Blank verse in iambic heptameter 80 doesn't even burn, but I'm drinking 94, feeling its sting against my throat before the smooth warmth spreads; soothing, relaxing; though nothing like the pounding, scalding water on my shoulders, back and buttocks just earlier. Sitting in my yeti hide fleece pajamas afterwards, I thought to describe the sensation… Continue reading Kentucky, or: Jerusalem
A haibun It takes so very little to destroy a person. We look away from homeless people and the terminally ill because we don't want to think about our own vulnerabilities. In truth, we can't protect ourselves or our families from the worst. I sit, composing poetry in my comfortable cotton pajamas with a roof… Continue reading Staid, or: Stormy
A haibun Whenever my seven-year-old daughter complains that it's hot in the summer, I like to remind her that Jerusalem is a desert city. "Welcome to the desert," I wink. Personally, I usually don't bother complaining, but I still catch myself kvetching about the heat on occasion. Yesterday, trudging through the afternoon sun from her… Continue reading Fresh rivulets flow, or: Summertime shower
A quadrille (44 words) Having sprung past spring in the course of but one too-brief week, Israel once again puts winter radiators back into seasonal storage; opens windows wide; embraces summer's heat with open arms, sweat dripping down the small of its back, straight into its ass crack. d’Verse Quadrille #149 The above poem is… Continue reading Spring, or: Sprung
Blank verse in iambic heptameter 80 doesn't even burn, but I'm drinking 94, feeling its sting against my throat before the smooth warmth spreads; soothing, relaxing; though nothing like the pounding, scalding water on my shoulders, back and buttocks just earlier. Sitting in my yeti hide fleece pajamas afterwards, I thought to describe the sensation… Continue reading Kentucky, or: Jerusalem
The Skeptic's Kaddish 🇮🇱 
You must be logged in to post a comment.