Pete's Poetry

Colored ink drawing of a fire hose leading to a firefighter confronting a blaze
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Calamity

Posted by Peter Liptak in Poems, Death and Chocolate, Love's Loss, Passion Poets

Sweat and soot
bead brow to brow
as the fire writhes
in deadly determination
matched only by your own
single-minded, stiff-necked, staying power
your unbending brawn
face to face with this fire.

Whether driven by
instinct or enthusiasm
commitment or some innate sense
of courage touched with
the push and pull,
the ebb and flow
of terror and tenacity
the thrust is on.

An opponent…
a partner
enraged, ablaze,
triggered to madness
fueled by fire and force
urge and appetite,
unquenched and unabated as
your ill-advised adversary’s interactions.

You douse flames
with the shower of wet
douse, drench, soak and souse.
Unsated
your drive ignited
by something…
some flame of hope,
some fire within.
Set alight, perhaps with a shred of lunacy
sparked by some twisted balance
of fear and urge
caught fire,
spurred on to deeds
propelled by hate and desire.

Ignited,
our hero
dares the deadly dance
with those hot glowing bodies
swaying through the seethe and surge,
through the fear and urge
of brilliant orange-red
billowing with the bite and choke
of the smoke, the odor,
the pitch black
of the place of their encounter
where, for a moment enraged, engorged
then extinguished.
Fed by force, yet
out in a flame
absent of fame
left with a fleeting feeling of frailty
in the aftermath of climax
through the surging smoke
heave and roll
now tempered only by the totality of destruction
like the lives left in ruin of the families lost.

What living beings lay in waste, what spirits saved?
Only sifting through the rubble will tell.

In the end, only havoc remains
leaving you an unwilling accessory
to the blaze
a fickle and faithless witness to the
catalyst and calamity.

insomniac-ac-ac-ac
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insomnia

Posted by Peter Liptak in Poems, Death and Chocolate

transcendental
ly speaking,
my tired mind
is tweaking

...like the theatre
and dancer's passion
and tragedy
and despair.

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Four and More

Posted by Peter Liptak in Love's Name, Death and Chocolate, My Travels

 

I love you like music
and hope
and tears.

My love for you
has fallen
in rhythm of raindrops
and in loves sweat it drips
from aching thighs.

I love you like the theatre
and dancer's passion
and tragedy
and despair.

~ by Peter N. Liptak

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My little moon Dance Moon bright Pure night Snow quiet Deep Miles of air Frozen To frame this night
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Moondance

Posted by Peter Liptak in Poems, Death and Chocolate

My little moon  Dance Moon bright  Pure night Snow quiet Deep Miles of air Frozen To frame this night by Peter N. Liptak

Engraved chocolate bar with a skull-shaped break in the chocolate

Night, blast, blight, cast
Silver, quiet, quiver, diet...

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The Word

Posted by Peter Liptak in Poems, Death and Chocolate

A man in transcendental clothes accosted me in the street.
He asked me for a moment's strength
to beg a word and busk a poem's length.
A simple request, straightforward and true.
He'd write his best and I'd give him his due.
But at word's cost, my mind went blank.
My patience was lost. My heart sank.
I raced in mind's heat amid frozen breath
tugged at scruff and fought with death.
I thought of past conversations and discussions and worlds apart,
then at last vibrations and percussions of word's art
began stilted then spewing:
"Night, blast, blight, cast
Silver, quiet, quiver, diet
Pool, passion, fool, fashion
Menace, master, Venice, faster
Love, lude, fantasy, food... "
On and on those words did flow
and visions passed and time did go
as they spattered and sputtered
'till the sidewalk was cluttered
with words stewing
and woes eschewing.
Then a hunger took me as my thoughts assailed us
and I stopped of a sudden as those words hailed us
But one word was left and as is my fashion
from my heart it was cleft and over and over in my passion
I shouted "CHOCOLATE! CHOCOLATE! CHOCOLATE! CHOCOLATE!"

His poem came but moments later
by Danube made with word to cater:

"Liquid, solid, powder it don't matter
just the sound of chocolate 'll make my heart patter
You say milk and I say chocolate.
You say milk and I say chocolate.
I eat so much chocolate you say I'm a quack.
Need I remind you it's an aphrodisiac.
You say milk and I say chocolate.
You say milk and I say chocolate.
I love you dearly. Yes it's true,
But the color of chocolate is my passion hue.
You say milk and I say chocolate.
You say milk and I say chocolate."

His poem was simple, fresh and couth,
but his English was not so good in truth.
He read it to me and it made me laugh.
I gave him five shillings and crossed his path.

    Death came by. Said hi. Not ready said I. a poem by Peter Liptak
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    Death

    Posted by Peter Liptak in Poems, Death and Chocolate

    Death came by.
    Said hi.
    Not ready said I.

    We made a tshirt. Get yours at hi.fab.reviews/death

    https://youtu.be/_9JaSYgrQ5E

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    Moses

    Posted by Peter Liptak in Poems, Death and Chocolate

    [on seeing the documentary, Brother’s Keeper]

    In the age before St. Patrick,
    Echu Ollathir to us bespeaks through sadness of his love:
    "The death spirit of the boar enters the body. It is the messenger of light. The animal is within us. The animal is the land. The land is the life within us -nourishing and whole."
    So bespeaks the Dagdae of his love and also his sadness.

    There she stood in the thick straw,
    legs still unsteady from the twenty-
    five staggering miles between farms,
    staring out at the sun, warm and bright,
    where Moses stepped into the trailer.

    The Messiah looked down upon her,
    judging her animal nature -- reckoning.
    He looked up, as if to see
    the Lord near the sun, singing.
    He listened… and paused.
    The sign clear, Moses smiled
    as he began to load the shotgun.

    She stepped closer to the trailer's edge
    and greeted the Messiah's outstretched arms
    not perceiving the power of his hand.
    Dark steel gray poised, touched her temple.
    She shivered and turned her head
    from the cold whisper of its breath.

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

    INSTANTLY blind from the noise.
    In shock, though far from dead,
    for God had not guided its viral spray home.
    Pain and blindness reigned,
    and she squealed… and squealed
    and raced around in red fright,
    slamming into the thin metal side of the trailer.

    The Messiah wrestled with her, grasping.
    His soiled fingers on her soft pink skin bruised her innocence.
    And Moses spoke:
    "Get the Fuck over… God Damn You!"
    and he threw her to her back.

    Her adrenaline subsided slowly.
    She lumbered near the wall,
    feeling faint, the cold metal and the hay
    biting into her naked back.
    Pink skin, untanned now spattered
    with speckles of red spitfire.

    Moses gripped his buck-knife in his right hand
    pulled it from the sheath at his side
    and jabbed the jugular, twisting,
    released his grasp on her shoulder
    and stepped back quick to observe.
    Then Moses turned and walked away triumphant.
    The Israelites remained to watch and wait.

    She staggered to her feet,
    stumbled out of the trailer,
    stood and watched the life flow full
    from the faucet at her throat.
    She who was raised without God,
    without religion, with no prayers to say,
    no fight left in her vacant veins,
    void of will,
    smelled the hay beneath the thick scent of gunpowder,
    tasted the liquid left in her mouth,
    felt the cold earth hard from a night frost
    and fell as the sun set its last golden ray
    silent and sweet.

    And the Israelites gave grace.

    "The universe and the soul are indestructible,
    but fire and water will sometime prevail over them."
    So said Strabo

    your soul’s refraction
    of seamless
    satisfaction

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    I know

    Posted by Peter Liptak in Poems, Death and Chocolate

    how
    to locate
    your soul’s refraction
    of seamless
    satisfaction

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    Last Breath of Night

    Posted by Peter Liptak in Death and Chocolate, Poems

    Morning let me die with you
    for your breath is more promising
    than death
    I have seen the last breath
    of night by morning light
    and sucked life from it

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    Webbed

    Posted by Peter Liptak in Poems, Death and Chocolate

    Spinning
    Eight legs
    Smiling she waits
    Silently
    As I dance
    I tremble with love
    And twist about
    She spins
    Encircling me
    With her power
    I am lost

    The Gift of Flight

    Posted by Peter Liptak in Death and Chocolate

    Up lifting down…
    air currents race
    as they chase each other
    in the dusk chill.

    Up lifting down…
    frigid waters await
    as Carmina Burana
    occupies ears.

    Up lifting down…
    A spinning mind
    desperate for decisions
    rushing in wind.

    Up lifting down…
    the gift of flight
    is short lived
    and falls fleeting.

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    desire

    Posted by Peter Liptak in Poems, Death and Chocolate

    I daydream oft of redemptive blood
    splayed about
    the room
    about me
    and my twisted
    heart eases.
    I imagine my fall
    into the path
    of the sped
    subway yet stay
    my footing
    lest my desire
    should unbalance
    my will.

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    The Last Chance

    Posted by Peter Liptak in Death and Chocolate

    When my demons come for me
    I won't go with them willfully.

    When my demons come for me
    They chase my shade eternally
    to holler and bellow
    "Submit and follow."

    When my demons find my shadow
    all weak, my gut hollow
    they plant their ugly seed
    'till I kneel and plead.

    When my demons call for me,
    they steal away my pride,
    they tease, prod, chide,
    'till someday I'll subside.

    When my demons last came to me,
    I sat to share and soft sip of life
    while they contrived to sap my destiny
    yet I once more chose pain and strife.

    When my demons shy away,
    I worry that they've gone astray
    in fear that they've abandoned me…
    They've become my friends you see.

    When my demons next come for me.
    I'll go with them quietly.
    My soul is tired. I'll rest awhile,
    and leave with a tractile smile.

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    Moondance

    Posted by Peter Liptak in Poems, Death and Chocolate

    My little moon
    Dance
    Moon bright
    Pure night
    Snow quiet
    Deep
    Miles of air
    Frozen
    To frame this night

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    Roar

    Posted by Peter Liptak in Death and Chocolate

    Do-what the music dictates
    Do-what… Do-what
    Sift through the arming light
    Never left to linger
    In stillness scattered
    With moments grasping
    Gasping at open echoes
    Gates of passion gaping
    In sound seething in
    A ranchious rush
    Of movement mounting
    To madness

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    The Dead

    Posted by Peter Liptak in Death and Chocolate

    Don't know! Don't think! Don't wrong! Don't drink!
    Don't fear! Don't quake! Don't doubt! Don't ache!
    Don't break! Don't forsake! Don't! Won't!
    Don't green! Don't blue! Don't mean! Don't sue!
    Don't you!
    Don't nudge! Don't budge! Don't judge! Don't grudge!
    Don't live! Don't die! Don't laugh! Don't lie! Don't cry!
    Don't, why? They're dead!
    Don't do! Don't don't! And won't!

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    But what happens when a baby dies...
    is that capitalized?

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    When we die... do we fly?

    Posted by Peter Liptak in Poems, Death and Chocolate

    Should DEATH be capitalized
    when its publicized
    in the pages of the obituary...
    or to the contrary?

    Should we eat our words in respect
    or be direct
    in our contempt for the bastard
    or just get plastered?

    When heroes great meet their end
    does he bend
    to send his prey in capitols large
    on the barge
    to journey's end - the great beyond
    or duties abscond?

    When we die... do we fly
    an empty sky
    does our soul take off in a flutter
    or melt - like butter?

    When I reach that distant fate
    whether great
    with my soul from aching wounds slowly ripped
    or soft and swift
    as the aged man whose sleep draws a last breath...
    DEATH should be – d e a t h
    like the last echo from a great call returning
    or quiet coals burning.

    But what happens when a baby dies...
    is that capitalized?

    Study of a Woman

    Posted by Peter Liptak in Poems, Death and Chocolate

    On the devilish nature of women: Seduction is an old man's realization of the true nature of what women call femininity. The true extent of which men wise in years and experience beyond all others will never fathom. The powers of femininity are derived from many sources: first the feline grace of easy movement and sleek lines carefully curved; then the sharp lined curiosity of pouty perfection; not to forget the lasciviousness of lavish lips; and finally the eternal tease of the trembling tail.

    onthedevilishnatureofwomenseductionisanoldmansrealizationofthetruenatureofwhatwomencallfemininitythetrueextentofwhichmenwiseinyearsandexperiencebeyondallotherswillneverfathomthepowersoffemininityarederivedfrommanysourcesfirstthefelinegraceofeasymovementandsleeklinescarefullycurvedthenthesharplinedcuriosityofpoutyperfectionnottoforgettheluciviousnessoflavishlipsandfinallytheeternalteaseofthetremblingtail

    onthed evi lishna tureo fwo mense ductioni sanol dmansr e aliza tio noft hetru enatu reofw hatw omenc allfe mininit ythet rueex tento fwhic hme nwis einye arsan dexperi enc ebeyondal loth erswi llne verfat homth epow ersoffe mininit yarederi vedfro mman ysourc esfir stthefel inegrac eofeas ymov ementands leeklin escaref ullycur vedth enthesh arplin edcuri osityo fpoutyp erfecti onnott oforge tthelac iviousn essofla vishli psandfin al lytheet ernalte aseofthet remblingta il.

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    The Dream

    Posted by Peter Liptak in Death and Chocolate

    The eyes make a woman
    somehow surreal
    dark and devilish
    somehow drastic
    in their opposition
    to the cool curves
    of the slick mountain
    roads I followed
    up and down
    like a man with a
    new sports car
    down and up again
    to the sharper peaks
    of chin
    of cheek
    Returning, as if
    to the memory of youth
    to the wonderful
    menace of her
    womanness
    her purity, her passion
    her eyes

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    No Sadness Cafe

    Posted by Peter Liptak in Death and Chocolate

    Colored line drawing of espresso cups with curling steam and shared travel dreams I love espresso,
    So sweet and so strong.
    My eyebrows dance
    As I sip soft blackness,
    My mouth, once long, enlivens
    With swift speech setting
    A sun dried arch of life,
    Spitting out pop culture,
    Movie quotes of youth.
    When I drink espresso
    I cannot contain myself.
    I speak to strangers
    Of adventures
    And far away places.
    I tell them my dreams
    And they join me. . .
    To share sweet dreams
    and sip espresso.

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    Think

    Posted by Peter Liptak in Poems, Death and Chocolate

    017

    Think, thank, thoughts coming unglued,
    falling unfastened, the feeling ensued
    with words tumbling from the pages of my mind,
    eyes blurred, a flash of white, then blind
    my world unkempt, disorderly, in disarray...
    what meaning shall i take from today?

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      Chocolate

      Posted by Peter Liptak in Death and Chocolate, Poems

      bare moon
      death storm
      summer delicate
      sweet tongue
      chanting
      lazy
      moment

      satisfaction

      Posted by Peter Liptak in Poems, Death and Chocolate, A little Burst o Truth

      Will we ever find satisfaction
      with our situation,
      with ourselves, with others?
      Send me a scrap, a slice, a morsel,
      a moment of peace, a piece of pleasure,
      a hint of happiness,
      even fleeting fragments of fulfillment,
      send me a smattering of satisfaction.
      The Stones' sad assertion...
      shouting submission to darkness
      be damned! I can.
      I can.

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