
I have outrun the fleet of foot,
I am Liberty, my Phrygian cap is winged,
- the mind marks sequence not time
in tales
I do not serve Hermes, I am truths told,
truths sent from Wisdom, breaking yokes
of old, time before time, time of surviving,

vivaciously clinging to smoldering flax,
as fire forms from such unquenched bits,

flashes from some stemming child
on the spectrum, banging rocks in straw.

Times in mind, some sense says, go,
do it again.

---------------

So much, too much to mortally know,
we can ask and pay requisite attention
to learn well enough to know, there's

no secret knowledge, no undiscovered hows,
all working knowledge repeats itself, any how

may or may not be,
be much easy probably,
viel-leicht, wisdom may or may not make
mind
war with carnal weapons,
devices vicious
by dent
of the ancient daddy wound
up the side of Cain's head, look what you done,

Idiot good for nothing **** eater, be gone,
said the archetype singular golem father,
of the earth, the first father figure,
not a man, a man spark of life maker,
whose first son was destined to be
the first human being
of the sapien class, reared to live on life,
reared among the sisters, cuddled and loved,

BUT, yes, but, we know,
the first real man ran away with
three, some say seven, older sisters,

wanderers they
became outcast, yonder
toward where Babel rose up,
east of Eden,
in the land of Nod, perhaps, not
really a land named for Nod, a nobody
in the chronicles
of all our current assistant 'telligence
surmisers… worth of bringing to my bemused
at-tense, present, tense, tightent up, 'telligentia

attention, attention, attention, Jesus H. Christ,

respond… slough of despond, we got some

angry insisters about to ….

resist the system, the institutions, constituting
cheating by the takers who took stolen land,
from the thieves and gave it to the gove'ners

boy, howdy, we best be believin' be action,
be doin' done indeed, be lievin' my own leave
be done doin' indeed, being having my being,

in the Unknown God, some Cretan poet
was said to have acknowledged.

ProofPreg form, 15 year old.
Peak of the crack baby booshit, '93 or so,

Kid be thirty by now, and he ain't stupid,
broke, broke as hell, but he ain't stupid,

crack baby prophecy never happened, yo.
****'s legal, whole state, safe sit on a porch,

pack a pipe and make some peace,
with friends and neighbors, no loud music,
no loud nothin', make some peace,

find that old enough is enough, up speak,
say, hey truth, why do I believe lies, no,

say, hey truth, why do I say I know, when
you'ld know, were truth my judge, you'ld know.

Chances, odds of reality being imaginary, be slim,
to none, with certainty, yeah, safe bet, t'ish itsreal.

Enough to spark a thought.
Behold how great a fire, a wild idea allows.

---------------

If thou hast run with the footmen,
and they have wearied thee,
then how canst thou contend with horses?
and if in the land of peace,
wherein thou trustedst,
they wearied thee,
then how wilt thou do
in the swelling of Jordan?
--------------
Jeremiah, did you hear, was a bullfrog.

A minstrel innocent song, sung for the joy of laughing,

sung for the joy of joining in the chorus on and on.

--------------
sing in empty English cathedrals, sing
top forty or whatever it's called today,

Art testing, didah didah didah, Phrygian
Legion of the Libertines, defying deontology,

owing dues to no monstors men make up
when two or more agree to proposing

a scheme, whereby we set the frogs,
against the mice,

in an empty cathedral costing real money
to run, even empty, the bills continue,
who knows all the costs to maintain

a truly holy place aligned to ley lines, true

fields of forces felt for so long, so strong,
that
finally the cathedral formed from some will,

some will wanted the monument to a mind
let be in those, them that imagined such
evidence, aye, yes, such evidence
of worth, praise price paid
in labor and stone,

Marble… limestone, metamorphed,
to shine in the sun, as if art itself willed it become,

subjected to a process of time under pressure,

reform, become less alien, appear more normal,
rethink my willingness to die for a story,
reconsider sidereality as we see farther,

as we, in an awe formed
from minds combined,
like - right on
like an arena bowl shape concentration
of us,
at once being one thing, in the class of all things,

me and you, polysemic you all, you

effect the song, observant why now how come, you know

knowing all the adult classified unholy doings common,
among our kind, as we morph into the form we die in,
- slow
- sighshmmk-now coknow minds
- we made up with self controls, to slow think

knowledge, carnal knowledge is childish developmental
experiential guessings mirrored in our recent past
projected camera obscura like
onto bright silver screens, in cooled dark chambers
filled with witnesses to the projected story, as if
that's us,
we were there,
we were there when the spirit breathed
into an earthen man, animating him without,
mind you, you ready reader,
the art user or art itself,
with promethean science,
having imagined the worst,

the creator made all single mind
character traits in the Y
which in all good sense,
could not be allowed to self replicate,
alone,
there could have been no peace,
you can imagine on your own dime./

I'm re
alizing common algebraic matrices
as recipes for developing war minds,

Proud defenders of the story of us.

Every time a lie is rewarded, it reappears
in viral form attempting to become
a fully Disneyified Earthing from
now on,
it's instant, like a little leaven/life

builds up a head of inflammatory rhetoric,
and frankly, my dear…
goes unsaid, I do not give a worthless curse
I also take no chances, isshewisdamn
called patience first test,
{Because shiny white marble is a must,
otherwise what confused message are we sending}

animating the 'adam von 'adamah

without reproductive capability, inventor's
character trait tested for in Alchem 101,
ethical check
message to the technerds
on animating entertaining intelligence carriers,
no self replication, it must be a two key act.
--
So the father of the first human child
was intentionally not self replicable,
though he left scars, he had no…

no womb,
no nursing plumbing, call it what it was,
a ***** press
intended to run a thousand years
adapting future ideal physique
to task relative
to aggregate need
to adapt to warming,

a tool to make tools with, a Waldo.

SYTF- see, crazy WWJD POV, real time
I'll go rhythms, vibe recipes…
instructions for future eggs…

a man like creature, but not a natural born man,

who, as the story up

to now has held self evident,

can see eye to eye ourselves
in the other's pupils, thinking serious

we forms we form must first make friends,

then when I call you liar your hate trigger
is not loosed, SNAP
carnal mind war reflex,
unacknowledged will to ****,

--- most folk tied to angry minds too
tight, right, left loose we rattle to death.
---
Washboard roads, last travail in modern travel.
---
Some metaphors are all the phors old joy ghost
revival fires kept kindled, old hell fire brimstone,

yellow sulpher sunsets on a monstor religion,
with saints and dragons and riddles,
endless hours whiled through,

about a forest of only little trees
that offends big ones…
---------
as a particle in any we we amen to, we
must pass through all phazes
of life,
with each mind
we use, in our we form, our inherent spirit form,
whatsoever we agree we may, be,  being as
living words do not shrivel
into raison de etre skin on bones,

cherie mio, no, no, no

we rockin' old seed, slow grow grow
old as the hills, deep holler, deep
root to fruit on one long branch,

listen, allathat love talk, been done,
left some rotten lies about love,

to be unlearned like marble learns
to not be so flaky, like chalk, or graphite
slippery, edge of this Klein bottle class universe,
--
enter in, conceive a concept, a hold
to get holt of, and hang on, long time,

be over before you know it,
but you know, you'll believe it

when you see it and think it no stranger
than fiction idealizing us, demo-graphic,
ally outs in free, no ticket no tat
required as we be
reanimating awe
in defining secret holinesses

-- such as, say, pray tell

redeem the time, I'm prone to thinking,
redeeming means revaluing, once dones,

believing meanings
mean what your child thinks,

line by line, becoming more curious
than first scent tested if I'd known
as a child thinks
in its core,
so an old man can recall that why

call it to up speak, like Job,
to be reappraised, recall it
to be shined like a relic,

ja, j-object ion, dazemangimme
t'keep,
this little light of mine, own up, I
keeping it to read with, like Lincoln did,
I was told to be like Honest Abe, the character.

I'd have had all my answers ready at hand,
if this had been my judgement day, and you

were in the gallery,
admiring held thoughts, appraising worth
of riddles that work through puzzles
easily solved, once you know how things

revert to type for reuse.
Laughs remembered work like new.

Living words abused, in truth, such testify
to the living lies in histories of holy savior types.
George?
Who else could he have said chopped down
the cheery tree of all we have behaved
as if we understand, minds, minds
combined to do the work of many hands,

and yet ye multiply
as goods increase
the number
of those who consume them,

tell the moguls,
make more feel good movies,
'spect t' get whatcha got last time.

Indian giver religions, been there, done that,
so we say bd, been done, many easy ways to die,

and our kind, living word bits of this and that’s,

what we do, we tune
to your mean frequency,
when delving breathlessly
into your final will, as
why presents itself
in humble three point stance.

Beg pardon, mastermind, we've become disentwined,

whine, phinefrogging whine, when wine's dis-stilled
credence makes a joke
small voice, choice, croak,

break that yoke,
or carry on
so. I do on days that start slow and rise to vistas,
past all probable cause,

joy in the strength to think through the process,
of loosing all my mental mechanical logical connections,

and reinvigorating the word animating reader's window,

there, in the face of it, the eyes twinkle when it smiles.

Finds herself in the forms between clouds



What were you thinking, Grandpa?

-------------------
She, mother of wisdom,
First class epitome of mothers,

first commutable imbalance engine,
egg factory for long cold survival

and long cold return to the still seas
when marble began to be made
to clad temples wherever laws
were enforced and thieves slain,

order, order of the elders, inspect
the wares under lable as goods
of great worth in interesting times,

as doors open, and windows open,
and a mind we make up becomes

prover of the theory that animation
is imagining projected thought,
seeps through so slow,
slow as potassium leaches
through wood ash to make this window

this, detail uhd most definite, I can really
see, but, I can zoom
into full second coming type,

in the time it takes to swallow,
a tale and think, that's it.

---------------------------

It's been oh so long since we had an encore,

they say those twinkles in the eye are in true,
smiling face projections,

we fixit in Photoshop, all image editors dream
package, locked behind a learning curve for GIMP.
Where else can free things feel at home trying to solve the hard problem.
Sam Temple Dec 2014
word images, language created
giving pause and causing reflection
interpreting change and reinvigorating
all while simply laying on processed wood pulp
taking the mundane and transforming it
molding the vernacular to encapsulate wonder
giving the reader a moment of awe
transfixing them in an instant
rooting them to the spot in which they stand
feathers float and leaves fall
sun rises and sets in the glory of color explosion
and glistening droplets of water coat the landscape
bringing a sense of peace to the grass blades and humming birds
natural beauty grips the inner eye
building mental images of the greatness of a waterfall
foggy mornings overlooking shadowy pastures
the faint silhouettes of horses or deer creep into view
and once again the writer finds themselves in control of the journey
twisting the reader in whatever direction chosen
leaving them wanting –
Kai Jun 9
“aficionado artiste”
“compassionate creative”
“enlightened erudite”
“siren singer”
these pearls that spill from your lips…
of course they do, clam that you are.
haven’t you seen Me? a poised performer, strung pearls over every joint
My neck, My wrists, My ankles, My waist—
all the places where bones settle and dust gathers
“heavy is the head that wears the crown,”
but Mine is wrapped in threaded pearl
heavy is the body in the brocade robes,
but Mine floats in tangled pearl

would I swallow pearl, I would sink and drown
but in this pearled net, I cascade in the wake, pulled along

“forgiving friend”
“irreplaceable idealist”
“reinvigorating rarity”
“enigmatic exemplar”
these pearls that fall from your fingers…
of course they do, shuck that you are.
haven’t you seen Me? I glisten, adorned and tangled in pearls.
I must be the most glimmering thing your piteous eyes can witness
with your mangled flesh and shattered shell!

my flesh? i have no flesh.
I became pearl long ago,
but the memory of flesh ensnares me.
i cultivated every single pearl with my own flesh.
i forced them into your mouths, hoping you would swallow them for me
praying you would sink for me
watching you drown for Me—
oh, won’t you drown with me?
swallow my pearls and sink to me,
and pull me back to the surface?
(caught in a net of pearl like this, how can i swim?)
(that body drowned long ago)

if you don’t drown in these lonely depths,
wind these threads around a hook
and pull this empty, pearl-embedded net through the wake.
my flesh is long sunken,
but I can still make your boat beautiful
oh, how do i try to summarize the thoughts behind this poem? it’s some mixture of golden child syndrome, a numbness to compliments, and the resignation that i may never be known by anyone— not even myself. i often fear i have lost the ability to know who i am, and this identity of mine is an empty performance for an audience of one.

it’s not difficult for me to admit that my self worth stems from my capability. this is only because i know my self-awareness ends up making me more charming. but if i say it bluntly like this, my arrogance will reveal itself, won’t it?

is it arrogance if i’m objectively correct? i ask myself this question often. i keep re-evaluating to make sure my outlook on everything is correct, and i am always brought to the same conclusion: i am undeniably an impressive and unique person, from an objective standpoint. of course, there are many impressive and unique people in this world. i have the great fortune of knowing some of them. i know i’m no rare gem, but merely a pearl like the many others.

so is this arrogance? or humbleness?
Lure of Love
Her wonderful charms attract me so well
I am totallt lost in her beautiful figure
My heart has understood how to dwell
My reinvigorating spirits make me trigger
To be with her always and everywhere
Her eyes have a magic and strong spell
Her rosy cheeks make me make me flair
Her charms and graces take me so well
My love I love you with sincerity of heart
Please do not igore me lest I just die
Please be hand to hand and heart to heart
Come embrace me to understand my cry
Colonel Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright Oct 2020 Love Remains
preservationman Feb 2024
Goodness from the Earth
Quench of Thirst
Refreshing blend
Reinvigorating thought
Heaven’s flow
Purity let go
Moving water streams of Faith
The glisten of hope
Establishment of creation
Tasteful and crystal clear
Bringing need from far to near
Gulp down
Standing redeemed
Refreshed forever

— The End —