Today’s poet is Rob Daly.
written by Rob DalyA plane ride away A re-union is planned, For a place I embraced Forty years ago. I scan the names From our six room school Were these my friends? Do they remember me? I needed freedom, Something different, I took control of my life In a new school with no rules. In English class we studied Rock music In History we took photos And printed them in a darkroom Which was the bathroom. The next year I chose My old high school and a new job With rules I understood And freedom to excel. Should I remember the people From my lost and found year? I can wear a badge and smile, Watch for a familiar face. But I won’t remember if we Took a picture together Or listened to music. My friends from forty years ago Have been in my life all this time.
For those who celebrate Passover we offer today’s poem by Liz Eisen.
written by Liz Eisen
Carefully her hands washed the china and set it on the table surrounding the brightly polished old brass candlesticks and the cut glass vase filled with flowers from her garden.
Gently her hands took out the Seder plate and placed the shank bone, bitter herbs, the egg, the charoset, karpas, and matzah upon it.
Meaningfully her hands created the meal: soup and gefilte fish, brisket and tsimmes, kugel, macaroons and baked apples.
Tenderly her hands cupped her grandson’s cheeks, held him warm in her grasp until he squirmed away.
Softly her hands struck the match, lit the candles and she waved them in front of her face one, two, three as she said the words of the prayer from her heart.
Respectfully her hands held the hagaddah and lifted the wine glass.
Joyfully her hands followed her voice as she sang each prayer and song.
Sorrowfully her hands broke the matzah and brought it to her mouth, reminding her bittersweetly of the past.
Lovingly her hands served the meal to her family; she passed each platter and smiled as they ate.
Purposefully her hands cleared the table.
Knowingly her hands washed the china, the pots and pans, the mugs and saucers.
Tenderly her hands waved goodbye and then she rested them against her chest, the house once again quiet.
Her hands were a blessing from God.
Our Poet today is Laura L Mays Hoopes
Cardamom in Jericho
written by Laura L Mays Hoopes
Cardamom scent from the coffee
In Jericho on a small round stool
Happy to be in this large gift shop
And not stranded on the road
Or taken to a nameless place
For nefarious purposes.
My husband will come here later
As he walks slowly down the desert road
Alone, hearing voices of the past
And the ravens of today
Avoiding large boulders and
Small slippery stones underfoot.
I was supposed to come down
On the bus with Mohammed.
The telephone call upset him
He said, “Get out and stand by the road
To watch for a red car with two men,”
The bus disappeared.
I thought of Americans in duct tape
Poised under cars, driven through the night
Hidden in small villages for years
And I was sore afraid.
But a red car rocketed along
Opened its doors and I got in.
Still the worries beset me.
Three men, not two.
Not talking or laughing, just driving
Very fast, around curves
Down the hills and through the city
But now parking at a big store.
Surely the worry could stop now.
When I went inside, Kikin handed me
The cup of cardamom coffee
In a delicate glass cup
Held in twisted brass wires.
“Please, lady, sit here.”
The ordeal was all inside my head.
Nothing bad happened.
But the adrenaline was high
And I laughed and laughed
And spent a great deal of money
In my relief.
Looking for poetry in the Los Angeles area? Check out this site I found: Poetry Slam & Other Reading Opportunities . Our Poet today is Rossana D’Antonio
written by Rossana D’AntonioIt’s hard leaving behind the canyon.
The lush and vibrant landscape.
The sun peaking from behind the mountains.
The crystalline air piercing with each breath.
And the peaceful silence outlined by the hum of the wind. The oedometer on the dashboard slowly ticks away the start of a new day.
My gilded cage in the glass cube overlooking the concrete city.
Everything changed after the accident.
Baggage full of crises at my doorstep.
Second guessing what I’ve worked for all my life. People reinvent themselves all the time.
Leave behind six figure salaries, trek across the world in search of spiritual renewal.
Eating, praying and loving, writing about it and have it become a blockbuster movie.
It’s not that easy.
Or maybe it is and I just don’t have the courage.
Our Poet today is Laura Beasley
written by Laura Beasley
Could be right or could be wrong
Chosen from my busy tinkling brain.
Maybe if I squeeze enough,
Spit-and-polish, it’s not tough
To allow the truth to drip and drain.
But I’d rather joke and jab,
Chatter on with sing-song gab,
Reveal less when rhyming each refrain.
Today our poet is Liz Eisen.
written by Liz Eisen
drones in my ear
with all sincerity
i can say
i’d rather hear
the sweet harmony
sound in my head
i wish nothing could hide
of their voices
Our Poet today is Mary Rose Betten
WRITERS ON APRIL
written by Mary Rose Betten
Roots seek rain like I
Seek new views on writing
Hungry readers wait
Our Poet today is Rossana D’Antonio
written by Rossana D’Antonio
I have to go to dinner tonight.
We are meeting the Rubin’s – Alan and Adele,that is.
Technically, we are family. And we will meet them for dinner.
After 5 years, they finally asked to meet us for dinner.
You see, although we are family, we have never shared a birthday or high holidays or a cup of coffee. We have never shared a hello, how are you, welcome to the family.
We have never shared.
So simple yet so complex. Adele blames me for the demise of Freddie’s marriage.
In her eyes, I was the other woman that broke up their perfect existence.
Except there was no such perfect existence.
There was simply an existence.
And I came along and added a tangential existence.
She’s never actually said all this. She’s never said anything to me.
The other woman. It’s not a role I think I deserve.
Alan called a few weeks ago and casually said Adele was ready.
As I heard the words travel from the speakerphone I thought, ready? Ready for what?
Adele is finally ready and we must all now go to dinner, be a family, and share in long overdue beginnings?
What about me? Am I ready? No one’s asked me. What will we talk about?
What have you been up to these last five years?
Our poet today is Laura L Mays Hoopes
Who Is Spring
written by Laura L Mays Hoopes
Spring is a teenager
Wet and windy,
Filled with noise.
What a season,
Lively and changeable
Innocent and treacherous
Filled with roses.
Spring goes its own road
Takes no direction
Blows hot and cold
Filled with red noses.
Spring is a believer
Whatever you think
I will yield to months
Filled with summer ploys