Category: DayPoems

My ex reminded me of a chimera;

he was both a snake and a

lion who breathes fire;

he wore his two faces well.

His dashing Tuscan good looks

snared me at first glance; his pidgin English

sounded so sexy in his Sienese accent,

and he loved to collect art

made in my the Etruscan Age.

But jerks don’t stay hidden for long.

His anger boiled over constantly

when his ragu was a-salted,

and when the neighboring

wine selections would taste

like random vinegars.

All Americans were stupid;

I wasn’t at first,

but when I counterattacked

with my dizzying intellect,

which was my Pegasus—

He found a dark companion;

and screwed her brains out,

so we were soon done.

I don’t date monsters.

Salty lips

weak body

sleepiness

I want to drift out on the ocean,

I want to see penguins breeding on the shore in Chile;

I want to be carried everywhere like a baby;

I want to be naked all the time, and safe.

I want to find some peace for myself while he’s sleeping.

The dog sleeps under the table.

The visions of nakedness are gone;

the colored lights dancing over my eyes have faded, as with the stars…

It’s now late afternoon,

only 2 1/2 hours until we

can break the day-long fast

until next year

Contrite

concerned

peacefully

We are all trapped by the curve of our signatures.

Our histories are somewhat similar,

even though the names and locations we come from differ…

We are almost the same, but we are not the same.

We are carved in complementary shapes,

my skin on your skin, your skin on my skin,

even when reality blows forth an autumn chill,

and we are nothing more than friends,

Summer dreaming is as heavy as whipped cream,

our pseudo-children are golden and green,

but you don’t feel the same,

you don’t share the same dream,

I let the sleeping kids lie.

I lie to myself,

making lions out of tabbies,

words are the only currency

I can afford,

music the only God I pray to.

Could I will you to

cross the border towards my side?

The girls are waiting to lay down,

sinking with the sun on the greens.

I.

Sky’s heavy with clouds,

it’s still humid & warm outside.

The leaves are still green….

Summer hasn’t left the party yet,

she still wants to play upon our senses.

Fall is waiting in the wings,

but has forgotten his lines;

tomorrow is the autumnal equinox,

the show will happen, no matter what!

We wait for him with bated breath,

when the kids return to learning.

II.

Now is the day of turning time’s wheel

towards the New Year.

He sleeps heavy on the sofa before services,

before the kids run through the temple door,

before our prayer shawls are draped over our shoulders,

before the prayers, blessings

& readings of the Torah

Let us feast on apples and honey,

to lean into the sweetness of life’s journeys,

to have one day free from uncertainty, injustice and violence.

Yesterday I bought enough things

to wear for Fall; I saved almost $150

thanks to the sale.

I still heard my mother’s words:

“New pants won’t buy you happiness

when you’re in debt.”

We came out of our mother already in debt;

we grew up with almost nothing,

wearing hand-me-downs from Target.

We wore out our dreams too fast

even when they were too big for us.

Credit card payments are now heavy.

I wore my new navy pants today.

The seam on the side highlights my ass nicely.

The thigh area is not full of holes,

unlike the other pants that remain in my closet.

Why can’t anything fit or last anymore?

If there was a tree where one finds

happiness growing out of it,

at no cost for each consumer,

where can I find it?

For right now,

even while I’m in debt,

these pants do look good;

they were a wise investment.

Yo, Slick,

the tragic event

earned its license to drive;

it’s speeding down every single bridge,

sailing on every ferry,

while most jerks wear funeral clothes to work

Smoke is invisible; the fires still burn inside

the yards are dug up, lined with electric wire

As they read the names of the lost

Downtown at the holy memorial,

she tries not to feel dead,

remembering how the audio of that day

played loudly in the museum

did bring her to tears.

It’s inevitable;

patriots and non-patriots alike,

we will walk in our own ashes

The naked eye only captures gold from sunlight,

but, like songs set in the key of C,

it may look or sound easy, but it’s not;

All specters of insurmountable color,

clearly defined by a human artist’s palette,

are trapped within the golden light:

One color is many colors,

one note feeds numerous songs.

Even those who brag about their supposed purity,

are not purely pure anymore.

We all have hidden colors & bloodlines,

we all come from many different places—

Why stop those who are trying to become better

by coming here to make a new life & situation,

and why demonize their children, steal their future

even when they were born here?

Do songs only exist when they are sold for mass consumption?

Do we have to sell ourselves to get ahead?

We need to breathe easy when we can do so,

even with pollution in the air,

even after the fires stop burning.

When I see sunlight hit all of our faces,

golden tones by Noon may be mined by our eyes first,

later frozen in time by Technicolor,

but the bright tones, still transparent within our minds,

are yet to be discovered as we continue

to evolve

at our own pace.

I thought my adventures in 1994

was noteworthy:

graduating college the same week Kurt Cobain died, flying home from Sweden the same day OJ’s Ford Bronco was trying to Escape…

But I didn’t grow up in LA, or had worked at Spin like John, who

once watched Madonna perform

her “Holiday” grunge-style at

her own house for a Halloween party.

I can’t help feeling a bit nostalgic

about twenty years ago,

when one can listen to world music

at record stores’ listening stations,

and can dance shamelessly with

huge headphones on, for an entire afternoon, or after the late-night movie,

and when everyone had only

answering machines,

and could disappear for whole

days if they wanted to,

and 2 hot dogs cost $1.00.

Explaining the ’90s to Millennials is exhausting.

Princess Di was a major treasure!

I’m in my mid-40’s now.

I need a nap after drinking two beers, and I still sway whenever grunge music plays on the radio.

Sent from my iPhone

Overcast at dinner,
they all continued dancing

out in the yard

where the folk music played

and the totem pole bloomed,

their makeshift crowns blooming.
We forgot to drink tonight;

I would had danced with them.
The rain fell soft and cool;

meatballs with savory sour cream

and lingonberry jam

warmed my palate;

the waffles were too 

textually soft today
I’d flashback to my trip at 22

when I drank vodka with my cousins

in Vaxholm every day;

(I should had got some sex but didn’t);

I missed Midsommar over there,

I was on a ferry to Finland,

I missed the festivities and the hedonistic carryings-on,

my grandparents wanted to see Finland.
I’m here and not 22.

It’s a love-in 

as my NY Jewish friend says,

complete with beautiful 

fiddle players in folk dress.
We walked in Battery Park

seeing the sights:

the Clinton Castle,

the Stained Glass carousel,

the Globe that was on

the Twin Tower
It was pouring 

by the time we reached

the South Ferry station;

we entered the 1

on automated raised steps

in the humid platform.
Sunset still had an hour to go

but we had to go,

and the rain hasn’t stopped yet.

It’s not so unusual
that one-year-old boys

still in strollers in subways,

become so enamored & obsessed

with their own face,

a picture of them, frozen

on their mother’s smartphone, 
Then they see you and hum with delight,

like any young man would. 
Nor is it too strange

for an older young man (20s or so)

to glide on his skateboard

towards Astor Place,

wearing a full-body Spiderman cosplay suit

in over 80-degree weather;

his girl, who walks behind him for support,

wears a black t-shirt with all 

the famous bearded Duck Dynasty stars

smiling pensively, all in a row,

as she walks along with her Spidey,

her long, fizzy, hair flying. 
Outside of Van Leeuwen’s,

another lady, who’s not so happy,

as if she was a fallen amine hero 

defeated at the Battle of the Moon;

her hair straightened and dyed

first platinum then baby girl pink,

her eyes closed by perfectly straight lines,

just horizontal, no curve there, no black pencil,

she walks past, wishing she was invisible—
No one can be invisible or unnoticed here,

even in old age, we all take up space

when the young kids leave home,

milling from E 7th Street

to 1st Ave.,

they are too busy gawking at the

Cooper Union

to stop to have tea with me….
No, it’s not so strange 

to see these things

in the East Village.

This is New York, after all.