of a son
Poetry Partners #31 'Fireflies at Dusk', a poem by Malalai Khan of 'Malalai Noor Khan' Catching a glimpse of tiny sparks, Around the corner away in the dark. I run after them in wild desire, Were they embers from a bonfire? Or shooting stars fallen from the sky, Or specks of gold that can fly?… Continue reading Fireflies, glowworms, or: Lightning bugs
A limerick Dad had a stapler, but he couldn't find it... Finished manuscript, but - couldn't bind it. Toothy toddler grinned, "Pop, to be frank, I Picasso'd your sheets loose and blank... So - pay me, please, if you wouldn't mind it!"
In memory of Papa My 1st ghazal I remember his toolboxes, table vice, hand sander Still remember foul humor, impatience, frank candor I remember clever math tricks and right-wing politics And sultry actresses at whom he would gander I remember him sitting, reading, problem solving Frustrated, resigned, when his mind would meander I remember long… Continue reading David, or: ben Alexander
A Cleave poem in the form of two Shadormas Chanukah festivalwith bright atmosphere permeating through ~filling our Jewish homes;children’s hearts; familieshas left glowing memories held together by warm lovelasting forever across gen’rations How to read a cleave poem? Simply: Read the left hand poem as a first discrete poem.Read the right hand poem as a… Continue reading Warm love, or: Glowing memories
A haibun There's no getting around it. Really, it's quite annoying that the object of my greatest gratitude is so self-evident to me. How can I pen a clever poem on a response that's so banal? I am thankful for the well-being of my 6¾-year-old daughter. She is healthy, smart, sweet, sensitive, and, most importantly,… Continue reading Granted, or: Gifted
My 1st Sheshire A memory still gnaws at me; I was self-righteous in my youth. One week, my parents had headaches; Erring, they'd bought... decaf coffee. A jerk, I smirked, learning the truth Of their addiction and mistake. Then, in college, t'was a café... Across the street from my dorm room. I'd drink cappuccinos and… Continue reading Light, medium, or: Dark
Stop asking, for I'll answer you, extending pliant boundaries, embellishing fresh memories; vast worlds and words to be construed Power and pain, born both of truth, yearned after through the centuries; discerning eyes may peer beneath; all want to know -but then they do Reality shan't be eschewed, enticed, youths' curiosities; wishing to know His… Continue reading Thicker than blood, or: Bugaboo
My 1st blank verse Iowa City, Iowa; I still remember snippets of those childhood days; the tree in our front yard that I would climb getting sawed down to a stump for no good reason; living across the street from my school: Ernest Horn Elementary School, where my mother took me to learn to ride… Continue reading ‘b’, or: ‘d’
The skeptic's kaddish 
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