a chalky stew
the hungry stare
yellow is a while
the news is blurry
layers of chocolate sauce and fiberglas insulation
we ate the flowers and they were delicious
and now we are floating above the city in a bubble
once I was a hen using magic
an onion kiss from the cook
More at http://www.madverse.com/.
this is the continuation of the earth
this room here is the starlit nightery
ripe for the moon
earth is bursting with eggs
one rice for the oil derry oil
to program better peas
earth is a long way from earth
More at http://www.madverse.com/.
I wish you hadn’t done
All those things, but I’m
Not going to let our history
Dictate who I should be.
You have no power over
Me any longer, nothing
You say can make me do
Anything I don’t want to.
I will walk with confidence,
Look at myself in the
Mirror and remember
Who I am.
Is the answer to our ills
in the fluttering of pages,
the volley of discourse, or
the dust of the library?
Education is the invitation
to a thoughtful existence,
sometimes to revolt and
liberation. Sometimes to
the ability just to read, to
plant those first nascent
seeds of idea.
Soon grown to full bloom.
This Star of David for people in Exile
For those decimated by centuries of horror
And unimaginable cruelty by dominant cultures
Once symbolized protection from all harm
It is now a star of intolerance and retribution
Hatikva, once a song of hope for the Diaspora
A poem adopted in the 1st Zionist Congress
As a national anthem, it is a warning to neighbors
Of military might without compassion or remorse
An anathema to to people of the West Bank and Gaza
Red hair and black leather
My favorite color scheme
I miss the way you danced with me
But missing is not enough
I miss the way you held me close
Yet missing is not enough
I long for more of everything
And nothing is enough
I miss the way we laughed
words blur together
congealing
before eyes
brimming
with the sea
held back
by clustered
lashes
a stream spills down
pockmarked cheeks
lined with years
spilling onto
crisp paper
lips tremble
in silent
defeat
as a vice
grips the chest
caved in
from decades of
memories
a wet gaze looks up
at an apparition
from the past
but the present
commands
attention
to itself
it calls for
just a squiggle
on pristine pulp
but hands
paralyzed
with grief
cannot move
threats flew in
that stifling air
biting syllables
that rend
and tear
sign the damned papers
the hand moves
as unvoiced wails
rise up
from that
caved in chest
it is done