Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Folie Dans La Cuisine

The broken souffle was rapidly collapsing
She had hoped it would climb to such heights
that the man in the moon would smell it
and crave a bite
Now, it appeared on the precipice of disaster
and with it, her belief that she could master
the cryptic nuances of fancy French cuisine
She had been so hopeful,
her carriage unusually confident
as she leveraged the pan
from counter to oven
and lovingly thrust her creation into the warmth
As the souffle rose,
so did her self-worth
The doubts that had peppered her mind
became calypso drumbeats of excitement
She observed the edges brown,
slightly, like the first tan of summer
She knew it was time
Gently, she opened the oven door
Grasped her masterpiece with gloved hands
Set it on the table
The oven slammed shut
like a clubhouse door in her face
She was unwelcome here
An outsider
She removed her stained apron
shook her head
stepped outside
listened to the quiet song
of the crickets,
then dialed for pizza delivery.


submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Get Listed, Of Catnip and Moons

Monday, August 26, 2013

The Girl In the Window

Edvard Munch "The Girl in the Window" (detail) 1893
She gazes from her window at the night
Her face framed in the pane as hours pass
The midnight stars shine 'neath the moon's pale light
Upon the floor, reflections from the glass

She sings a gentle melody learned from
The lullaby of crickets in the weed
A summer breeze accompanies her hum
Into the darkness daily thoughts recede

Her body willows as it bends and sways
She wears a gown of soft white cotton cloth
So shaded from the sun's demanding rays
These moments are as fragile as a moth

In twilight's inky indigo she's whole
The night's tender caresses soothe her soul.

Hey Deanna

Hey Deanna
I thought about you today
Don't know why
It's been so long
but that song started to play
and I started crying
You know, it just doesn't seem fair
You'd just started flying
When they shot you out of the air
Hey Deanna
Have you found someone to love?
You never could down here
Maybe she's up above

I remember
when you dressed up
for Halloween
In wings and a halo
An angel groovin'
to Dancing Queen
You flirted with the girls
and the boys
The world was just
one of your toys
I can't understand
why you had to go away

Hey Deanna
I remember how you used to dance
You made everyone happy
But you never got the chance
Hey Deanna
Could you maybe send
a message my way?
'Cause I still miss you
and I just wanted to say
Hey Deanna.

In memory of Deanna Lynn "Odie" Garcia, 9/13/68 - 1/13/2001

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Open Link Monday

Sunday, August 25, 2013

Friday, August 23, 2013

Penny Royalty

photo by Elena Kalis
She drowns under
the weight of mistakes,

Whispers a prayer to Selene,
Mover of tides
Keeper of rhythms

Prostrates herself
before her Queen
She knew the pain of lovers

She prays
to awaken
from nightmarish dreams

Please release
the threads
thin, but binding

Endymion sleeps
She sinks,

Thursday, August 22, 2013

Mouse Heart

My heart
in a space under the floorboards
I hid it
years ago
There it stayed
I couldn’t risk it
being misused again

I learned
by degrees
how to function without
Didn’t even miss it any more

Then I dreamed
(or maybe it was a vision)
I put my heart back
into my empty chest
It beat again;
I was persuaded

I should have known
Dreams are not
to be trusted
if we are to survive

My heart grayed,
a small, dead mouse
I wear around my neck
as a tribute
to you, my love.

Thursday, August 15, 2013


After we make love
I will wear your scent all day
Better than perfume
The essence of our passion
I breathe us in and I smile

Monday, August 12, 2013

My Early Works

My mom recently gave me an old scrapbook she had been keeping of my schoolwork. I just had to post a few of the most memorable things!

 Oh my. If you can embiggen this lovely painting from second grade, you'll see that I have small children hanging from the ceiling and other children sad and crying at their desks, writing "I will be quiet." I swear I have no memory of what traumatic incident prompted this! Scary.

I think this is from first or second grade. Some of my first poetry!

I guess it didn't work-that's why Jewish kids don't ask Santa for things!

Friday, August 9, 2013

On Observing a Hummingbird

(AP Photo/Terry Sohl) (2008 AP)
I watch a hummingbird feed
She seems so tiny and frail
She tends perpetual need
Her death assured should she fail

Her beak a threadlike syringe
Her heart drum rolls in her breast
She flits among flowers' fringe
Her wings too nervous to rest

A wisp, she timidly flies
The wind can shift her in flight
Her will, her slightness belies
For few won't fall to her fight

So close to life she must cling
A strength imbues fragile things.

Wednesday, August 7, 2013

Memories and Magic

image from cover of "The Ocean At the End of the Lane"

Go the pond
At the end of the lane
Think of the girl
Remember again

Standing inside
The green fairy ring
Nothing can hurt you
Forget everything

Marble of glass
Soldier of tin
Swallow the ocean
Breath it all in

Fight with the monsters
The sheets from your bed
Nightmares of grown-ups
Take root in your head

Childhood demons
Tore you apart
Banished, but still
Left a hole in your heart.

(inspired by Neil Gaimon's new book, The Ocean At the End of the Lane)

Saturday, August 3, 2013

White Lie

image by Tosher @ Dreamstime
I told my love a small white lie
It was of no import
To spare his feelings, that was why
I gave a false report.

But a lie is like the phosphorus
That coats a matchstick head
Though small and white, it's poisonous
and volatile once said.

Sylvia Knew

"Mushrooms" by Enola-Autumn
She never feared
darkness, moved freely
among shadows
were her native tongue
She asked for little
and was rarely disappointed
She practiced
economy of emotion
She was described as shy
This was not true
Sylvia knew
She was a mushroom
Biding her time.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, FB Fridays, The Book Within the Story Within the Poem in which we were asked to compose a poem about a character somehow interacting with one of our favorite poems. I chose Sylvia Plath's "Mushrooms." When I was in junior high, I was very quiet in school. One summer, while at a writing camp, the teacher called me a "mushroom." I found the reference and loved it! I thought it conveyed a sort of quiet, subversive strength that others rarely recognized. The poem may be read at PoemHunter.com

Thursday, August 1, 2013

Return To Sender

from The Mag 179

...And when the landfills could hold no more,
Not one more old tire or rusted toilet,
The people sent their garbage to the sky
Rockets loaded with tons of trash
Launched into the air
High above the clouds that pillowed
Polluted cities
The people could not see the space flotsam
So they forgot all about it
Until it was time to send up more
And more
And more
Soon, the sky could hold
Discarded junk
Rained down
From the heavens
“Return To Sender”

submitted for The Mag, Mag 179