of a son
A haibun I can't recall ever being afraid of death, although my father's death led me to reflect deeply upon death's effects upon the yet living. Still, as uncomfortable as that line of thinking is, it leaves me tearful rather than fearful. Papa's death has also led me to think a lot about suffering. He… Continue reading Silence, or: The lambs
A sad limerick "Come! You -must- write me," the death poem said. "Please, dip your quill, lest you're found dead." Mort was much too frail and tired... 'Twas then he died, feeling inspired... So, his weeping jisei wrote itself instead.
A quadrille In the form of four Elevenies life flourishing richly throughout human lands inhabitants accustomed to peace complacency planes flying fleetly imperceptible to eagles barking dogs pulling leashes foreshadowing whistling bombs dropping silhouetted against azure people rushing towards cellars blasts ash covering earth carried by currents only scorching wind's breathing apocalypse Elfchen Row Words… Continue reading Humanity, or: Humaneness
EPIGRAPH: In the end, we'll all become stories.-Margaret Atwood (b. 1939) my every verse my every line my every word: death is only the beginning of countless stories; life, reality's only limitation, albeit a foggy one, but death, a veritable wellspring of stories to tell around the table impart to our children to fool ourselves… Continue reading Poems, poems, poems, or:
An American sentence Crime among Israeli Arabs continues claiming lives daily. What's an 'American Sentence'? Allen Ginsberg, inventor of the American Sentence, felt that the haiku didn’t work as well in English. Ginsberg decided to remove the line structure of the haiku, maintaining the requirement of 17 syllables total. He felt that removing the line… Continue reading Enough, or: Blame to go around
no doors in walls to Keep out fear just: Look and See, but no walls there... once structures, now Convulsing lines there's Is, there's Was, less timeless rhymes no what, no I, but only Am Am Flail for textures; Whisper, "damn..." unbearable, Am's Feels Are Galled Walled in, Crawling, no space at all! nouns swiftly… Continue reading Am, Are, or: Always
When death, the great reconciler, has come, it is never our tenderness that we repent of, but our severity.-George Eliot (1819 – 1880) A personal thought Written as an American Sentence This must include tenderness (versus severity) towards ourselves. P.S. Yom Kippur (the holiest day of the year for Jews) runs from sunset on Wednesday to… Continue reading It is never our tenderness…
My 1st kyrielle Too many... do just as detached, Robot preachers urge undeterred. Ours will never be the last word... Though it soothes to feel tightly Latched. We stake claims on God for Control... Human hubris is so absurd. Ours will never be the last word; Only letting go can make whole. As firm reminder… Continue reading Final word? or: Never
You must be logged in to post a comment.