Human Nature Poem

Jeering Path

Your cats are driving me up the wall
Once I held the floorboards
But day by day. No second
By exaggerated millisecond
I’m headed up the wall.

And I notice the stains
Brown and black blotches –
Moldy spots overlaying the wall
Making it slippery and mushy
To grip onto and I might fall.

I’ll parachute to the bookshelf and hover
Between Hemingway and Fitzgerald
On the top shelf. Ill observe Zelda
As she charms the two – and
I’ll take notes.

I’ll stroll over to Poe and I’ll listen -
An innocent admirer, as he whispers
Sweet nothings to Annabelle Lee –
Ignoring the tuberculosis running
Rampant around.

Awfully high, I’ll bungee to the next
Shelf down and I’ll ballroom
Dance in the excitable lyrics
Of Keats – him serenading
My lone party.

As I notice the sun setting out our
Large balcony window I’ll retreat
A shelf. I’ll break into History -
An intruder; imposter;
Fraud – gallivanting.

Captain Smith welcomes me aboard and I
Stroll the boat deck. I relax on the
Great stairway: elbows and feet
Outstretched – waiting for
1st class supper.

Slushy snow carousels out the window;
I stealthily tiptoe to the Boston
Harbor and I hang my feet
Over the edge; my toes
Dipping like tea bags.

I’ll crouch beside Michelangelo’s
Lion and watch Adam and eve
Toss around the apple like
It’s a hot potato – juggled
Like clumsy children.

I’ll watch Charon row his ferry
And I’ll merely glance into
Hell: uncommitted souls
Lollygagging – Dante
Observing, too.

I’ll fight alongside King Arthur
Chivalrous and noble
Merlin will assist.
I’ll disappear
With him.

I’ll watch Jesus carry the
Cross and I’ll pull
Him aside and
Say thank
You.


As Ma returns home from Sunday church I
Will climb down – the cats still whine and
Meow – and she whines with them.
And I look at the still wall, my path
To the bookshelf, derisive. 

 © April 2012

Sound Bank Challenge Poem

There’s Something Off About Today

A deathly aura cradled the droopy day

Snow banks piled endlessly along the curbs

Children unearthed hidden monikers in yards

And decorated the town with faux angels

I thought topaz halos would complete the scene.

Chilled oxygen meandered the quieted streets

And ignited long forgotten memories –

In hindsight, I shouldn’t have worn white today.

(aura, cradle, endless, unearth, moniker, faux, topaz, oxygen, halo meander, ignite, hindsight)

© February 2012

Sound Poem

The Gift

Fingers shuffled - hunting for a rigid upheaval.

They shimmy over the shiny wrapping. Shaking

the perfectly lined contours of the package. The

precision is shocking: sharply tracing the harsh

corners of the gift. This mystery – sheathed in

shine – lies low, as if awaiting instruction. The

notion of what’s inside is healthily insured. All

rationale is tossed aside. Fingers remain still –

Attracting less attention; Their prey is standing

In front of them. The shaky edges of the tape

Shamelessly rats them out. They attack. Torn

Off, shattered and shredded.

This gift wrap is tossed

Aside to rest shamefully

Beside Rationale.

A shuffle of colors crumpled

Into a motionless ball. And

The gift is placed

On the high and mighty, shiny shelf.

© March 2012

Human Nature Poem

Interrupted Solace in a Winter's Evening

Every once and awhile I like to be alone

I burrow in the confines of my memory

And dart from conversations like a fish from glass

In a strike of unluck I find myself caught;

Hook punctured my mind's eye socket and

Reeled me in. Succumbing to my fate, I revert -

Thursdays become Wednesdays and on they go

Dust of yesterday’s mourning fall and blanket

Themselves on my old, wooden shelves – I may run

A damp rag along the surface to clear the

Sometimes overwhelming picture-framed thoughts:

I'll chase my retired childhood while relapses

Of your voice thunderously echo and erupt inside

Until Time becomes self-evident

And I grip it like the Velcro on your old shoes

Trying to stealth my way forward and return

To the present – but I'm confined in

This blurred memory -

As Slinkys jump from stairs, memories

Blend together - overlapping. 

 © April 2012

Death Haiku

Dead

Soft knock on the door.

A gale hush evacuates

Floor boards creak; sentenced.

Buried

While you play hooky

Suits ballroom the apartment

Uncompassionate.

Leftovers

Your voice lingering

Like mold in the corner of

This dry, hollow room.

© March 2009

Series Poems

1965
A carnival on a warm evening;
Getting ready: green-glass
Packaging; fifteen years
Old and hormonal
The cologne became a
Part of him; newly released
And instantly popular he
Doused himself; it seeped
Into his skin – into his
Pores; and seemingly into
His bloodstream: evoking
A raw energy of excitement;
His curly Jewish locks
Curtained his face; Elvis Presley
Mock-sideburns; dark,
Thick sunglasses; a button
Down shirt and khakis; Brut
Mixed with sweat and lavishly
Coated in pheromones; He
Circuitously wandered:
Weaving through neighbors
And fancifully colored rides;
The scent working as
An astute path for a female
Admirer to easily track.

1995
Sitting at the kitchen table
His black leather hat and
Benson and Hedges Menthols
In front of him beside his wallet;
He’d snack on honey roasted
Peanuts and chocolate covered
Pretzels; cans of diet coke. His
Feet: outstretched and folded –
Watching the sci-fi network while
The hamburger helper began to
Boil on the stove. His curly
Jewish locks would struggle
To cover the bald spot
That rested like a yarmulke.
Sweat glistened on his scalp –
Drawing unwanted attention.
Expecting company he would
Retreat to the bathroom and
Gussy up; a comb over; a
Teeth brushing; and Brut.
The scent festooned him and
Trailed the hallway to the living
Room; dinner was almost ready.

2005
At a hotel in Buffalo Grove. His
Nephews Bar mitzvah; family in
From out of town. French toast;
Sausage links that mocked his
Swollen fingers; coffee with one
Cream and one Equal sweetener;
A family portrait to mark the event:
The last one ever taken; sad
Glances from distant relatives;
Looks of pity; his ballooned torso
Over stretching his sweats; sunken,
Puffy eyes; brut cologne overlaid
The stench of him: unable to bathe
Himself – he doused. His black and
Gray Jewish locks veiled his bald
Spot; he playfully topped with a
Yarmulke – defeated. 

 © March 2012

Argument Poem

Sisters of Fate,

That twinkle
Teetering through twisted
Glances tells quite the tale –

Restraining – I watch the
Strings dangle and tangle
As you twirl them above

One twists sanity into
Tight, professional knots:
These fragile strings cling together
And the innocent impact of it rattles along

Another swings resentment
Through my wilting daffodil fields: Narcissus
Admiring his reflection – drowns. The
Stems contort with the lines of his brow.

Yet another wrenches sincerity against
A cold, quartz palisade: the stakes titter

as life is portioned out amongst us;

Passion for life left unrequited.

Of course, there’s this tiny, delicate, imitative string

Instead of swaying it hangs steady

Controlling its movements,

I tactfully trail alongside

and allot more time;

I untie Atropos' shoe

And watch as she trips;

She reaches for sisters who

Carry on with their dealings.

© March 2012