Fresh rivulets flow, or: Summertime shower

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

Spring, or: Sprung

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. dโ€™Verse Quadrille #149 The above poem is… Continue reading Spring, or: Sprung

Kentucky, or: Jerusalem

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