Category: Poetry

The church bells toll as the storm descends.
Shanty Town is shrouded with snow.
Crystal castles, and other fairytale marvels,
cover the ramshackle houses, shabby store fronts,
clap trap shelters, toppling tenements.
The dreary mill atop the hill, glitters in the maelstrom
like a diaphanous dream dome (afloat in a cloudland).
Shape shifting spirits dance off the drifts,
fly with the flurries, twirl and pirouette.
Even the shacks and shanties, the rickety sheds,
conjure up post cards cottages and nativity scenes.
I bundle through the blizzard, bowed against the swirl,
a fragile ghost in a dream, beckoned by the bells.

Being and begetting, struggling and

enduring, all of it bewildering as time

passes and the church bells ring.

Like cold rain running through her

veins, the chilling feeling asDelphi

walks the ghetto streets each day,

shivering even when the sun is

blazing.  While across the city

where the girls her age look so

pretty, strolling in their fashionable

clothes along the tree lined lanes

and avenues, is where she prays

she’ll live someday, somehow,

someway.

Shadows stalk her shivering steps.

Life shifts through a freezing mist,

as gunfire crackles and sirens wail

and her fate is sealed with coffin nails.

Shadow to shadow
each solitary soul
listening for the beat
in the dark of another
heart …

Kites with streamers,
fast moving clouds,
rain on the horizon,
the wind sings a song.
Dancing, the paper
diamond on the end
of my string pirouettes
in the heavens.
Church bells ring.

So this guy, God, hands me a claim
ticket for a box with nothing in it.
“Enjoy.”
He yawned and life went on.
“What kind of gift is this?”
I asked my parents, as if they
might know or even think about it.
“It’s a whatchamacallit.”
My father said staring at the TV.
“Go ask the Rabbi.”
My mother frowned and glared at me.
“What am I supposed to do with this
empty box?” I asked the Rabbi.
“Put something in it?”
He shrugged and scratched his head.
Profound, I thought. I hustled and
bustled and tried to fill it up.
By the time I got old the box was
as empty as when I began, the way
the stuff of life came and went.
I used it for my coffin.