A musette Let me see her she said weakly Nurse, nurse, why do you stand lips pursed? Wet eyes and silence, but no cries
My 2nd musette Elbows on the counter soiled clothes Leaning into wine for meaning She'd died bearing a child his bride
Everyone dies. Everyone leaves. What matters is the things you build together before they go. What matters is the part of them that continues in you when they're gone.-Orson Scott Card (b. 1951)
A limerick Rated PG-13 for strong language and themes It'll remain when I am laid flat; I'll be buried with what I last begat. No matter how hard I push while seated on my tush, my last shit shall never get shat.
This coming Saturday night, after sunset (when the Sabbath ends), will be the 3rd anniversary of Papa's death on the Hebrew calendar. I'll light a candle. I may recite a prayer alone at home. I'd wanted to go out on Sunday (the day of the Hebrew anniversary) to a café with my wife and daughter… Continue reading Almost 3 years since Papa’s death
A gogyohka Love fills us That fullest & truest force of love Which is most pure & ever-present All-consuming in burning intensity With pain until we are gone forever
My 1st dizain The poet sat watching the page fill up; words, once warm, flowed forth freely from his vein; nothing his heart's oeuvre could interrupt, that stream of pleasure, love, memories, pain, for mere existence had become a strain; came the day when one thing remained to write, when the writer felt exhaustion's cold… Continue reading Final words, or: Oeuvre
My 1st 'cadae' My Papa's book rests on my shelf. Sigh. I am very proud of his incredible brilliance, which touched thousands around the world. Still, he's not a book. I'd rather have Papa back than a volume of probability riddles that never interested me before his sudden death.