Rain, or: Shine

A Waltz wave poem gray over- cast heavens; my daughter believes God's crying up above Jerusalem and wonders why God gets so sad during the autumn and winter months Waltz wave? a one-stanza poem;nineteen lines; each line has a set number of syllables;the pattern is: 1/2/1/2/3/2/1/2/3/4/3/2/1/2/3/2/1/2/1;words may be split into syllables to fit the pattern;this… Continue reading Rain, or: Shine

Poor advice from a 1st grade teacher

Our first-ever parent-teacher conference Last week, we had our first parent-teacher conference with our 1st grade daughter's teacher. It was uplifting. Her teacher told us that our child is wonderful that she wishes she had a classroom of thirty children just like her. To be entirely honest, we weren't surprised by her feedback, but it… Continue reading Poor advice from a 1st grade teacher

Up, up, or: Away

An American sentence: Ironic that parents at computers tell kids to turn off tablets. What's an 'American Sentence'? Allen Ginsberg, inventor of the American Sentence, felt that the haiku didn’t work as well in English. Ginsberg decided to remove the line structure of the haiku, maintaining the requirement of 17 syllables total. He felt that… Continue reading Up, up, or: Away

Fiction, or: Fact

A Crystalline My daughter was three-and-a-half when Papa unexpectedly died. She had no concept of death then; by four-and-a-half, she did... a bit. "Is it right that my grandfather died?" She asked once, on the way to shul. I had been reciting kaddish for Papa every day for a year. All those months, I'd tried… Continue reading Fiction, or: Fact

Death, or: Taxes

An American sentence: She fears our deaths and hers; with forced humor, I play down their likelihoods. What's an 'American Sentence'? Allen Ginsberg, inventor of the American Sentence, felt that the haiku didn’t work as well in English. Ginsberg decided to remove the line structure of the haiku, maintaining the requirement of 17 syllables total.… Continue reading Death, or: Taxes

Sick days, or: Tissues

A piece of Tanka prose For the past several days, my daughter has been sick; and my wife also caught the virus shortly after our six-year-old fell ill. Luckily, it's nothing too serious - our child's beloved doctor gave her a checkup and informed us that it's merely a nasty cold. I haven't fallen sick… Continue reading Sick days, or: Tissues

Holier, or: Fragile

Your little face Might just be proof for me of God's good grace You utterly bewitch me Your fancies so enrich me I want to be Your Abba'chka... How can I assure you That there's a God Though I s'pose you do not need it You naturally believe it... Holier than me My Dear Baby… Continue reading Holier, or: Fragile

Memories, or: Dreams

My 2nd blank verse EPIGRAPH: We all have our time machines. Some take us back, they’re called memories. Some take us forward, they’re called dreams.–Jeremy Irons (b. 1948) ... regret and failure, hopelessness against bulwark stubborn the generation's this; responding before breathe and pause; pain and anger the stifle and, kiss, hug, smile shall I; do… Continue reading Memories, or: Dreams