Familiar, or: Family man

A kerf "I'd be more useful dead." "At least they'd get the money." "Hell, at least I would finally be free." "Mouths at home would get fed." "So sad, it's almost funny." "My children? Nah, they have no need for me." "Construction doesn't pay." "Ain't no help for a brother." "There's only one way out… Continue reading Familiar, or: Family man

Shadow, or: Sunlight

Poetry Partners #84 A poem by Iswar Kar of 'Journey called life' I was trapped in a trap It was my darkest part My body and soul were torn apart I cried in pain but in vain. Eyes flooded in tears Face reddened in fear Tummy cried in hunger Heart saddened in sorrows. I was… Continue reading Shadow, or: Sunlight

On a Saturday, or: Word-torrents

A shadorma Papa died unexpectedly several hours after reaching the emergency room on a Saturday Crushing waves; turbulent mood swings; treacherous reflections still pound my soul // spill over into word-torrents Shadorma? a six-line stanza (or sestet);each stanza has a syllable count of three in the 1st line, five in the 2nd, three in the… Continue reading On a Saturday, or: Word-torrents

Controlled temperature, or: Swimming pool

A haibun I am not prone to extreme emotions, tending to be fairly even-keeled, although I must confess to the occasional outburst of frustration. Rarely do I experience what I would call joy, which I perceive as a very powerful emotion, related to but distinct from happiness and contentment. Joy, for me, comes at moments… Continue reading Controlled temperature, or: Swimming pool

Disappearance, or: Endurance

Poetry Partners #38 'My Disappearance' by Susi Bocks of 'I Write Her' itโ€™s my nature to withdraw when unbalanced for no reason at all i retreat to a safe space like bear cubs denning iโ€™m not languishing iโ€™m dormant with melancholy seeking shelter protects my soul giving respite and comfort surrounded by nothing but time… Continue reading Disappearance, or: Endurance

Nortul lernapog deen, or: Ov iddage

My 1st Rimas Dissolutas Imagine words bypassed your brain like a foreign language, their sounds pounding upon your heart. Pretend you've no idea what I mean; or maybe you don't have to. Could I convey pleasure and pain; make you feel the crushing weight of my baggage; paint words upon the page like art, transfix… Continue reading Nortul lernapog deen, or: Ov iddage

The case of the stiff fingers

Papa's fingers Papa was supposed to visit us in August of 2018, but his unexpected death came that July, just before his intended visit to Israel. I last saw him in person in the summer of 2017. One of the last memories I have of Papa is him showing me his right hand. He bent… Continue reading The case of the stiff fingers

Sign, or: Delivery

My 1st Cleave poem thereโ€™s no rhyme to what poets write and what poets experience how they are understood when they are read by critics picking their fantasies apart / from from stacks of books delivered by publishers, not knowing the rhythms of their hearts them and their little birds fluttering so vulnerably yearning hoping… Continue reading Sign, or: Delivery