A SOARING SOUL, a poem

 

Well-written novels

With classic plots

Comfort my mind

 

Well-written films

With gripping plots

Are so pleasurable

 

Well-written poetry

With singing lines

Makes my soul soar

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ENTHRALLED, a poem

 

If perfection be a thought

Then I’ll think of thee as such

I’ll raise you to a Goddess

I’ll drop myself to dust

The sun shall be your subject

The moon shall be your throne

Your heaven shall exist

Within my mind

May it ever be your home

(Note: I wrote this poem 68 years ago when I was 19.

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TOGETHER, a poem

 

 

Songs we sang together

spin through my mind,

lingering memories

of those happy times

With you

 

Walking all alone

to our park now

rouses a hunger

for those happy times

With you

 

Our breakfast table

began the feast

in my daily life

of those happy times

With you

 

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INTO the RAGBAG, a poem

 

For thousands of mornings

over the past 40 years

my blue and gray jacket

has shielded me against

the first chill of each day

 

Part of an ensemble,

somehow along the way

the pants were discarded

The jacket stayed with me

worn into my old age

 

Warming my upper body

after I arose from bed

through the many many years

Finally, ashes for me

a ragbag for my jacket

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A JACKET'S JOURNEY, a poem

 

Together for four decades,

our destinies are coupled

When his aging soul departs

will I be torn into rags

before being discarded

 

Born in a sweat shop,

mostly blue and gray,

a woman who loved him

presented me to him

He named me ‘my jacket’

 

Every cool morning,

he always put me on,

relishing my warmth

Oh, how he treasures me

He named me ‘my jacket’

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SURPRISE, a poem

 

The audience expects

a certain bloody end

as massive Goliath

prepares to crush the life

out of trembling David

 

Suddenly, the puny guy

propells a very sharp stone

into the giant’s forehead,

a happy outcome for some,

disappointing for others

 

History shows us

despite major odds

the seemingly weak

can sometimes triumph

over the mighty

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OUT of AFGHANISTAN, a poem

 

The frightening turmoil

sails across my cable screen

An accident of birth

saved me from being

in that anxious horde

 

I muse on such thoughts

while they struggle to flee

from the zealous Taliban

with their beards, weapons

and punishing whips

 

The crucible of our culture

will test those who fled

from that perilous country

to a nation where women

can pursue their dreams

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VERVE, a poem

 

          Blessed with zest

          upon awakening

          Jumping out of bed,

          ready to begin

          another happy day

         

Verve is the sparkle

          making living a joy

          No need to search

          for the meaning of life

          when you have it

 

          Aware you are happy

          What more can you

          want from your life

          No need to strive

for nirvana

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THE IMMIGRANTS, a poem

 

The reasons why:

The Irish from hunger

The Italians from poverty

The Jews from persecution

The Latinos from hunger,

poverty and persecution

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PURE PLEASURE, a poem

 

Moments of pure pleasure

that really thrill our lives

are ephemeral treasure

never to be forgotten

 

Some are planned

some are not

the sensation may be grand

or at the very least nice

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WOMAN EMERGING

 

The wedding was great

The best way to mate

The lovely children came

The results of the game

 

Make us breakfast

And dinner too

Pack the lunches

Don’t feel blue

 

Go ride the second wave

To virtual freedom

As long as you don’t drown

Me inadvertently

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DRIFTING

 

          Floating along

Drifting aimlessly

          Listening to the music

          of my life

 

          A sweet symphony

          or a country song,

          coordinated skills

          or a captivating voice

 

Musical sounds

          stir different feelings

in the heart and soul,

euphoria or gloom

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BATHING, haiku

 

The Robin splashes

The water flies everywhere

A birdbath fulfilled

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THE ANSWER, a poem

 

How can I explain

My love for you?

Your beauty

Your smile

Your disposition

Your kindness

Your happiness

Those ingredients

Glued us together

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MEOW, haiku

 

Where is the old cat

Soundly sleeping in her bed

Where she wants to be

 

WISHES, a poem

 

I opened the bottle,

the genie was there

Give me a wish

for whatever you care

So, I did:

End hunger throughout the world

Peace in Palestine and Israel

The evaporation of Donald Trump

The end of daily shootings

 

The genie groaned,

For goodness’ sake

ask something simple

like a woman with a dimple

or a dozen golden eggs

 

 

 

CONNECTION, a poem

 

She looked at him

with her adoring eyes

A worthy man,

a valuable prize

 

He looked back at her

with growing desire

for a smiling woman

who ignited his fire

 

The hunt was now over

for remarkable prey

finding what they wanted

for a lifetime of play

 

DEMENTIA, a poem

 

She surfaces for a moment

like a tulip in early spring,

swaying so brightly in the breeze,

then her petals fall to the ground

and she is gone, perhaps forever

 

END of MY TRAIL, a poem

 

Worn and so exhausted,

yet still stumbling onward,

near the end of the trail

of a very long life

 

Through the many years

the journey was fueled

by curiosity and pleasure,

with a strong, energetic body

and no all-consuming heartaches

 

Sweet memories endure

despite the flawed body

whose certain destiny

is sickness and then death,

perhaps an afterlife

 

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PENCIL ARTIST, a poem

 

 

          The pencil artist took

          just minutes to capture

          the prissy expression

          on my youthful face,

          many decades ago

 

          My wife put the work

          on our bedroom wall,

          a daily reminder

          that his vision of me

          differed from mine      

         

I appreciate only now

          as my ego has receded

          with the onset of age

          the perceptive skill

          of that street artist

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AGENDA, a poem

 

          The clock no longer

          Sets my agenda

          Lying in bed until

          My body says

          You should arise

 

          There are so many

          Ways to enjoy life

          Watching cable

          Or writing poetry

          Whatever fits your fable  

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THE PENCIL ARTIST, a review

 

          I was happily surprised to discover Kenneth T. Mencher’s brief review of my novel, THE PENCIL ARTIS, on Amazon.

          Mencher wrote in his 4-star review: “A wonderful, clever, quick read. A bit of a fairy tale that artists wish would come true. Some of the writing is a bit clunky, but doesn't detract overly much from the pleasure of reading this.”

          THE PENCIL ARTIST was the fulfillment of my goal to publish eight novels by the time I was 81. I uploaded the book to Amazon, Smashwords and Barnes and Noble on Aug. 15, 2015, two weeks before my 81^st birthday. That was the final act of my novel-writing career because of the circumstances of my life. I now write poetry.

          Thank you, Mr. Mencher, for your clever review.

         

 

 

PASSION and ROMANCE, a poem

 

          Don’t feel sorry

          for me

          just for shredding

          my life

 

          You wanted passion,

          I wanted romance

          Why couldn’t we just

          have mixed the two

 

          Always wondering why

          our love had to die

          Perhaps the answer was

          taking you for granted

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BLOCKED

 

          Inspiration lies dormant,

          banked in the ashes

          of very old age

          Needed is a spark

          to ignite the fire

          of my creativity

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HOLDING HANDS, a poem

 

My arm around you,

          a smile on your face

          What better place

          in this human race

 

          To walk hand in hand

          wherever life takes us

          is a wonderful plan

          for this earthly span

 

          At day’s end, the pleasure

of standing close together

viewing the reds and golds

of a glorious evening sky

JANUARY SIXTH, a poem

 

         The dupes, the supremacists, the crazies

          heard the wannabe despot’s call         

          to amass for a bloody assault

          on our sacred Congressional hall

 

          Tear them apart in my name

was the traitorous message

creating a willing mob

with a murderous intent

                   

A thin blue line of brave police

          turned the violent, seditious horde

         with a hero dying on this shameful day,

          the price to save our democratic way

         

A DELICIOUS DAY, a poem

 

         Pancakes with butter

          and maple syrup

          began my day,

          along with sausages

          and two black coffees

 

          For lunch I turned

          to a hot dog

          with American cheese

from the Forest Pork Store

          along with plain water

 

          Home-made pizza

          and a red wine

completed my journey

with a heavy price,

an added pound of flesh

 

THE ISLE of ATTU

 

 

The distant isle of Attu,

the perfect place for you,

Donald

          Wearing the ring

          of a lonely king

 

          Spending your long days

          staring at the raging sea

          Donald

          Fondly remembering the brawl,

          waiting for the comeback call

 

          You had world-wide power

          embarrassingly frittered away

          Donald

          Continuing to gloat,

          I never lost the vote

 

          (Reminiscent of Napoleon’s exile to Elba,

          This poem suggests the Isle of Attu, the western-

          most island of the Aleutian Islands would be the perfect

          place for Donald Trump’s post-awful presidency. Fittingly,

Attu is just 280 miles from Russia.)