these men are like gods
transcend restraints of
biology, alter evolution
shed chains of kindness
not like you & I
they live in sky castles
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Yellow Moons (a poem)
be careful, son
don’t delve into
too much mystery
it’ll consume you
pray to yellow moons
inky-black skies
howling wolves
green wilderness
cycles of rebirth
summer turns to autumn
the land sustains us
be careful, son
& brave
(Photo by Izabelle Acheson on Unsplash)
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On Racism and Growing up in the American South
Growing up in the South, you learn from an early age about racism. Our public schools taught from books that The Daughters of the Confederacy bought for schools. Eventually, we read books that actually told some truth.
I remember reading about the Civil Rights movement and its leaders. I remember learning details about Martin Luther King, Jr. I remember feeling shame to know he was assassinated in my home state of Tennessee.
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Suburban Killer (a poem)
at this juncture, we’ve not found
the serial killer who
stalks the sickened streets
of this suburban town –
turn that frown
upside-down, miss
we’ve got diligent detectives
on the case
looking at every trace
of evidence
storing it in dirty lockers –
we’ll find this psycho-dude
I assure you
& you can go back
to your tranquil life
not worrying ‘bout
these dreadful things
(Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash)
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Dreamland (a poem)
just before slumber
there’s a moment between
dream & wakefulness
a hazy realm
eyes closed
your smelly dog
at the foot of the bed, growling
the moment happens
in milliseconds
you fall into dreamland
shifting sands
awake to sunlight
peering through heavy curtains
a new day – but
are you still in dream?
this whole thing may not
be what it seems
(Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash)
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When Day Becomes Night (a poem)
when day becomes night
people tuck into beds
drop their heads
on puffy pillows & blankets
back from coal mines & factories
of fear, soaked in mud
smeared with oil of
dire times –
they were once in their primes
these working men & women
but now bones hurt
spines shatter
blood splatters
when day becomes night
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Shanah Tovah U’metukah
The year 2020 has been a strange year, and so has the Jewish year of 5780.
As the sun sets tonight, we hope and pray for a better year.
What will 5781 bring us? Do we dare to dream of health and happiness?
Or shall we begin to brace ourselves for a long, hard winter?
It is our hope which will sustain us, and we pray for a better year.
5781 brings us hope, and another step closer to coming back together.
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Serenity (a poem)
we talk about serenity
but I’m not sure what we mean
there have been times
I was serene
but it’s few and far between
I want it to be a permanent state
of being
an emotion that stretches into
the future, forever
but that’s impossible
like asking to control the weather
so, as days go by
& I grow older
I hope I grow wiser, too
settle for serene moments
instead of reaching for something
that’s beyond my feeble grip
(Photo by Eric Muhr on Unsplash)
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Parallel Parking Olympics (a poem)
If there was ever a Parallel Parking Olympics
it’d be in South Philly
cars jam into microscopic spots
enough to cause anxiety
but you, with your back-up camera
squeeze in like it’s no big deal
this shit is real!
parking spots are like gold
circle the block like a vulture
starving, on the prowl
maybe you’ll get lucky
find a spot front-and-center
(Photo by Cali Riffee on Unsplash)
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Euphoria (a poem)
The river meanders
dividing line of Philly & Jersey
fog drifts off blue-black water
on the way to the concert
you can hear music reverberate
feel chilly breeze on your skin
men & women pulsing with
sexual energy
some of them tipsy
touch my hand
tell me you understand
let me know I’m alive –
the warmth of your body
the coldness of steel handlebars
ready for a night of euphoria
(Photo by Matt Power on Unsplash)
