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Saturday, November 22, 2014

Pirouettes of Pain

Pirouettes of Pain

We search for the cloudy moments’ shield in the glare of 
the too bright skies of yesterday. As the parade begins still
through our resolute commitment to contain the yet
un-forgotten memory-spills.
Those pirouettes of pain painting our miserable past – tiny 
children, marching, damp-hand–in-clutched-hand through
the flutter-flotsam of one after another, poor parental decision
crying, calling, falling one into another – until 
neglected as tossed dominoes
tumbling in the stains of then
stumble finally into the future of 


Monday, November 17, 2014

For the lil time travelers

photo of "Lil Mama" by Fame Ketover 

grand-nephews Janson Enrique & Grayson Robert 

For the lil time travelers ....
I shall be one 
of your Ancient
Ones - wise relic
of time past and
you twin travelers
shall catapult past
into a future of un-
imagined possibility
in which you shall 
walk in comfort and
complete familiarity
a smile on each face
my name an echo in
the wind caressing 
your cheeks - 
pushing ever so 
gently - with love
behind you always -
the whisper of the
wind at your back 

Saturday, November 15, 2014

Sweet Sugar Sunday

Lynn Greyling

Sweet Sugar Sunday

She was nibbling at her toast on Sunday
morning when they started to speak, eyes
lingering on each other. Mother began to
mix brown sugar into oatmeal, but the thing
about brown sugar is it tends to be just about
as subtle a cover for oats, breakfast of horses,
as are lingered looks a cover for hints of 
Sounds that sweet and smooth drifted like 
powder, floating on 
pale blue light
late last night under
her doorway - From their passion to her palate
to the core of her soul – tasted on her tongue 
This Sunday morning as she ate her toasty
break-fast: Spooned-served-love on the side 
smiling parents on a sweet-sugar-Sunday-sigh

Sunday, November 9, 2014

Bubby’s Kristallnacht Cup

Bubby’s Kristallnacht Cup*
Bubby had a glass tea cup
that she would take down
from its high shelf once in
a very long while and hold
to the golden light at sunset
Sparkling crystal only one
with a saucer so thin it felt
weightless in my small hand
that crisp November evening
when she called to me and
her special voice warm with
a faraway language waved
me to her side – and tears
shining in her eyes showed
me how to hold the cup so
it caught all the light shining
we stood silently side by side
at her window – I a small child
with trembling heart holding
her single secreted souvenier
Until with hair shimmering
silver she straightened her
shoulders and with a proud
tremble in her voice began –
“Let me tell you “kinder” of a night
when they came to break the glass..”
Years tumbled as they will and one
day clearing out her things I found
on the self same shelf her tea cup
and reached on tiptoe my belly big
with child -and listened as it slipped
– a small smash – a tiny shatter – and
as I began to cry – cleaning sparkling
slivers – I saw a fragment Woolworth
label and realized that nothing had
survived that time except the love,
the knowledge and the legacy, to be
retold so as she would say
“it should never be forgotten”
I locked her door and at Tiffany’s
I found a fluted cup of cut crystal
Only one? the saleswoman asked
One will be enough
I answered – One will be enough …
Unwrapped it on a high bookshelf
where it catches the light and waits
to tell its story to the child that will
bear her name


*written in honor of Kristallnacht Memorial 11/9-11/10
this poem is not autobiographical although I feel deeply
that, but for some toss of the dice, it could have been...

Black Knight

George Hodan

Black Knight

At the crossroads where the crocus meets the
rose that has no thorns
At the crossroad where the birds part for the golden
owl with feathered horns
I shall meet you in the mud where the sun will never shine
In the blackened night around us I will take you there as mine
At the crossroads where you crawl on belly desperate to decide
I shall rise in fervor swirling - scissor to your thread - your lover Suicide

On the other side of the razor

Lynn Greyling

On the other side of the razor

Occam  suggested
Look for the simple
and so she breathed
in desperate incantation
See the shine in the mud
the roses rise o'er thorns
See birds soar above carrion
focused fervor in eyes of fright
Oh Occam! - help me see in this dark night

See benevolent wisdom in stare of the owl
Help me believe still in the crocus prowl
pulsing warm and gay under the frozen crust
Hold this thread of life I bore I must, I must
until I weave a tapestry from times remembered
waving bannered in this cold deadened night
here at the pain-paned window spectred sight
This crossroads as light leeches toward the dust
Hold, see and from this single fraying thread
Weave, weave, yes,  from fraying thread  I must  

Breathing with
him above the
whir life cheapened
beep of machines  where
breath once easy flowed
easy, oh how easy flowed 
to his future golden glowed

Breathe, Breathe, through
this vile, vicious night
See slip of hand accident  
not suicide - not suicide  
Never this complication
would Occam so decide

This child's now unlined brow 
sleeps, simply sleeps until first
first brightening light
waiting - to awaken - to Auroras call

laughing then - a simple solution to this all
laughing then - a simple solution to this all


The Sunday Whirl

Sunday, November 2, 2014

PAD. Day 2 - Given up for lost

Given up for lost...
She had made her peace
watching the cold wind
wave through marshland
consoling her heart that
he small furred creature
who for a time curled in
her home and heart had
made his way back to the
salted seaside stalking at
the yawping gulls, leaping
at the flash of small critters
She had made her peace
standing at the window
watching smiling at his
imagined reclamation, his
tawdry toys now gathered
in a basket for the trash
and thought the familiar
meow a phantom
wish like the itch
of an amputated
limb until at the
open door he
sauntered in
and brushed
past his ebon
in the sun
that filled

Saturday, November 1, 2014

Satisfied - Halloween Horror Leftover

Satisfied – Halloween Horror Leftover

she screamed just a little
as he standing satisfied
fixed to light the gasoline
standing satisfied, jaded,
some might say, as wind
lifted a spark, blew the
rain away and sun shone
in the cold shimmering
grey in that pearlescent way
it has, held up against
the perfect crimson slash
just before immolation