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)

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)

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)

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

(Photo by Uvi D on Unsplash)

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.

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)

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)

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)