Roil, roil, scratch and toil,
Dig in deep and turn up soil.
Try, try, scratch and cry,
Dig in flesh and make blood fly.
Want, want, scratch and haunt,
Dig in soul and make cheeks gaunt.
Free, free, scratch and flee,
Dig in deep and turn up “Me.”
poem
And If You
And if you sing tonight
While flying up to the ceiling,
Do you think that things will change?
And if you don’t speak
Instead of saying too much like you used to,
Do you think you should be proud?
And if you like both of them,
Tell them that they’re beautiful,
Do you think that they will love you more?
And if you lie in bed and think
All the thoughts that you push back during the day,
Do you think that they will go away?
And if, finally, you write about it,
Pour your heart out in a red notebook,
Do you think that years from now, you will remember what on earth you were talking about?
An Ode to Dorothy
Dorothy, poetess supreme,
For you I long, of you I dream.
Parker, drinker, hostess, wit,
I find no adjective to fit.
Life was longer than you planned,
Death escaped your grasping hand.
You sure attempted suicide,
But never gained the other side.
Inadequate
Not enough – that’s the thing.
Not enough of a personality.
Not enough of a joker.
Not enough of an adventurer.
Not enough of a drama-queen.
Too much also –
That’s the strange thing,
How there can be too much
That becomes part of inadequacy.
Too much of a ‘fraidy-cat.
Too much of a listener.
Too much of a pleaser.
Too much of a dullard.
Too much of a forgetful face.
Not enough and too much
of everything Important, it seems.
Without
Disclaimer: I’m sorry, everyone, for being so emo and sappy over the holidays… I have a promise to myself never to erase any posts; otherwise, I’d erase this crappy poem. Instead, I’m adding this disclaimer.
Without,
Things are different.
The sky hasn’t fallen,
The planets orbit as usual,
Toddlers cry and children laugh,
Parents love and people die.
But things are still different,
Without.
Without,
Molehill fears become mountains,
Nasty insecurities become screaming flaws,
While outwardly things remain the same,
A mask making up for everything,
Without.
Without,
Experiences are private once more,
Sharing becomes hard work,
Terrors and nightmares rule the dark,
Loneliness is a natural state,
Without.
Without,
Is simply harder than with,
Is sadder than with,
Is a struggle worthy only of the word
Without.
Week
Will you be weak first,
Or shall I?
It’s been a week, the first,
And I’m sorely tempted.
But maybe the weakness
Is in my mind and heart only.
Mother says it isn’t so,
And others say it too,
But my aching sore,
My blistering insides
Where someone came
And took something away-
That hole tells me it is.
Will you be weak first,
Or shall I?
A weak week it was,
Laughter stolen,
Soul broken,
Eyes bright in the glass.
But worry not, for weakness fades,
And strength gathers anew.
A week from now,
Where will you be?
Shall I be there too?
Cat-Rhymes
The cat sat on the bed.
The cat wanted to be fed.
It made eyes at its owner,
Who was a great loner,
And went to get food from the shed.
**
The cat sat on the couch.
Its owner was also a grouch.
When she wanted to share,
The cat thought “You dare?”
And the owner then screamed out an “Ouch!”
**
The cat sat on the floor.
The cat was very much bored.
The human tried to play,
But the cat ran away,
And played with an electrical cord.
**
The cat sits wherever it wants.
Every part of the house it haunts.
It owns the house,
From sofa to mouse,
And the human only gets taunts!
Creatures of the Mind
Far off in the meadow,
Resides the fairy queen.
She’s always dressed in yellow,
Her face always serene.
**
High up in the cloudy sky,
Santa Clause snores away.
His wife bakes him apple pie,
For warmth on chilly days.
**
Deep down in the earth,
The devil plays at cards.
He welcomes to his turf,
All sinners, cheats and bards.
**
In every theater around,
Dionysus spends some time.
He helps sew up the gowns,
And always shares his wine.
**
The graveyards hold Death,
In all his austere glory.
He’ll take away your breath,
When it’s time – don’t be sorry.
**
In recesses of our minds,
Inside the hearts of all,
Live things we can’t define,
Unreal creatures, great and small.
Alphabet Nonsense
Once upon a time,
The letter A took a walk.
She saw the letter B
And boy, she had a shock.
**
B was round where A was not,
And A was quite appalled.
But the letter B laughed at her,
And said “Try being small!”
**
When A became a she realized
That she had some roundness, too.
She sought out B and asked him if
He’d be her friend, real and true.
**
So A and B had lots of fun
And paired up for many words,
Like abbey, abort and able,
Abolish, abet and absurd.
**
They were friends for many years,
And they met some other letters,
And they learned never to think
Of themselves as anyone’s betters.
**
A and B liked C and D,
And many others as well,
They were a band of twenty-six,
The spellers and the spelled.
**
But A and B have special status,
They’re nobler than the others,
For the alphabet is named after
Their great-great-Latin-grandfathers.
A Reply to “A Schedule” + A Little More
I’d like to start this post by just saying how much it meant to me to read the replies you all wrote. It means more than I can articulate to have people believing in my, people who have never met me or talked to me, but have only known my through this blog. It’s more special this way – there are no biases, you aren’t here just to flatter me, and if you didn’t like my blog, you’d leave and needn’t reply. I know these things, though they’re hard to really accept sometimes, and so I truly appreciate your support. Starting Sunday (because in Israel, the week starts on Sunday) I will begin my writing schedule, and we’ll see how it goes. I hope that I won’t disappoint myself!
I also would like to thank those of you who say that they wouldn’t guess my age… Age doesn’t matter when it comes to friendship, as far as I’m concerned, but I’ll admit that I’ve always had a little nagging doubt in the back of my mind – I’ve worried, you see, that I’ll somehow become or appear childish without meaning to, and that my friendship would be denied or pushed away. That hasn’t happened, and I’m relieved – and I’ll take those words of surprise at my age as compliments, because I know you mean them as such.
So. On a side note: is there some sort of requirement that people who wish to write have low self-esteem? Because, clearly, I’ve been gifted with an overabundance of that particular asset.
**
Test-time
Tense.
Chairs scraping.
Clock ticking.
School-building: hardback chairs with metal legs,
grey, grey tables, scratched, scored.
A fly buzzes.
Heads turn, murder in their eyes,
longing to swat the
interruption.
Then, suddenly,
it’s over.
Laughter returns to faces,
Sighs of relief can be heard,
High-fives exchanged.
It’s done,
it’s over,
it’s finished.
Slightly Ignorant 