Along the sidelines they stood,
while the sticks flailed wildly,
boys running screaming round the sidewalk-chalked bases.
We were only girls, unwelcome to the rhymes and rhythms of the male psyche,
as testosterone rode high in these ten-year-old men.
We cheered and screamed, blew kisses and taunts,
giggled madly and pulled down skirts,
afraid to be noticed
yet afraid not to be.
Our fathers soon came home
some in high spirits, others in despair.
Soon words registered–angry, sad, laughing,
Then mothers called us to dinner.
Sticks and balls dropped,
arguments about who won and who owed what,
while we picked up our school books, and ran down the street,
to set the table and serve dinner,
while our brothers boasted about their prowess,
taking their princely places at the table.
oil painting from the Sand Lake Ambulance collection – for sale
Cold settles cruelly in your head
It chases you quickly into bed
You cover every part you can
Yet still it clings, so unwelcome.
Open the cupboards
And there it is
Hiding in corners
And dishes and things.
Take off your gloves
And it appears
Slip them back on, and whoosh! Disappears!
Open your coat, it rushes back in
Wrap on a scarf, add on a hat,
And so you presume that is that!
It’s crushed for a moment,
Put in its place
But then it strikes back
It lashes your face.
Oh, cold, how I wish you would go, you must know
I shiver to think of all the snow
That lingers behind as you exit the scene
It stays for a week, sometimes longer it seems.
‘Tis very annoying to shovel so much
I’d rather be drinking from a tea-cup
And savoring winter on the inside
Watching through windows, people slip and slide
While laying about, safe and secure
Dreaming of summer spent at the shore.
oil painting from the Sand Lake Ambulance collection-for sale
Those tearful winds do blow and blow
Blow round and round
Above the ground
And only they know where they’re bound.
Oh! What wonders are!
No snow did settle on my car
But seem it did to parry first
Then hurry with determined bursts
And blow and blow determinedly
Into my neighbor’s yard, you see!
‘Tis sorry I be for his grief
To shovel snow, so many feet
But next time I shall not escape
From winter’s rage and stormy fate.
Yet pleased I am that for today
I may remain in bed and safe!
No spaces found. You’d think
cars would be anathema in this town
of subways running 24/7, and car thieves prowling round
Mercedes lining every street
BMWs looking oh so neat.
You’d think they’d smarten up,
but not in this town.
In this town they run around, cell phones held out,
oblivious to sounds
of footsteps, and I wonder who will lose
Shattered glass tells tales of thieves
and late-night news weaves stories of grief–
cellphones ripped from unsuspecting heads.
Stupid, for growing up on these streets, nothing’s ever left to chance.
You know better living here.
Tuck your jewelry in your blouse, turn your rings around. And sneakers.
Can’t outrun the bad guys in heels.
So jack my car–I have insurance.
103 years, Judge Ingram said,
as Weberman lowered his head,
charged with crimes of acting out,
found guilty, on 59 counts,
child sexual abuse, towards a 12 year-old girl.
His religion could not excuse,
his heinous acts, his moral turpitude,
an unlicensed therapist upon an unwitting soul.
“I would cry until the tears went dry,”
the victim sighed with head held high.
Now 18, married, she moved away,
her home in another place to stay,
for society still perverts the crime
to wrong the woman victimized.
Brooklyn D.A. Charles Hynes got it right,
wresting power from the powerful,
letting law see the light,
so victims will know their voices are heard
and justice once more rises at dawn,
to challenge the dark, one day at a time.
The trains pass, crowded with humanity,
a woman, crushed against riders,
with hair askew and packages in hand,
grabs hold the car’s gleaming pole,
struggling for space
as a myriad of hands,
unrelenting, begrudge her safety.
Out the window more trains pass,
each bears burdens of day’s woes,
work undone, promises broken,
jobs lost, some won,
though weariness surfaces in all–
the city takes its toll.
The woman exits, with little relief,
her evening a reflection of her day,
as cook and clean fill the hours,
till slumber calls
and sweet caresses of dreams obscure the city’s madding screams.
NYC–St. Patrick’s Cathedral–interior–crèche with dog–looks like a golden retriever
dog and god, one and the same
you can’t fake what’s in a name
forwards, backwards, it’s the same
dog and god are one name
Down, down, and down
black holes with fetid water
the wine of a city
blinded by cheap lights
too costly to survive
only in dreams.
dreams ghost by
the gold ring beckons
horse heads break
ancient wood, brittle and neglected
your forgotten dreams
when horses ran round and round
and laughter was the only sound.
decapitated and dethroned
you shuffle back and forth to work
down subway steps
towards black earth
and rats that scurry, finding death
anticipating you, along the way
will find the fall
You casually accept the entry
the underworld so grim
there to find your long-lost kin.
political issues aside
there are some things I really can’t hide
though finances are rough
not having a dog
is getting real tough
and depressed is a new state of mind
obliged to all
my brain dissolves
in New Year’s wine
in champagne’s fine
in chocolates and delicacies
that palates must attend
to such distress as tongues
and taste without refinement
as we pursue a state of sheer inebriation
without a hint of what the morn shall bring
in pain and torture
as heads collide on pillows softer
than an angel’s hand could lend.
Oh, we are, doubtless, a species of abuse!
New York fills me with a haze
of smoke and soot
abides not well
New York borders on the hell
of crass indifference
and yet to tell
it often proves a boon
a source of pride as all collide
and come together, side by side
Sunnyside, so comforting a name
Now can only claim
A place of death,
Another in NYC.
Queens, so regal it proclaims
But harbors those who maim
And kill the innocent of this a city,
Inured to violence
A purple heart of death.
We honor killing, murder, depravity
And toss aside what’s left of our humanity
Replacing it with such insanity
That souls are set adrift.
When I awoke
The day just lay there
Which dream was real
No hour longer than this day
Under cover though I stay
Tangled mess, my sheets tell the tale
The next awaits
And never arrives.
When darkness overcomes
To hide has just begun.
Victims of the city walls
All await a deadly fall
Through sewers, streets and shopping malls
The Subway tracks tell us all
That life is rotten to the core
When we neglect our neighbors call
No jobs, low wages, a scary sight
As politicians continue on
Wreak havoc on so many here
And food a scarce commodity
While rents increase and they rejoice
To those we pay a living wage
As we scurry to our grave.