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Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Golden Years

Days melted into
golden years
ripe as peaches
dripping down the
chin
Only yesterday all
did begin
Tonight a door
opened on a dinner
out with "the three"
and in a beribboned
room waited your
well-earned glory
as together friends
and family
smiled and beamed
at the two
the golden
united well-traveled
two that are
you

Friday, November 26, 2010

Lost and Found -Oliver

In the marsh
Tall wheat grass blows
Cats and kittens onto
Streets. Onto gardens
Sunning themselves on back porches
Climbing onto high decked
One once peered down upon
A sitter through a bathroom
Skylight
Slinking, parading, skittering, running,
Birthing kittens, that appear
And in a connected glance
 Return to the marsh
To the tall wheat swaying
Returning after the hard rains fall
Picking delicately on the tops of
 Snowdrifts eluding kind hands
And open hearts in favor
Of the marsh spreading
Favors of feline freedom
Two of all queen and king of colony
Long ago trapped neutered released
Separate in color and courage
Come to feed to visit to enter a home now
And again, to seek and enjoy
Their brief encounters with humans
And return to rule the marsh
In the tall swaying grasses of wheat
And the kittens appear and disappear quickly
At night gorged raccoons appear, the imagined
Hint of kitten on their drawn lips
Kitten blood on their exposed teeth...
The kittens are taught early to avoid
 All contact, no matter how friendly,
All traps, no matter how humane,
Returning to the marsh
To the tall grass swaying...
If one should be seen, even inches long
It will be neither cute
Nor cuddly , truly a wild creature
Given to sibilant hisses and flat ears
Until one day a small meow
Almost a mirage of a meow
And there at the door, after the
Rain, tiny ball of ebon fluff
Emerald neoned eyes
That neither, ran, nor hissed
But stood tiny and waiting and
As the door opened
The mailman came stomping
Good naturedly, " cute kitten"
Said he to its disappearing...
Back to the marsh?
To the wild grasses swaying?
To the winter coming?
To the fattened raccoons?
And then moments later
As Kaitlin ran from fingers
Onto the screen, haunting
Haunted murdered innocent
Muse child
Came a mirage mewling
And there at the door again
Accompanied by the King of the Marsh
This ebon emerald fluff of spirit sown
And I bent slowly and lifted this
"familiar" melted purring onto my breast...
Lifted this bit of soft marsh grass swaying
into the future of forever as this
Oliver twisted his way free from the
waiting jaws of predators and winter
unschooled and somehow innocent
 In the ways of wild
No mystical muse as simple as Kaitlin
A complicated fellow, as synchronized in
Temperament and spirit as a witch's familiar
Arriving, mystical, magical, lost and found
Releasing all negative energy
Bringing a stretching wheat swaying
Marshland of endless possibilities
Of life swaying with the faint
Perfume of salted grass
Flowing to the screen
Providing that simple unexpected twist

Oliver is home....
  

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Form & Formless

Form

Finished completed in day twenty two
On this first attempt writing right through
Respect for discipline, attention to each morning's walk down the Street
Magical appearance of Kaitlin into a novel did meet

Anti-Form

Float like a butterfly, leave out the fight
Onward always forward falling drifting along with unknown mystical might
Releasing the words into this gentle magical musical flight pure driven fall snow
Moving with, in, and of the flow until, there in day 22 finished NaNo
Loose and free letting each snowflake fall each into its call
Easy, easy not needing to know where, when or how it would all
Sift like soft flour pouring in unclumped singularity piling tall
Secure in the safety of the ultimate structure of the formless free-fall

Space Closed

There is a space
that floats formless
and flagrant
in sibilant
silence

There is a space
that floats formless
on a street
where disconnect
drifts attempting inveigled
purchase in
the imagined loneliness
of a singular footfall
walking ankle deep
in word fall

There is a space
that fills with the
torrent of remembered
richness, the soaked sunburst
joy of individual collective
inspiration
dandelion dust dancing
from each blossom burst
and caught
on a fingertip
inhaled in the
crisp fresh breath
of a new fall day

Where there are words
that can be no disconnect

Space closed

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Stacking Up The Dreams

The dreams
one atop the
other rising in
the night of
individual darkness
to sparkle in one
shining collective day
for all people
for all places
for all time
floating forward
forever
peace

Stacking Up...

Jewish children of a certain time
were told not unlike African- American
children today
that they had to "stack up"
be "better" than "them"
whoever the them should be
and whatever the "them" should do
It was the only way, to show
those who would hate in the name
of a blatant lie
that we were gentle, intellectual
folk and that, of course so many
millions had been allowed to die
Not only in that one singular war
The one that some say The Greatest Generation
fought and died hard for
But for the years, from Pharaoh's time
In a land where there was milk and honey
after a forty-year-walk in the sand
And then a country, a safe home base
Where, if it ever happened again... well
just in case
It gets fuzzy here, way away in a land safe
from fire, far away from even local ire
living cloistered in the east coast bubble
where Jewish children unless "religious"
never ever experience any difference or trouble
Years ago walked the streets of Jerusalem
and marveled at the sanctity of Mary's tomb
the brilliant light of the mosque's dome
walked the stations of the cross, ears
delighted in keffiyeh, head scarves, kippas, bare-heads,
short shorts, modest and all modes of dress
to a true land of milk and honey all this did attest
"Stacking up" never had I been so unearned, but yet
somehow filled with pride and delight
to be part of a people who had learned in modern time how again to fight
for freedom
for themselves but not only for Israelites
the proof in the Israeli intent and real funds spent to restore all Christian, and Islamic sites...
Had I traveled at just a singular point in time?
When did the tide turn and the rocks begin to be hate-filled thrown?
When did the promise of Jew and Arab side by side get seeded
with cries of "to the sea" get sown
When did the green fields sprung from sand
Become less the signature of this land
"Stacking up" be quiet, gentle and yet remember the lesson
of the past
When those who thought they were untouchable found themselves
isolated, alienated, hated and ignored, in modern civilized times gassed
Two wrongs never add up to a single right
But even a born Jewish boy like "Yeshua" sacrificing himself as an example to those who would murder and castigate
Would ponder long and hard on the rationale of complying with a state committed to destruction and a unrelenting hate....

or not...
what do I know?
just a thought....

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Cross-road that hopefully a parent never reaches-A Kaitlin Poem*part of a series of 13 poems

When does the time come
when a child's laughter
trailing off across green
wet summer grass
freezes into the ice
of winter, thaws again
into spring and still
echoes into summer.

When does the time come
when listening for the
laughter becomes a memory
rather than an anticipated
possibility
When does the time come
when hope is replaced by
silence?

Who determines the cross-road
when laughter dies
on decomposing lips
of a child
forever gone...

Cross Roads at Nano (the half-way NaNoWriMo Challenge mark)

Cross Roads at Nano (the half-way NaNoWriMo Challenge mark)

"Come to me" she whispered
sweet apple cheeked muse
write with abandon, free
heart, mind and soul through
the fingers of those hands
Come to me she whispered
a smiled and a scent of
cinammon and cream
Sit and pour forth it
will be like a dream
the bar is set low
you can step right across
think not what you write
just word count, there will be no loss
And following there with fingers
on fire, the numbers poured into
people a town, plot and more
Nano, never did tell you what
you knew from the start that
a writer can't write and not care
what they're writing about
And so now you care, and you
keep fingers flying and wish
you could sit in her warm
kitchen, see her kind crinkled
eyes, smell the cinammon and
cream and continue that
Great-American-Novel-falling-from
the-sky-in-a-month-dream
As you sit at the cross-roads
between moving ahead and the
spine chilling potential of
tomorrow's possible dread
Now at the cross-roads between
gaily marching along with fingers
a flying and your heart filled with
song
And the chilling, the thrilling,
possibility of all that terrifyingly
could be
if Nano turns critic, the cream
soured and mold fuzzed in cinammon
and her body fetid as Medussa serpents
slither in the soft silver curls with whom
all did begin
Grandma Nano
or Decomposing Nano
one giving life
the other a cold-blooded kill
At the cross-roads both possible
all a matter of will

Friday, November 12, 2010

Forget What They Say - two weeks after Kaitlin's disappearance

Each morning waking in
light that has no right
to shine so bright
filled with sudden hope
embrace yourself and
repeat on this fresh day
Forget,
Forget what they say..

Forget statistics about
how soon children should
be found if they are to be
above the ground
Forget what they say
as night falls
hard and still
and from the emptiness
slither black thoughts
until
Whisper loud light
pouring through the
end of another day
Forget
Forget what they say

At each end of night and day
Hear her laughter, feel her
weight damp in sleep upon
your chest, wake easy and
go easy to your rest
Inhale her scent, shampoo
and days filled with green
grassed play
Continue to
Forget what they say

Thursday, November 11, 2010

No one wants to.... know Kaitlin lives on.. (for more in series search Kaitlin on-going series)

No one wants to listen
to me
that Kaitlin ran in
green fields and made
snow angels in the snow

No wants to listen
to me
that though "gone" still lives
they cannot and do not want to know

If we meet, they turn their eyes
and look someplace
up on to my forehead
throw frozen smiles and babble on
with perhaps a mumbled reference to gone or passed
unspoken words scream at me "your daughter is forever dead."

And,if they can they quickly turn at a
single glimpse of me
walk quickly toward another way
if caught stammer smile oh so "obliviously"

No wants to listen
fearing talk of a four-year-old
who physically is dead
Most chilling is that
no one wants to listen
no one wants to hear
that my memories are
sweet and sparkling, finally beginning now to clear

Sunshined laughter
touseled hair, running
in the grass, those angels in
the snow

No one wants to
listen
To how alive my forever
four-year-old continues
now to grow

No one wants to speak of
her, no one wants to know
Smiling, avoiding, dropping
in their wake seeds of ice
in my just warming heart to grow
and in their self-protective shunning
leave her dead with me
because
No one wants to
listen

No one wants to
know
It is they that keep
her dead and still and gone
trapped by their fear beneath
a forever thickly falling snow
It is they who will not allow her to
continue to shine and grow
Tragedy compounded, no one listens, asks
or shares a sweet remembered time
because
No one wants to
know

Monday, November 8, 2010

Pro-NaNo

I prefer to think of Nano
like a kindly apple cheeked
grandma
The kind that listens when
you read your stuff
and cannot stop her oohs and AH!

Cat-In (not Kaitlin) Agreement with a Kitten

The meow was tiny at the front door
A puff ball of coal in the damp chilly air
Pea sized green eyes staring mercilessly
Two paws on the threshold allowing my hands
there to lift inside in the warmth
in from the damp chilly air
Had just finished writing for the morning that is
The house still and silent gathering melancholia
like dust
When that tiny mewl called and answer I knew that I must
There inside held against my chest
Put down some kibble she gobbled like
a tiger the rest
I went to the refrigerator some cream for a treat
And as I turned tiny green eyes in black coal did hold
mine and meet... as she turned from the cream and rubbed
months' new fur face against touching finger tips
a rising, warm tide rose up swelling roaring with a hunger to feed
as we locked eyes together and with a purr and a cradle heart to heart we agreed
share a day filled with grace blending serendipity with our mutual need
suspend all else and spend this day together inside out from the damp chilly air
together in warmth and connection and simple living pleasure to share
a tiny kitten and a woman alone exchanging warmth then and there
both banishing the cold chilly interior and exterior air
And at the days' end curled against her chest a purr rising deep from a met need each eye sparkled and closed with sigh of a day spent well
agreed

Saturday, November 6, 2010

Looking For That Five-Dollar-Bill

Father was an artist
painting undressed women
models
up the stairs
in a hidden part of
the museum
where every Saturday
entrusted with my
little brother my
seven year old self
would see a Childrens' Show
and then wander through
the hall of mummies I
quickly in dread, my brother fascinated
by dry lifeless artifacts
walk through the dim lit display
hall to the bright cafeteria
for a snack and a meet up with
my father who was an artist
painting undressed women,
models, upstairs somewhere

One time a model came
wrapped in a soft brown robe
touching the tops of worn brown
sandals - her toenails shining
her long hair falling
in waves down her back
She sat by the window
alone drinking hot chocolate
a living painting off canvas
now probably cold from standing
around artists and their paints

On that Saturday he handed
me that five-dollar-bill
and I held it tightly in
my hand ... as he walked up
those metal studio steps and
we together pulled open
the metal door back into
the polished marble echoes
of our footsteps... down the
corridors passing paintings
not half as good as his
peeping down from the top floor
through the winding spinning
staircase down to the Childrens' Theatre
and three black screens that all
said nothing more than
Closed Today.

The time passed quickly I started
us back at the top staircase to
look at each painting in their turn
My brother happy as long as he got
to stand for a time at the top
of the spiral staircase and throw pieces of paper
from the sign I hadn't seen him tear
mesmerized he rolled and watched his tiny
paper spheres floating down through seven levels
imagining he could "kill someone"
if they should get hit...POW, he whispered
remembering his museum voice for his murderous musing

By the hand, I pulled him with me after a few
minutes of his little boy nonsense
my contained, mature seven-year-old
big-sister-self
and came upon some watery impressions
thin, clear colors shimmering in
white light bouncing from bright
marble, situated safely at the corner
where my brother could sit happily in sight
punching the air in some imaginary fight
with his always available bad guys

I stood lost in one particular
painting, water-colored water
flowers, floating into a
forever horizon

"I'm hungry," said my brother and
on my nurse's watch I could see
that it was time
and
I opened my hand to him
and jolted, spine iced, heart fast
felt his hot hand already so big it almost
filled mine...so big, hot, damp and heavy in my one hand
and my other hand,
my five-dollar-bill hand
swinging open, clean, dry
free
and empty

"I'm hungry"...he said my little brother
entrusted to my care as
my father who was an artist
painted undressed women, models
somewhere, far away and up high
with other painters
"I'm hungry."
"I'm looking for something first"
and we walked
those marble museum floors
empty on that cold December
Saturday... walked them
our footsteps mocking us,
as we quick-stepped, remembering
not to run
until colors ran and the
Mummy corridor beckoned
rictus grins unfrightening
blinded now to anything but
white marble tiles
retracing steps again
and again expecting
at any moment
to see a flash of
green waiting
where it had slipped
waiting, my five-dollar-bill
entrusted to my hand
each finger closed by
my father who was
an artist painting
undressed women, models,
far away and above

And then, sweet relief
running uncaring now
time shortening,
to the reception desk
on tiptoe gripping the
black marble counter with
one five-dollar-empty hand
and the other hanging onto
my brother
I asked, relief sweetly flowing
as water-colored water
flowers... "Did anyone
turn in a five-dollar-bill?"
Waiting for her certain smile
seeing her ready reach under the counter
feeling the crease of the paper
already in my palm - tasting the
cold chocolate milk in a carton
and then
she looked
down, eye to eye
and blank as black marble
said...
"No."

Just "No."
Nothing else.
My father is an artist painting
undressed women,
models...I mouthed soundless
Stunned in the monumental
marble museum -
alone and suddenly smalled
in the pooling echoe of her
mummifying marginalization

Looking For Kaitlin

In the tumble of covers
early on a Saturday morning
tight basketball belly
cradled in his hands
leaning into the hot heaviness
of him
safe in the tumble of covers
in the quiet
breaking through
the hazy tropic
languor into
the too quiet reality of that
soundless Saturday morning
silent of even a singular rustle
of four-year-old Kaitlin
only the clock ticking
off judgmental seconds
taunting our misplaced
peace of mind
unsafe in the chilled covers
of our mutual manic awakening
to a horizonless alone

Sunday, October 31, 2010

What I Love About Soap

I love soap
in a bar, in a ball
even if need be
on a rope
I love the heft
in hand of soap
Lathering dreams
in scented hope
This is what
I love of soap

What I Love About Murdered 4-year-old-Kaitlin Jones

What I love about murdered four-year-old- Kaitlin Jones
is her rising back to flesh from bones
her sweet curved cheek flushed as she ran
eyes sparkling toward dark forest she began

Kaitlin hair tousled catching last rays of the sun
Coyly catching my eye, peeking between fingers, did she run
Followed I her glee filled barefooted flight
Into a nightmared darkened silenced night

What I love about murdered four-year-old Kaitlin Jones
is her rising again back to flesh from her bones.
Rising from the earth where she was found
Rising from her grave in the ground
To run back to me, smiling, barefoot tumbled, touseled fresh washed hair,
plump legs tight around my waist, arms wrap her alive forever there.
Entwined in purest shimmered light sparkling twirling mystic, magical pair

Sunday, October 24, 2010

They Mean Well

Sunday, October 24, 2010 7:30:51 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

They mean well
Offers fly in from
Warm places with
Pools and granite
Catered counter tops
No serving or clean-up
Down casted eyed
Servers will do it all!

They mean well
Offers arrive in
Mass cornucopia
Festooned emails
For senior singles
To join in the fun
Together at long
Paper covered aluminum tables
With plastic cutlery

All shiver at her imagined
Aloneness - throw sweet cranberry sauce
And gravy to cover projected pain
At her large glowing table
Where twelve chairs
Sit undisturbed but filled
With those dressed up
Dressed down, white haired
And newly arrived, tossed
On laps and sliding from walkers
To pillows
Undisturbed chairs pushed close
To the table
Where she will sit
Eating on a single linen napkin
A turkey sandwich surrounded
With laughter, love,
The clink of crystal
Of quickly shuttered bickering
Hands brushing in the passing
Of plates and thanks giving
Sparkling together
For always
Never abandoned
Never alone
They mean well
But need to leave well
Enough alone

Saturday, October 23, 2010

Submarine Races

Cars were still forbidden
But these were senior boys
Dark haired white smiled
Tall boys
The ride they offered
Arms leaning
Forearm muscled on
Open windows
Just down the road
To the parking field
By the ocean
A quick ride
You had ridden endless
Times by bike
You and Aileen
Climbed into the car
One in front one in
Back as the car screeched
Its way out of the neighborhood
Into the black summer night
Windows open radio
Blasting they told you
About the Submarine races
You would see as they swerved
Onto the gravel
Moonlight glittering on
The ocean
As you got out to look
For the submarines
The boys waited
Teeth flashing in
The dashboard lights
Laughing deep man laughs
And Aileen inexplicably cried in
The back seat
As you stood at the edge
Of the concrete balustrade
In the bright moonlight
Squinting for a sign of the races
In the dark horizonless
empty sea....

Invincible Then

Wind whipped hair in convertible rides
Striding through fields bare legged
In cars with boys years older
Convinced that they would
Take you home when you
Asked and keep their hands.
On the wheel and out of
Your and their pants…
The wind blew your hair
Fingers of sweetly tumbled disarray
Your legs were neither scratched
Nor stung in those summer fields
And despite all warnings to the
Contrary
The boys listened
And you were as you thought
Invincible

Kaitlin - Infant

As you lifted her
From her crib
Her swaddled blanket
Falling unwrapped away
Her lips swollen pursed
Into a rose budded heart
Until her eyes opened
And flashed with delight
A mere micro moment before
Her caterwauling shriek
Split the air as
Jagged shards threatened
Eardrums to pierce
But it was that sweet
Glint that stayed
Shining in her eyes
Determined in her eyes
To continue
Until ears bled
And then just when
Holding her arched rigid
In your shaking arms
You would begin to
feel the first fingertip of
Chill....she'd soften, nestle
boneless and rooting
Latch on to your full breast
One tiny hand of
Incomparably soft skin
Caressing yours
As with rose budded lips
She gently drained you
With that glint of manic
Determined delight
Shining through upturned lashes
Coyly

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

In The Night (Cascading Poem)

Rippling down across bare shoulders
falls in silken ropy tresses
your hair perfumed
in mother essence

Looking up you are there
in the night
shimmering your hair
rippling down across bare shoulders

Reaching out the morning light
sparkling with new sun
shimmering, your hair
falls in ropy tresses

Surfacing from tumbled dreams
in the middle of day
grazing my cheek
your hair perfumed

Suddenly the empty night pours
melted into vanished years
perfumed, silken, dark-drenched
in mother essence

Friday, October 15, 2010

Carousel (in 4 turns and a coda)

Carousel 1st turn

Round and round goes
the merry-go-round as
we called it before
came to be sophisticated enough
to know that it was more
There curls bouncing on back
Riding on steed white or black
Calliope rung clear in crisp Autumn air
Best all by far as whirling up high and far
A long musical circle safely ensconced in green wood
Mullioned windows above shining light scented good
Out from the blur of faces awaiting off to the side
My raven haired daddy waiting smiling my time to abide
And when all slowed and children, laughing belted, jiggling held still
My raven haired daddy timed everything right
and dashingly like the hero he was filled with might
leapt aboard that still moving platform still turning around
gathered me into his arms and jumped with me to the ground


Carousel 2nd turn

surprised I am he to me
on the carousel
second ride again to be

Carousel 3rd turn

I do not want to be your second ride
Though you say so with wondered pride
Raised me to ride solo through
And now I have to think of you
I do not want to be your second ride
not from malice, not from pride
but because a first ride is expected
bumps, falls, and errors not de-selected
my ride uknown I can handle for me
with you aboard will ride too carefully
I do not wish to be your second ride
Forgive me I do not wish you at my side
I wish only to close my eyes let the music slide
and whirl about in my own first ride

Carousel 4 final ride

I bought you this porcelain carousel
found it and knew that you would like it well
Also a music box and here, listen it, plays the theme from
"Carousel"
I can see you, my raven haired heroic "daddy"
young and strong in arms that swept me
from that crystal calliope ringing clear
That merry-go-round dangerously turning as we jump-land without fear
I see you, feel your arms around me
As the music whirls you away to leave me peacefully


Carousel 5 - Coda

All aboard
the carousel
bound in gravity
tinted whirl
colors cascade
blur bleed one
undifferentiated
manic rainbow shimmered
then shuttered sun
on the turning wheel
moving music clear
in clanging cacaphonic peal

Step on anywhere
the ride begins
right there
turning at a
measured pace
again and again as
flash familiar
strangers' face
whirling core
in screams and
laughter, silence
and a scattered sigh
turning, turning
in the mullioned
light melting
one by one to fall
slipping in the
centered all
slide seamlessly
seated blinking
with startled face
into the ride
filled time of
prosaic grace

Overwhelmed

Pick a word
a word just one
from the billions
that swirl
can it be done?
Simple words
Objects shooting
Like manic stars
In Alice’s fall
Down that mythic
Rabbit hole
Hot buttered toast
Jam, along with
Heart pulsating
Imagined anxiety
A anthropormorphized
Whole
Pick a word
From all tis
A task designed
By a tiny sadist within
From the innocent “Who”
To Dante’s Inferno
Shakespearean sonnets and
Emily’s rhapsodic pondering low
Words taking on form hanging
Upside down in a tree
Running along side the shore
At the sea
Words combining and separating
Roaring at me
From this gargantuan mass of
Words pick just one
And write from that poetry?

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Sister Love

Oh my dear sister, my sister my dear
I hope that this time you will stop and just hear
Your slap-dashy, anything-goes, can't we get along attitude
Does not and will not sit well, I know, with the holy “Big Dude”
And when the time comes and we rise together in glorious rapture
My sister with strangers you shall writhe in flaming infinite capture

The Uncommented

We are the uncommented
The uncommented upon are we
We write from passion of lyric, rhythm and beat
In our solitude free, the uncommented those would be we
If our eye should light on a list, our names we will not see
We write from the bursting of images breaking out floating free
Never “kudoed” or “bravoed” or “wowed” or applauded to be
We are the uncommented writing from a place above and within
No need now for any gratuituous critique to begin



Psst.. here’s a small voice as small as a Who
Whispering tiny Seussian words that I hope heard be by you
My voice so secretive-wispy a butterfly’s eyelash would it not touch
As I say... “If you mentioned me once I would not mind very much”

Scream for Iced Cream

I scream, you scream
we all scream for ice cream
Papa sung and it was funny
but then he made it true
In the summer-time
hours-past-bed-time night
around our bare feet
ice cream melting in our mouths
fire-flies flew

I scream, you scream
we all scream for ice cream
Laughed and laughed, loud and OUTSIDE
As Papa sat in his green chair this WIDE
Falling dominoed onto one another
Cones held high away from each other
Until come to take us home we heard her call …
That dress-wearing succubus of magic all…
As we untangled from each other
Feet firma-terra our pursed lipped mother

Frog

In the distant cool mist past
remember I deep
water's tail flicked fast

Over and Done

Boring and burning
and boring and done
long ago stopped being
anything fun
When absent heaving, panting
pulsating and sweating
Giving with one eye turned on to the getting
Those rose petal baths and hard sprayed water showers
Now completely a waste of precious better
spent hours

Going Going Gone

I'm going said she
and what is it to you
You had your time and
I'll have mine too
Ring on my finger not
yours through my nose
You never raised me to
be one of those

I'm going said she
and what is it to you
You had your time
and I'll have mine too
Did you think I'd stay setting
Another and another "holiday" table
You could not have thought that
Not when I'm still young, ready
and able

You could not have thought
That I’d ride the ribbon with
you the future sliding our joined
fingers through

I'm not seeing those tears
I'm just closing my eyes
Since there really is no need
for these maudlin goodbyes
Not when there's Skype, e-mail,
and phones everywhere

A baby you say?
And what does that change?
You don’t have to be
In the same state to be
In love’s range

I'm going said she
Looking straight at and through me
Her voice and demeanor just as calm as could be
You will visit with me and
I will visit with you
And this door I am closing
This conversation is through.

On The Other Side of the Fence

On the other side of the fence
is green grass that rolls out
a red carpet for wild abandon

On the other side of the fence
are flowers tumbling in a profusion
of joyous perfume

On the other side of the fence
is flesh to flesh finding solace
in innocent satiation

On the other side of the fence
is all that is not
within the confine

Kaitlin Watched

Little girl
in candy caned
dress
sweet
there for the
taking
born to
be broken
sucked
devoured
only
when freely
offered
on a hot summer
day on the edge
of a cool dark wood...
there are rules
to be followed

The Careful Poet

Here I sit
Holding each syllable
To the light
Considered and polished
Again and again
Sometimes discarded
While you, out there
Spread the street
Gaily with vomitous
Outpouring expecting
Me to walk out and
Slosh, happily
Through
Banging a tambourine
Ignoring
My ruined shooed syllables
Soaked in your mess

Roach

Since birth
I work finding
each iotic bit
that escapes your
gargantuan eye
an exemplar of
diligence running
always from the
encroachment of
your pesticided foot
as you vilify me
as repulsive for my
work as you play
with future earth
let us see whose
progeny remain

You

Belching in your underwear
are going to teach me
the finer points of living

Wild Cat

Through kitchen door I watch
with mouse emptied stomach
watch as you patter from
refrigerator to blender
making a morning shake
to watch your weight as
my kittens languish

Over The Fence

That fourteen-year-old
pushing mower summer day
I noticed the missing slat
just one through which
glittered grass greener
and the bodacious sun
kissed body of bikinied
Mrs. Pratt
it was a pleasant crew cutted
lawn summer on an on after that!

Drifitng

Wednesday, October 06, 2010 3:46:19 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
(keep in mind this poem is dedicated to those on the so-called "other side" of the fence...)

Now in trying to
recapture what is
essentially rockbed
Back on now historic
waters long ago
floated what became
symbolic tea

Now in trying to
recapture what is
essential rockbed
values in my veins
I am viewed with
mockery

It frustrates, provokes
and confuses that
some cannot seem to
see that
there are forces that
are alligned to change
the face forever
of this, my own country

Sunday, October 10, 2010

White Rope

I am the rope
that was twisted
and tested coated
to shine and looped
shimmering coiled wristed
Traveling home in
the back of your car
placidly waiting for
a sea trip near come or
in future far
I am the rope
twisted, tested, coated, shined
and looped shimmering coiled
If animate would have your plan
resisted, halted, fatally foiled

Who Are You?

Who are you
puffed the
caterpillar
on the mushroom
long ago
intimidating
Alice
and setting
loose
a life-time
of ponder

Here I Sit

Here I sit
in a snit
for what reason?
perhaps just
the season

The following poems were inspired by a PA Prompt calling for views from the "Other Side Of The Fence"

Wednesday, October 06, 2010 3:46:19 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
DRIFTING
(keep in mind this poem is dedicated to those on the so-called "other side" of the fence...)

Now in trying to
recapture what is
essentially rockbed
Back on now historic
waters long ago
floated what became
symbolic tea

Now in trying to
recapture what is
essential rockbed
values in my veins
I am viewed with
mockery

It frustrates, provokes
and confuses that
some cannot seem to
see that
there are forces that
are alligned to change
the face forever
of this, my own country

***************************************************************
Wednesday, October 06, 2010 3:50:14 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
OVER THE FENCE

That fourteen-year-old
pushing mower summer day
I noticed the missing slat
just one through which
glittered grass greener
and the bodacious sun
kissed body of bikinied
Mrs. Pratt
it was a pleasant crew cutted
lawn summer on an on after that!
***************************************************************
10 3:54:40 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
WILD CAT

Through kitchen door I watch
with mouse emptied stomach
watch as you patter from
refrigerator to blender
making a morning shake
to watch your weight as
my kittens languish
***************************************************************
Wednesday, October 06, 2010 3:59:06 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
YOU

Belching in your underwear
are going to teach me
the finer points of living
***************************************************************
Wednesday, October 06, 2010 4:04:51 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

ROACH

Since birth
I work finding
each iotic bit
that escapes your
gargantuan eye
an exemplar of
diligence running
always from the
encroachment of
your pesticided foot
as you vilify me
as repulsive for my
work as you play
with future earth
let us see whose
progeny remain
************************************************************
Wednesday, October 06, 2010 4:37:43 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

THE CAREFUL POET

Here I sit
Holding each syllable
To the light
Considered and polished
Again and again
Sometimes discarded
While you, out there
Spread the street
Gaily with vomitous
Outpouring expecting
Me to walk out and
Slosh, happily
Through
Banging a tambourine
Ignoring
My ruined shooed syllables
Soaked in your mess
***************************************************************
Wednesday, October 06, 2010 4:44:04 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
KAITLIN WATCHED

Little girl
in candy caned
dress
sweet
there for the
taking
born to
be broken
sucked
devoured
only
when freely
offered
on a hot summer
day on the edge
of a cool dark wood...
there are rules
to be followed
***************************************************************
Friday, October 08, 2010 12:15:33 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE FENCE

On the other side of the fence
is green grass that rolls out
a red carpet for wild abandon

On the other side of the fence
are flowers tumbling in a profusion
of joyous perfume

On the other side of the fence
is flesh to flesh finding solace
in innocent satiation

On the other side of the fence
is all that is not
within the confine
***************************************************************
Friday, October 08, 2010 12:38:12 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

GOING, GOING, GONE

I'm going said she
and what is it to you
You had your time and
I'll have mine too
Ring on my finger not
yours through my nose
You never raised me to
be one of those

I'm going said she
and what is it to you
You had your time
and I'll have mine too
Did you think I'd stay setting
Another and another "holiday" table
You could not have thought that
Not when I'm still young, ready
and able

You could not have thought
That I’d ride the ribbon with
you the future sliding our joined
fingers through

I'm not seeing those tears
I'm just closing my eyes
Since there really is no need
for these maudlin goodbyes
Not when there's Skype, e-mail,
and phones everywhere

A baby you say?
And what does that change?
You don’t have to be
In the same state to be
In love’s range

I'm going said she
Looking straight at and through me
Her voice and demeanor just as calm as could be
You will visit with me and
I will visit with you
And this door I am closing
This conversation is through.
***************************************************************
Friday, October 08, 2010 12:56:02 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
OVER AND DONE

Boring and burning
and boring and done
long ago stopped being
anything fun
When absent heaving, panting
pulsating and sweating
Giving with one eye turned on to the getting
Those rose petal baths and hard sprayed water showers
Now completely a waste of precious better
spent hours
***************************************************************************************
Friday, October 08, 2010 12:58:29 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

FROG

In the distant cool mist past
remember I deep
water's tail flicked fast
***************************************************************
Friday, October 08, 2010 2:22:57 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
SCREAM FOR ICE CREAM

I scream, you scream
we all scream for ice cream
Papa sung and it was funny
but then he made it true
In the summer-time
hours-past-bed-time night
around our bare feet
ice cream melting in our mouths
fire-flies flew

I scream, you scream
we all scream for ice cream
Laughed and laughed, loud and OUTSIDE
As Papa sat in his green chair this WIDE
Falling dominoed onto one another
Cones held high away from each other
Until come to take us home we heard her call …
That dress-wearing succubus of magic all…
As we untangled from each other
Feet firma-terra our pursed lipped mother
***************************************************************
Saturday, October 09, 2010 12:54:02 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
SISTER LOVE
(please keep in mind this from the "other side of the fence")

Oh my dear sister, my sister my dear
I hope that this time you will stop and just hear
Your slap-dashy, anything-goes, can't we get along attitude
Does not and will not sit well, I know, with the holy “Big Dude”
And when the time comes and we rise together in glorious rapture
My sister with strangers you shall writhe in flaming infinite capture
***************************************************************

Saturday, October 09, 2010 12:55:52 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
THE UNCOMMENTED (referring to poets)

We are the uncommented
The uncommented upon are we
We write from passion of lyric, rhythm and beat
In our solitude free, the uncommented those would be we
If our eye should light on a list, our names we will not see
We write from the bursting of images breaking out floating free
Never “kudoed” or “bravoed” or “wowed” or applauded to be
We are the uncommented writing from a place above and within
No need now for any gratuituous critique to begin



Psst.. here’s a small voice as small as a Who
Whispering tiny Seussian words that I hope heard be by you
My voice so secretive-wispy a butterfly’s eyelash would it not touch
As I say... “If you mentioned me once I would not mind very much”

***************************************************************

FOUR-YEAR-OLD KAITLIN- An ongoing series (13 poems)



Saturday, October 23, 2010


Labels: Kaitlin Saturday, September 25,
Sunday, July 25, 2010

FOUR-YEAR-OLD-KAITLIN JONES

The body of four year old Kaitlin Jones found today
Mutilated, raped, and murdered in unknown order
Kaitlin had been missing for three weeks
Police had called in the FBI after an Amber Alert failed and no leads uncovered
A search party had been organized by friends and family
Her mother screamed when night fell and Kaitlin was not found
It had been expected the strong-willed little girl was hiding
Kaitlin had been under the care of Dr. Goode, PhD and categorized as
oppositional defiant
Her grandfather thought she was just a little girl who knew what
she did and did not want
But even he had to agree that something was wrong when Kaitlin was not found in any
of her secret places where she often stayed for hours on
her own
The family was never under suspicion of any foul play
Neighbors responded to the mother’s screams, coming together
in their nightclothes
Making coffee, flyers and organizing search parties, some brought their untrained dogs on long leashes, others stayed with the family
keeping up a stream of platitudes
The day Kaitlin disappeared she had been given
a peanut butter and jelly sandwich
with the crusts on and the jelly rather than the peanut butter on top
Kaitlin had fallen to the floor shocking the new baby-sitter with her
melt-down
A moment later she ran from the kitchen into her room and slammed the door
Kaitlin’s room was on the ground floor
In case of such a melt-down, the baby-sitter had been instructed to let Kaitlin “be”
No one noticed four-year-old Kaitlin climb from her window
and drop
to the ground
Where she ran across the field toward the wooded
hiking trail that snaked into the woods
Along the highway unseen but heard
rushing in the distance
beyond the trees
Where a young man had parked his car, walked for a while and waited for
something to happen - Like
a four-year-old girl who didn’t like her peanut butter and jelly sandwich

(note: for those not familiar with the "inverted pyramid form the most important details are in the first lines moving in descending level of consequence)
********************************************************

Thursday August 26, 2010

WHAT? EVER... NEVER?

They sat there
side by side
in the fall sun
late day spilling
onto the papers
shimmer polished
on the doctor's

desk of cognitive
tests
They sat there only
as a favor to their
family's urging
his eyes drifting to
the billowing sails
of a model ship
wondering at the thousands
of tiny tied knots
she almost dozing
stroking the soft
silk fabric of the chair
in the office of the doctor
in the late afternoon sun
fall out the latticed windows
bright trees dropping leaves
lazy - and the light spilling
into the words drifting
over them as their child
lied quiet as was her nature
just her nature
quiet and limp limbed
still
across their laps
sweet drool sparkling in the
light as the doctor
delicately attempted
the first incision
of all possibility
*********************************************************

Thursday, July 29, 2010
KAITLIN IN THE WOODS

Finger poised above
tender child flesh
upturned neck flops
in impossible angles

The finger has touched
his own daughter's neck
dazzled by its softness

The father finger hovering
here postponing the inevitable
descent, hoping for warmth

and finding as it probes in
gloved professionalism
only the expected cold
Posted by Dr. Pearl Ketover Prilik (PKP) at 11:20 PM
Labels: PA Prompt- Cold
0 comments:
********************


FOR FOUR-YEAR-OLD KAITLIN
KAITLIN'S FUNERAL SERVICE

There can be
no words of comfort
for murdered Kaitlin
hair washed and
lovingly cleaned
dressed in crisp white
and arranged
fetchingly on
beloved pink sateen

There can be
no words of comfort
for Kaitlin pretty
under that small
shining white
casket lid

No comfort in the heaps of
blooms thrown in
helpless profusion
in the gaping hole
of what he did

There can be
no words of comfort
as Kaitlin in cruel irony
is returned back to
the black earth
where she was found

Her mother shivers
holding air
chilled by warm
words
as the tiny girl
is covered by the ground

Stone faced
at talk of
loving arm's
celestial embrace

No comfort for the
loved ones as they
lean one into the other
a mass of tangled
torment touching
among averted eyes
not one who can them face

Four- year- old Kaitlin
found sprawled kill raped still
in the damp wood
a child who would
have her peanut butter
sandwich made just
the way it should

Words of innocence
above that now covered casket
babble non-sense on
a ruffled breeze

Kaitlin last looked upon
the face of evil incomprehensible
etched into her eyes
with photographic ease

Rest sweet Kaitlin
perhaps for you this can be so
in the woods of your
death sweet jasmine may
inexplicably grow

Drift sweet Kaitlin tumbling
in the sparkled sunlight
on the soft wings of
white butterflies
take flight

There sweet Kaitlin one with
each petal, dancing dust mote
salted sea drop and all
known and more

Soar
sweet Kaitlin
embracing the ripped
grief-dumbed hearts left
forevermore
********************************************

Inspired by "BOP" FORM ...... 3 stanzas 8-6-8 with a refrain

THE LAST ARGUMENT
(KAITLIN'S PARENTS)

"Four year-olds need supervision"
"And fresh air and freedom
to explore stuff
to think stuff
to find stuff on their own
not like the way you were raised"

Barefooted Kaitlin lies stone still in the darkening woods.

"There's nothing wrong with parents'
caring for their children"
"Like mine didn't - that's it right?
You called me wild child, liked me then
Liked me well enough - when I was running to you
I never seen you looking for my parents when we got busy."
"As usual, that has nothing to do with what I've been saying.
She-is-my-child."

Barefooted Kaitlin lies stone still in the darkening woods.

Flushed faced faced off, they stop - and listen
to the quiet
a breeze blows on their hot skin, on their pounding chests
as together they look to the open door
look through and beyond over the empty lawn rolling to the woods
willing a shimmered peal of crystal laughter - a game-of-hide-n-seek
as they run racing to nowhere
together for the very last time calling her name to the gulping wind

Barefooted Kaitlin lies stone still in the darkening woods.
Posted by Dr. Pearl Ketover Prilik (PKP) at 9:35 AM 0 comments:


***************************************************************
October 1, 2010

KAITLIN IN THE RAIN

Little Kaitlin
skips and sings
in the shining rain
barefoot in the
cool green grass
never home will
she see
again
Posted by Dr. Pearl Ketover Prilik (PKP) at 4:37 PM 1 comments
********************************************************
Thursday, October 14, 2010

KAITLIN WATCHED

Little girl
in candy caned
dress
sweet
there for the
taking
born to
be broken
sucked
devoured
only
when freely
offered
on a hot summer
day on the edge
of a cool dark wood...
there are rules
to be followed


*********************************************************
Saturday, October 23,
KAITLIN-INFANT


As you lifted her
From her crib
Her swaddled blanket
Falling unwrapped away
Her lips swollen pursed
Into a rose budded heart
Until her eyes opened
And flashed with delight
A mere micro moment before
Her caterwauling shriek
Split the air as
Jagged shards threatened
Eardrums to pierce
But it was that sweet
Glint that stayed
Shining in her eyes
Determined in her eyes
To continue
Until ears bled
And then just when
Holding her arched rigid
In your shaking arms
You would begin to
feel the first fingertip of
Chill....she'd soften, nestle
boneless and rooting
Latch on to your full breast
One tiny hand of
Incomparably soft skin
Caressing yours
As with rose budded lips
She gently drained you
With that glint of manic
Determined delight
Shining through upturned lashes
Coyly
**Sunday, October 31, 2010

WHAT I LOVE ABOUT MURDERED 4-YEAR-OLD-KAITLIN JONES
PA Prompt- What I Love About...

What I love about murdered four-year-old- Kaitlin Jones
is her rising back to flesh from bones
her sweet curved cheek flushed as she ran
eyes sparkling toward dark forest she began

Kaitlin hair tousled catching last rays of the sun
Coyly catching my eye, peeking between fingers, did she run
Followed I her glee filled barefooted flight
Into a nightmared darkened silenced night

What I love about murdered four-year-old Kaitlin Jones
is her rising again back to flesh from her bones.
Rising from the earth where she was found
Rising from her grave in the ground
To run back to me, smiling, barefoot tumbled, touseled fresh washed hair,
plump legs tight around my waist, arms wrap her alive forever there.
Entwined in purest shimmered light sparkling twirling mystic, magical pair
Posted by Dr. Pearl Ketover Prilik (PKP) at 4:17 PM 0 comments
Labels: Kaitlin
***************************************************

AGREEING TO SILENCE

They sat in the car
he in his silly pom-pom
red wool hat
She leaning against the
seat imagining that
they could speak openly
about what they had lost
so recently
But he had his way, smiling through
Drenched in delusion that that she knew
She longed to pour him into her emptied heart
And fill the part that had been torn out apart
But between them they did by actions agree
on the subject of Kaitlin
they would muse only each to his and her own
separate, different, and silently
***
NO ONE WANTS TO...KNOW KAITLIN LIVES ON..

No one wants to listen
to me
that Kaitlin ran in
green fields and made
snow angels in the snow

No wants to listen
to me
that though "gone" still lives
they cannot and do not want to know

If we meet, they turn their eyes
and look someplace
up on to my forehead
throw frozen smiles and babble on
with perhaps a mumbled reference to gone or passed
unspoken words scream at me "your daughter is forever dead."

And,if they can they quickly turn at a
single glimpse of me
walk quickly toward another way
if caught stammer smile oh so "obliviously"

No wants to listen
fearing talk of a four-year-old
who physically is dead
Most chilling is that
no one wants to listen
no one wants to hear
that my memories are
sweet and sparkling, finally beginning now to clear

Sunshined laughter
touseled hair, running
in the grass, those angels in
the snow

No one wants to
listen
To how alive my forever
four-year-old continues
now to grow

No one wants to speak of
her, no one wants to know
Smiling, avoiding, dropping
in their wake seeds of ice
in my just warming heart to grow
and in their self-protective shunning
leave her dead with me
because
No one wants to
listen

No one wants to
know
It is they that keep
her dead and still and gone
trapped by their fear beneath
a forever thickly falling snow
It is they who will not allow her to
continue to shine and grow
Tragedy compounded, no one listens, asks
or shares a sweet remembered time
because
No one wants to
know


***
FORGET WHAT THEY SAY.. TWO WEEKS AFTER KAITLIN'S DISAPPEARANCE
Each morning waking in
light that has no right
to shine so bright
filled with sudden hope
embrace yourself and
repeat on this fresh day
Forget,
Forget what they say..

Forget statistics about
how soon children should
be found if they are to be
above the ground
Forget what they say
as night falls
hard and still
and from the emptiness
slither black thoughts
until
Whisper loud light
pouring through the
end of another day
Forget
Forget what they say

At each end of night and day
Hear her laughter, feel her
weight damp in sleep upon
your chest, wake easy and
go easy to your rest
Inhale her scent, shampoo
and days filled with green
grassed play
Continue to
Forget what they say

***

CROSS-ROAD THAT A PARENT HOPEFULLY NEVER REACHES -
A KAITLIN POEM


When does the time come
when a child's laughter
trailing off across green
wet summer grass
freezes into the ice
of winter, thaws again
into spring and still
echoes into summer.

When does the time come
when listening for the
laughter becomes a memory
rather than an anticipated
possibility
When does the time come
when hope is replaced by
silence?

Who determines the cross-road
when laughter dies
on decomposing lips
of a child
forever gone...

Friday, October 1, 2010

Kaitlin in the rain

Little Kaitlin
skips and sings
in the shining rain
barefoot in the
cool green grass
never home will
she see
again

Democrats and consensus...

Democrats believe in talk
and listening to
another voiced point of view

Which leads to interesting
discussion but leaves
consensus to others - true?

Forward Motion

The times they are a changing
A well-known nasal voiced poet
sung long ago
Sung of the wind blowing
and questioned how long it
would take until we would finally know
The sands of time are running
They poured quickly for a bit
Hand in hand we thought that
we should overcome
A world of peace and harmony
So close we could taste it

Now the sands are running
faster than before
and words of peace retreating
faster than any coward's war
there are some that would applaud
sand run backward and surrender all
to a slippery ribbon reversing all
hard fought and patient waited won
be grateful for the universal laws that
keep forward motion from being easily undone

It takes an adult to make different mean

There was an old song that
did state
that children needed to
be taught carefully to hate
True this may have been and
true still to be
Children must too be taught
to see differences not so different
to them apparently

A child quite close to my own heart
Categorized people not separate but different apart
He noticed differences only bilaterally
in brown and white, this distinction clear in his sight
everyone with eyes of brown was brown
and everyone with eyes of blue was white
But you may say that is not quite right
No not quite right as most categorize
But clearly what he saw with three-year-old eyes
Brown and White only the two
I do not know what he would have done with eyes
of green, violent or gray as dun
The point is that innocence locates differences seen
But it takes an adult to make different mean

The Mad Tea Party

Come away with me
to the Mad Tea Party
Alice, not there, she has been called away
the doormouse absent along with his loud voiced say
yet still the party's quite mad and still quite loud
and drawing curious and curiouser quite a crowd

Come away with me
to the Mad Tea Party
who think they are righteously setting things right
and ready for a rival to the Red Queen type of fight

Come away with me
to the Mad Tea Party
stuff your pockets with sugar and honey and peace
cool the anger and have this maddening insanity cease

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

CYCLES.... OF ALL SORTS

To Everything

From crept emerald
slugged caterpillar
to wet winged butterfly
fresh from chrysalis
poised to soar
a season, a time
for all


On Cycle

Father back-hands a mother's face
then holds her in passionate embrace
Child grows to do the same
Only a slim chance to escape this game
Frigid winter melts to hope bursted spring
Loosening concurrent despairing
Shaking hand does not stay
reaches for the amber bottle after many a day
Suckling infant, grows to man strong
and creates from himself another before too long
Ravaged child in fear quakes
until grown a victim child he takes
There are cycles one hopes to shatter
and others uplifting all that does matter
All that was, is, and will come to be
most cycles a choice only few fixed naturally


White Light

white light flashing brilliantly
fingers,faces,fly
white light flashing brilliantly

upside or downside up

light flash, sound crash, chaos blur
to a finger flicked, a smile returned,
form, order, meaning, connection,
extended, expanded, apparently limitless
until
light flash, sound crash, chaos blur
more or less

Sy Kills


Oh no here comes Sy again
he was at one prompt time into
science but now violence is his pen


"SY KILLS" The back story of Sy Nomore


Knew him at the lab at school
still, poised, silent "tech"
first at work, polite all through

Deferential all he knew
beneath the surface
toxic fuliminations brew

Until today's headline read
dead at hand of one
Sy - quiet man, hatred led

Entered science to dissect
why his father had
dropped from roof rope tight on neck

For P... - Cycle of Sweetness

Little girl's
smooth chest
rises
two small
bumps
into breasts
sweet cells dance in
joyful growth
whirling until

Something happens
who knows?
Maybe one elbowed another
and things turned sour
animus filled
they gathered and
eyed each other

Until forced
the trouble-makers marched
to their rooms
and behaved quietly
reading books
and staring out the window
for a while
until in the way of
trouble-makers they
stirred again

Now
No More Time Outs
Now comes
Forever Banishment
Gone
Expelled
All
But for the joyous and
sweet
again
safely dancing
deeply loving
under smooth skin
into the musical
distance of ever after

BOP THAT CLOCK
(this is a particular form 3 stanzas 6-8-6 and a refrain)

Hands moving forward on the big clock time
Things that moved in rhythm now just rhyme
Up the stairs climbing pushing air like a mime
Up the stairs climbing pushing air like a mime
Wake up with a start straight up in the bed
Heart stopped, heart pounds, fed on the dread

Shake it off – Shake if off – Keep moving on.

Hands moving, hands moving seconds at a time
Want to stop the hour glass pour back sand’s climb
Want to stop the hour glass pour back sand’s climb
Sagging, slogging, physicality
Twirling, sparkling, sizzling, sensuality
Things that moved in rhythm, now just rhyme
Ache to make each second count not mark time
Up the stairs, up the stairs, pushing air like a mime

Shake it off – Shake if off – Keep moving on.

Hands moving, hands moving, flying over time
Dancing, prancing, hip jut, lip pout, jazzing on the climb
Breathe deep- Breathe deep - Drop all that dread
Clear the webs – Clear the webs - Clear the webs from your head
Turn it, touch it, burn the candle – burn the candle - two ended flame
Long as you feel it – Feel it - You still in the game.

Shake it off – Shake it off – Keep moving on.



Oh Me Oh My

The same as in years gone by
Go to the booths push the lever
Tap on a screen or with a pencil write
Curtains open or just walk away
Presto changeo and wallah!
A new President cheered by some
And by others No Way!

When will this cycle change
who can be the one to know
Just carry forward and off to vote there go

You see that's the way it used to be
Some folks heart sick
But always deferring for the country
Their hearts looking up from the floor
Knowing there'd be another chance in four

That's the way our founder's set it up to be
And ALL played along if not happy then at least nicely
Until an unseemly patently unAmerican hatred
Set a table at a Mad Tea Party

Now we ALL hold onto each opposite side
Fearing I suppose that we might just slide
And like Alice long ago
Land in a strange Through- The.- Looking- Glass world
that none of us will know

Yet in the holding hard in fear and mistrust
We are creating a country in which in " No One "
Anyone can trust

This is the United States of America, remember?
" home of the brave and land of the free? "
.....all those pretty words from sea to shining sea
Up to all Americans after the horror visited on WE
to realize the threat to OUR America is if WE become
each other's enemy
Let us renew our nations' vows sitting on this or that side of the aisle
Putting aside petty differences....because they're ALL petty drenched in guile
Our nation needs us all..united all as one
Let's get the work beginning and the renewal done
We have no time for bickering, no time for fuss or hate
There are forces that threaten our ideals of life
Kicking at the gate...
Unite and escort them gently out by the arm
Americans band together against ANY that would do this nation harm
Be the harmers fly across the globe or shout from your tv
Other nations even empires have fallen from on high
It can happen here as well if hatred allowed to putrify


Around and around

Everyone it has been said
Opinion can hold
Facts shimmer but lies fold

So it has been and so it
Shall always so be
In this nation's shining " see"


Cycle's Tears

Why are you crying?
Why grand- daddy?
Because little one
All this is not new to me

Do You Get It?

Do you get it?
Do you get it?
Do you see.
Do you see?
This is no tv
Reality fun
You're playing
With a loaded gun
Aimed not into the sky
But at the heart of
This country
Do you get it?
Do you get it?
We're all in this
Potential slide
While you play
With murderous suicide

Look around
Look around
And you will see
Under the hatred
There is a nation
Of you and me....

Doesn t matter
Who started it
End it, end it now
Act together
Not alone
Then let's slap
Each other on the back
And take a bow
The show will go on
With us or without
Let's listen to each other
Still all the lips that shout
Not ten years ago we realized how much we were one
How could we forget so soon
And let hatred at each other have an applauded run?


Cycling


I dreamt a dream impossible one year when I was twelve
An English Racer bicycle gleaming British green.
I dreamt this dream impossible as my birthday drew closer near
and then as is the way of things one morning it was there
My brother asked Do you want a hint?...Just one ..pinky promise"
He was cute and bursting with his secret news
I wasn t expecting much and the little guy was almost hopping
from his shoes
" it 's green, from England, has two wheels, and in the garage right here
I got my English racer and an important lesson too
A four- year-old has no conception of surprise or the transparency of a "clue

Saturday, September 25, 2010

FOUR-YEAR-OLD-KAITLIN-SERIES

Sunday, July 25, 2010
Four-Year-Old-Kaitlin Jones
The body of four year old Kaitlin Jones found today
Mutilated, raped, and murdered in unknown order
Kaitlin had been missing for three weeks
Police had called in the FBI after an Amber Alert failed and no leads uncovered
A search party had been organized by friends and family
Her mother screamed when night fell and Kaitlin was not found
It had been expected the strong-willed little girl was hiding
Kaitlin had been under the care of Dr. Goode, PhD and categorized as
oppositional defiant
Her grandfather thought she was just a little girl who knew what
she did and did not want
But even he had to agree that something was wrong when Kaitlin was not found in any
of her secret places where she often stayed for hours on
her own
The family was never under suspicion of any foul play
Neighbors responded to the mother’s screams, coming together
in their nightclothes
Making coffee, flyers and organizing search parties, some brought their untrained dogs on long leashes, others stayed with the family
keeping up a stream of platitudes
The day Kaitlin disappeared she had been given
a peanut butter and jelly sandwich
with the crusts on and the jelly rather than the peanut butter on top
Kaitlin had fallen to the floor shocking the new baby-sitter with her
melt-down
A moment later she ran from the kitchen into her room and slammed the door
Kaitlin’s room was on the ground floor
In case of such a melt-down, the baby-sitter had been instructed to let Kaitlin “be”
No one noticed four-year-old Kaitlin climb from her window
and drop
to the ground
Where she ran across the field toward the wooded
hiking trail that snaked into the woods
Along the highway unseen but heard
rushing in the distance
beyond the trees
Where a young man had parked his car, walked for a while and waited for
something to happen - Like
a four-year-old girl who didn’t like her peanut butter and jelly sandwich

(note: for those not familiar with the "inverted pyramid form the most important details are in the first lines moving in descending level of consequence)
Posted by Dr. Pearl Ketover Prilik (PKP) at 2:54 PM
Labels: PA Prompt - Inverted Pyramid



****************************************
Thursday, July 29, 2010 Inspired by a prompt to write on "cold"


Kaitlin in the woods
Finger poised above
tender child flesh
upturned neck flops
in impossible angles

The finger has touched
his own daughter's neck
dazzled by its softness

The father finger hovering
here postponing the inevitable
descent, hoping for warmth

and finding as it probes in
gloved professionalism
only the expected cold
Posted by Dr. Pearl Ketover Prilik (PKP) at 11:20 PM
Labels: PA Prompt- Cold
0 comments:
********************
Inspired by a comment to write on "Service"

For Four- Year-Old Kaitlin
There can be
no words of comfort
for murdered Kaitlin
hair washed and
lovingly cleaned
dressed in crisp white
and arranged
fetchingly on
beloved pink sateen

There can be
no words of comfort
for Kaitlin pretty
under that small
shining white
casket lid

No comfort in the heaps of
blooms thrown in
helpless profusion
in the gaping hole
of what he did

There can be
no words of comfort
as Kaitlin in cruel irony
is returned back to
the black earth
where she was found

Her mother shivers
holding air
chilled by warm
words
as the tiny girl
is covered by the ground

Stone faced
at talk of
loving arm's
celestial embrace

No comfort for the
loved ones as they
lean one into the other
a mass of tangled
torment touching
among averted eyes
not one who can them face

Four- year- old Kaitlin
found sprawled kill raped still
in the damp wood
a child who would
have her peanut butter
sandwich made just
the way it should

Words of innocence
above that now covered casket
babble non-sense on
a ruffled breeze

Kaitlin last looked upon
the face of evil incomprehensible
etched into her eyes
with photographic ease

Rest sweet Kaitlin
perhaps for you this can be so
in the woods of your
death sweet jasmine may
inexplicably grow

Drift sweet Kaitlin tumbling
in the sparkled sunlight
on the soft wings of
white butterflies
take flight

There sweet Kaitlin one with
each petal, dancing dust mote
salted sea drop and all
known and more

Soar
sweet Kaitlin
embracing the ripped
grief-dumbed hearts left
forevermore
Posted by Dr. Pearl Ketover Prilik (PKP) at 8:32 AM
Labels: Inspired by PA Prompt Service
********************************************

Inspired by "BOP" FORM ...... 3 stanzas 8-6-8 with a refrain


The last argument


"Four-year-olds need supervision"
"And fresh air and freedom
to explore stuff
to think stuff
to find stuff on their own
not like the way you were raised"

Barefooted Kaitlin lies stone still in the darkening woods.

"There's nothing wrong with parents'
caring for their children"
"Like mine didn't - that's it right?
You called me wild child, liked me then
Liked me well enough - when I was running to you
I never seen you looking for my parents when we got busy."
"As usual, that has nothing to do with what I've been saying.
She-is-my-child."

Barefooted Kaitlin lies stone still in the darkening woods.

Flushed faced faced off, they stop - and listen
to the quiet
a breeze blows on their hot skin, on their pounding chests
as together they look to the open door
look through and beyond over the empty lawn rolling to the woods
willing a shimmered peal of crystal laughter - a game-of-hide-n-seek
as they run racing to nowhere
together for the very last time calling her name to the gulping wind

Barefooted Kaitlin lies stone still in the darkening woods.

Monday, September 20, 2010

Jack K. – Celia’s Husband

Like a "fart in the breeze"
said he sparkle in his eye
dismissing someone or something
not a melancholy poetic sort of guy

clipped mustached
sprinkled with pepper and salt
in clothes his wife laid out
pocket square, tie
matching hers coordinated
dressed without a fault

Appearing in a nightgown
stuffed with melons
barefoot, hands on hips
towel on head, prancing with
delicate calves
bringing raucous tears to eyes
and laughter to all lips

Dispensing wisdom of the road
Turning to talk face to face
even if you sat in the back seat
riding in one of the pricey cars he
fancied - liking eyes to meet

"Drive your own car-
let them worry about theirs”
and when invariably he’d slide
into a car in front handled settling
up with a laugh and absolutely no cares
"Parking is easy - back up until you hear
breaking glass"
As those learning defensive driving
remembered and held back laughter sitting in their class

Born into poverty
Hard work melting into
Depression Days
unlike others of his time
relished gifting others
especially his wife in an
endless parade of ways

Like the day when he
came home with a
small navy velvet drawstringed
sack
sat her down and on the carpet
rolled a handful of large diamonds
“Pick yours”
I’m not taking them all back.

Loved his birthday and good will
as he stood at his coffee shop’s
door…
announcing to each walk in customer
what his special smile was for
"Do you know what today is?"
"No"
they all would say
and at day’s end driving
home exclaim
"Know how many customers
knew today was my birthday?"

Wanted to travel the world
with the wife that stayed his
bride
wanted to see pyramids
fine paintings all with her
right there at his side

“They’ll carry me out of here”
he would often say
and she would answer don’t be
silly you have plenty of time
to retire later on one day

Didn’t exactly “carry him of there”
not quite how it went down
at “sixty-four” got a real
“Hospital President’s Physical”
would have enjoyed the hand of
some Universal great clown
he checked out just fine and died
a rich, yet untraveled man
smiling widely in his hospital issued gown

Celia K. – My grandmother aka “Mother”

I danced on tiptoes
a small girl child
in the cool
forest
of your green velvet
white silk sanctuary

My movie
star Mother
with the
Barbara Stanwyck
smile

My movie star
Mother with
veiled feathered hats
and finger waves
curving against
Ivory Soap
porcelain skin

Elegant in navy
sheaths
mink
silk stockings
and high
heeled pumps
Singing in her clear
contralto of
butterflies, bluebirds


and "pretty bubbles"
in the air

And now like
soap bubbles
and celluloid

My elegant Mother
vanished
shimmering
off into a prism
of rainbow
light

forever
sparkling
like
a sweet
dream
of a clear
song
recalling the
past
preserving the
future......
With laughter
With elegance
With love.......

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Future Future Burning Bright

Future future
burning bright
in the sparkling
off foresight
where we'll be
and who we'll know
as yet unknown
as futures go

Future future
burning bright
might be darkening
might be light
might be both
of what do we
know
this is the
way that futures
go

Future future
burning bright
bright, bright burning
there to shield
our sight
if we could know
what was to be
how would each day
be weighted differently

Crystal Balls

What is worse than a fellow's
Crystal balls astride
A bucking tavern bull ride

Futures

The future
a luxury
denied to some who
must live in the present
of degradation, hunger,
thirst, death, war, pestilence

The future
a ribbon given
slipping lightly through
fingers delighting in
the superficial texture
deciding only on hues
mindless of the reeling spool

The future
sancrosanct and serious
leadening each present
footstep with the echo
of impact yet to come

The future
bold, joyous, sparkling
with possibility
unknown but all positive
as mindless and far a given
as the horizon over the sea

The future
a present wrapped in the
ribbon of luxury, the sentience
of deprivation, the entitlement,
the seriousness, mindlessness
all
lightly tied with the singular
loose bow of the absolutely
uknowable
coming

What Future?

Who says there is a future
that it even all exists
perhaps the future that we
fear or dream
exists only
in an existential
dreamed up mist

The Dancing Clumsy Muse

As the girl with the Red Shoes
there's no stopping the dancing
Muse
although she might be clumsy
feels she has nothing left to lose
the dancing Muse continues left to go
twirling, whirling, on
moving into the never of forever
when tonight is gone

A Few (Future) Haiku

Those who live in the future
Illustrate hubris
That provokes the Universe



Large ego warning up there
plan small live each day
future has no guarantee



Live in the future if you
dare - in the never
been while today becomes past



A kitten becomes a cat
a babe becomes brat
Consequence and not there that


Bumper stickers "Live Today"
Jump for joy and sing
Stickers peel and flake away


Enough with futured haikus
They are not running
Smooth rooted in present

What is the future

What is the future?
when will it come?
I heard a woman crying
and it frightened me some
Should I be scared?
should I get ready and prepare?
What will happen
when I get to that future
place she cried of there?
And do I even have to
Do I even have to go?
This woman said she sure
wished that as a girl she
did know
Know what? What is this future?
I think when I'm a grownup I will
have to go
But what it is, and where it is,
and why she was crying all
this I do not know
All I know about this future
is that it must be up ahead
but tomorrow I'm starting kindy-garten
and now I'm too scared to
get into my bed

When I Was Old

When I was old
the three year old said
looking to his grandfather's
snow-white head

You mean said his mother
"when you will be old"
No said the child "When I was an
old man" high voiced bold

When I was an old man
I was like you
and now I'm here
this is true

They smiled the insolent
way that
grown-ups do
when small wise children
speak of unknown futures
lived already through

Future Young

Bodies wrapt in rapt
attention to smooth
bellied tautness
revel reaching in
bright sunlight
shyly proud
lifted together
in ectasy of eyes
locked in reciprocated
surprise of all that
has not yet happened
as the cycle begins

I See the Sea

They’ll cry and read from what
I've 'wrote'
They’ll joke and
Hug and elbow poke
And when they’re done
They’ll sprinkle
Me home back
into the sun-lit sea

To the Sparkling Sea

To the Sparkling Sea
There I'll be
long dark hair
now silvered
catching the light
as I dance barefoot
in the aquamarine
surf heedless of
ultraviolet rays
or sideways glances
head back catching
the full force of
the sun

In the Gleam of an Eye - To Grandchildren as Yet Only A Twinkle

My future sparkles
in the gleam of
a son's eye
as it is caught
and returned
in the memory catcher
that will
come
sometime
someday
to remember and
speak of me
as grandmother

Saturday, September 11, 2010

There for the first time - Here for the first time

Lying there
long hair
arranged in
meticulous
carelessness
when he left
for just a moment
Lying there
waiting for
it that moment
that would be
remembered
forever
Lying there
clutching the
headboard
white-knuckled
waiting there
for it to
begin
in earnest
Lying there
seventeen-year-old
dancing temptress
with not a
single veil
whispering in
silver screened
huskiness
come to me
only to hear
Lying there
in that
night of promises
kept but unfulfilled
I did

America, america

(this piece was originally published in the 9-11 Memorial Edition of the Adelphi Society for Psychoanalysis & Psychotherapy Newsletter of which I was editor for several years ).



Oh beautiful for spacious skies
cut deep by silver steel
For purple mountain majesties
above the
gaping
hole

American, america
heart cut
and bled and teared
Lift now
her face
from evil
brace
from al
that now
is feared

Told us they
did of
brotherhood
of hand held
fast and
strong
those purple mountains
majesty
above a rising
dawn


America, america
I gave my heart
to thee through bombs
that fell
and napalms
hell I held
you close to me

America, america
I marched and sung
and cried
for liberty, equality
for others lost and dies

We learned of
pots of melted
walls
a land of one
for all
A special land
where freedom
rang a universal
call

A place where
free we all
could be
no crematorium
sweet stink
the evil
things that
happened then
too distant far
to think

And through it all
our self-control
belief in moral
might
a land that's
free for all
to be whatever is
felt right

We didn't always
get along
We didn't all agree
But that we learned
was just the point
of sweetest liberty

And so our
buildings went
unscanned
our skies
unmanned
and free
our streets marched
through by many feet
for causes differently

America, america
I gave my heart
to thee
to noble
cause and
idealized flaws
in name of
liberty

It served us well
until this
hell unleashed
its heinous face
but never more
than here a door
to courage
rich embrace

It takes no
strength to fight
for right when
fear is far away
when babies cry
in distant lands
and others
starve and die

Our alabaster
cities now
agleam with
tears and dust
From this came
we to liberty
As then and now we must

American, america
I gave my heart to thee
gave my belief
a child of grief
to dream
of liberty

All children
of a certain age
remember
with crisp
pride
that we stood
so much
taller then
and that we did believe

American, america
it's simple
to believe
when safe and
warm and tall
and strong
invincible we seemed

American, america
for oh so very long
we've mouthed
the words
without a test
of right against what's wrong

America, america
you raised me in your
arms
So strong
and warm
and held so high
america's no lie...

Thursday, August 26, 2010

What? Ever....Never?

They sat there
side by side
in the fall sun
late day spilling
onto the papers
on the doctor's
shimmer polished
desk of cognitive
tests
They sat there only
as a favor to their
family's urging
his eyes drifting to
the billowing sails
of a model ship
wondering at the thousands
of tiny tied knots
she almost dozing
stroking the soft
silk fabric of the chair
in the office of the doctor
in the late afternoon sun
fall out the latticed windows
bright trees dropping leaves
lazy - and the light spilling
into the words drifting
over them as their child
lied quiet as was her nature
just her nature
quiet and limp limbed
still
across their laps
sweet drool sparkling in the
light as the doctor
delicately attempted
the first incision
of all possibility

Saturday, August 21, 2010

For Four- Year-Old Kaitlin

There can be
no words of comfort
for murdered Kaitlin
hair washed and
lovingly cleaned
dressed in crisp white
and arranged
fetchingly on
beloved pink sateen

There can be
no words of comfort
for Kaitlin pretty
under that small
shining white
casket lid

No comfort in the heaps of
blooms thrown in
helpless profusion
in the gaping hole
of what he did

There can be
no words of comfort
as Kaitlin in cruel irony
is returned back to
the black earth
where she was found

Her mother shivers
holding air
chilled by warm
words
as the tiny girl
is covered by the ground

Stone faced
at talk of
loving arm's
celestial embrace

No comfort for the
loved ones as they
lean one into the other
a mass of tangled
torment touching
among averted eyes
not one who can them face

Four- year- old Kaitlin
found sprawled kill raped still
in the damp wood
a child who would
have her peanut butter
sandwich made just
the way it should

Words of innocence
above that now covered casket
babble non-sense on
a ruffled breeze

Kaitlin last looked upon
the face of evil incomprehensible
etched into her eyes
with photographic ease

Rest sweet Kaitlin
perhaps for you this can be so
in the woods of your
death sweet jasmine may
inexplicably grow

Drift sweet Kaitlin tumbling
in the sparkled sunlight
on the soft wings of
white butterflies
take flight

There sweet Kaitlin one with
each petal, dancing dust mote
salted sea drop and all
known and more

Soar
sweet Kaitlin
embracing the ripped
grief-dumbed hearts left
forevermore

Friday, August 20, 2010

For Two

Of each
Dinner plates -largest 
Cups and saucers 
Dessert plates
Salad bowls
Soup bowls
Sit on crisp knife
Creased linen
Finally
Alone
Chosen carefully
With some tears
A raised voice
Now perfectly 
Positioned
Translucent 
Vulnerable
Never to be joined
By the other tens
Instead used 
In wonder and sacrament
Until consigned
To a top shelf to
Wait until the time
Is right
as other priorities arrive
One tumbling into the other
As dust finely gathers 
And a cup drops and shatters

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

With A Smile

(dedicated to all those who MUST work at what they must)

with a smile
as a tug pulls
just below
the loosened sash of her uniform
with a smile
as she brushes
a wayward grasping hand from
a place where it should not be
with a smile
as she returns an order
delivered as requested
with a smile
as the tug grabs her breath
shakes the coffee cups in her hand
sloshing just a bit and then subsiding
with a smile
as she turns
order in hand calls it in
and walks past to the Ladies'
as pain rolls through
and blood trails down her thighs
with a smile
after a half-hour break..
a little peaked she tightens her sash
and returns to the floor
Order Up
with a smile

Thursday, August 12, 2010

As I was saying.... A quaternesque....heard just about any night anywhere

As I was saying
you are just my type
do you come here often?
are you tired of hype?

You are just my type
As I was saying
And no I am not playing
I myself am tired of all the hype

Do you come here often? Why do I want to know?
Because I was hoping we could meet here and.....
As I was saying
You are my type and let's get up and go

Excuse me? You think that
I'm the one full of hype
And ...excuse me.... I am not at all your own type? Well...
As I was saying.....

(Epilogue... Huh? Where did you go?)

As I Was Saying About The Birds and the Bees

As I was saying
about the birds and the bee
No! I don't know why they picked a bird and a bee
Could you please just listen, just listen to me
Yes! I am going to tell you
where from babies come
I don't know why I said anything about birds
or bees ... Maybe that was just silly or dumb....

Okay we'll start again from the top
when you asked me where babies come from
First there's an egg..
No! Not scrambled or fried!
Not that kind of egg and No! No! And
no!, I have not to you lied!

I am trying to tell you the best way that I can...
Yes... You have a good point there...
Maybe start first with a woman
and then a man.

Okay!... I am starting ... Off now we go
No! The man doesn't get bee stung! No! No! And no!
Didn't I just back there agree
That this hadn't really anything to do with a bird or a bee
As I was saying.... If you'd just please, please listen to me
What?! What is that?
What was that you just said?
You already heard a weird story?
From young Uncle Ted

He said that a man put his what
in a where?!
And what did you say?!
Oh...you just didn t care?
Yes that is a weird story of course I agree!
Yes! It is much weirder than a bird or a bee!

As I was saying..
What?... You'd rather go out and play?
Okay then....Sure!! As I was saying
We can do this on any old day....