chapter one
before
chapter two
after
before
I knew
after
I realized
I pray
I can write
chapter three
before my spine
becomes unglued
joy august ripsaw
chapter 3
Tag Archives: poetry
let cling to our skin
they cling to the legs
Ignorance and Want
beneath rich velvet robes
two malnourished beings
present in Their suffering
we remain focused on our priorities
during this season of hope and love
wrap tenderly our hearts
with Their existence
let us go forth
in humble spirit
and grand charity
for Rocky
Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol
The Ghost of Christmas Present
“Peace on Earth was all it said…”
STRIVE FOR PEACE ABOVE AND BELOW EVERY ROCK
fun little nutcrackers (I hope) created for art class project
southpaw warrior
southpaw warrior
wielding a just sabre
for righteousness
unsheathed in sparking white
gaining action by wind arc
inked blood contract
philosophies demanded
upon lofty principles
enforced with pride
beliefs carved upon singular roads
will not lead
southpaw warrior
to peace
Who
warm queen of the night
to be a queen
of the night
is far better
than
to be a princess
by the day
to be happy
single
is far better
than
to be a mismatched
duo
to be warm
while living
is far better
than
to be cold
while–
swirl skating
Queen Waiting created today while waiting in a waiting room
never been accused
fashion
I’ve never been accused of having it
there, out there
those ladies and gentlemen
you know who they are
they know who they are
who lived their first lives as display mannequins
clothes on their forms look right
and perfect
me
I stopped looking in mirrors that dip below eye-level
long ago
fashion
I’ll never be accused of having it
still
I’ll always appreciate those who do
it is, after all, an art form
inspired by ‘subbing’ a fashion class – this – my homage to iconic fashion maestro, Erté, circa 1915-1932
created yesterday
the tipping point
the tipping point
there is one
and this is it
spinning on sharp hair
like a top
waiting to see which way
the body falls
I can already hear the thud
welcome music to my ears
eyes finally close
rest now
you’ll spin again
tomorrow
leonada’s earring
that I cannot do
Tell me how
you make it look so easy
They follow you like puppy dogs
that, I cannot do
I’m the one in the corner
watching all the tails wag
If we were in Rome
they’d be your dancing harem
I’d be off in the market
flattening papyrus
or washing sand from between my ink-covered toes
Forlorn
drawn today while subbing
Riding the Cyclone
they say you can never go back
she did, at 79
the magic of optimism
in her breast
returning to Coney Island
for the ride of her life
a young man locked her in
brave nana, kneecaps knocking
beneath that padded bar
she didn’t look back
only forward
at the dropping parallel lines
stomach lifting steel
smiling, laughing, screaming
on this Halloween
she leaps another year to the right
considering each 365, a dazzling gift
nothing about her has changed much
her remarkable passion
her boundless spirit
why, in 80 years
the only thing that has changed
is the ticket price
her first ride cost twenty-five cents
last month, the Cyclone was twelve dollars
happy birthday, mom
xoxo
he whispers amen
thank you he whispers
like an amen
the broad smile on his face
I’ve seen somewhere before
his bright marbled eyes map
world destinations traveled decades ago
both light and dark
those hands, trembling and warm
once gripped killing machines
with cool unshakable confidence
back then
they wore their brand of patriotism
like a second skin
back then
there was no doubting
now there is
and today he whispers
thank you and tips his baseball cap
to my young son
who has just held the door
for the elderly gentleman
wearing the navy blue cap with the meticulous insignia
that reads WWII, US P-51 Mustang
lone
previously published, I have no fighter plane art
anntogether 