Of hot oil, or: The stove

A shadorma unhealthy categorizes every food Papa made including the matzah brie that I so adored Passover was the sizzling hiss of hot oil on the stove crisp matzah, eggs, and hotdogs steaming on our plates mayonnaise was Papa's go-to condiment an Eastern European norm, I guess simple but perfect it's funny (I don't mean… Continue reading Of hot oil, or: The stove

Clarity, or: Convergence

A haibun My Papa died over four years ago; and I wrote a very public series of blog posts on The Times of Israel during my traditional year-long recitation of the "Mourner's Kaddish" in his honor, as is noted on Papa's Wikipedia page. The Skeptic's Kaddish blog, which you are now visiting, was born of… Continue reading Clarity, or: Convergence

Loose threads, or: The needle

An Ovillejo Papa said men should not be swine; He drew a line; Papa said law differs from good; I understood; Papa said I should plan ahead; I lost the thread- Winging my way through life instead; I think back to all he would say, Increasingly... as I turn gray; He drew a line; I… Continue reading Loose threads, or: The needle

Woodwork, or: Far from the tree

A limerick Respected for both mind and might, The nails he hit lost every fight; So, where had I come from? His son who was all thumbs Knew only to dream and to write. โ€˜What do you seeโ€™ Prompt #154 For Sadjeโ€™s weekly #WDYS prompt, she offered the photo to the right as inspiration for… Continue reading Woodwork, or: Far from the tree

Generation, or: Conception

A Choka a letdown for him yet one more disappointment my shitty longhand he noted nonchalantly had much concerned him before he had concluded my generation needed but know how to type my shitty longhand would not be an obstacle like some of my other traits Choka? The most intricate Japanese Poetry form is the… Continue reading Generation, or: Conception

Ocean waves, or: Sharp wheezing

A haibun I remember looking up at the sun and clouds as I pulled my father's body across the ocean surface. We were wearing full scuba gear; Papa was barely breathing. Getting him to the jetty was the only viable option. high sun sears ocean waves aglow sharp wheezing d'Verse Haibun Monday: Look up! At… Continue reading Ocean waves, or: Sharp wheezing

Dark yellow, or: Jaded

Poetry Partners #97 'Dark Yellow', a poem by Kathy Labrum McVittie of 'writingpresence' Tomorrow she will die again Slip-sighing into eternity And I will catch my breath again At the shrill of the phone in the night. Tomorrow she will lie again, Becalmed in a sea of flowers And I wonโ€™t know How to cope… Continue reading Dark yellow, or: Jaded

His death, or: My life

An American Sentence: Papa's death led to my self-actualization as a writer. Another American Sentence I dare say Papa would be proud at how I've changed my life since he died. A third American Sentence I find myself writing less and less about Papa as days go by. What's an 'American Sentence'? Allen Ginsberg, inventor… Continue reading His death, or: My life