Sunday, November 15, 2015


Fallen leaves chatter to the ground
Autumn’s gold petals sweet sound
A pleasant fresh chill fills the air
Happy to feel a day so fair
Evening sings, temperature drops
Season's preview, pull out winter socks
Dark at four thirty, tranquilized
Sun arrives at six forty five
Clocks schedule set back an hour
Quarter moon, Fragrant mists flower
Bloom in autumn's last hurrah sun
Salutations drive us, survive one
More rotation around our earth
One more round of birth and death

* Author's note: This is actually in sonnet format

Monday, October 26, 2015

What The Fuck?

If life is a song or blast,
I’ve Got No Luck at all.
Brand new silk panties get mussed in the dryer
Stuck on Velcro, silkiness totally ruined
Left with puckered withered drawers
Panties advertised to be all fine silky sweetness
My hard sweated buck consumed!

What the fuck? I’ve got no luck
With men I’m totally yuck
All I get is shmucks.
No need to misunderstand
Feeling all alone
He’s never there when you need him

What the fuck? I’ve got no luck
Like a lame duck things happen in my life
No rhyme or reason
Feel like an alien
Lost and isolated in Britain
I don’t belong here

What the fuck? I’ve got no luck
Stuck in one crisis after another
A blur of bummer events, 
Lose people I love
Without saying goodbye

OK I admit letting time fly fast
One blast, cast running thru life’s asphalt jungle
Watch boastful people on TV
A plea to humanity to see who we really are, who I really am
Part of we, long lost glee of society, trinity of three
Me, myself and others, a presence of Thee

What the fuck? I’ve got no luck
Standing here, a muse in society without face
Displaced, disgraced, no one cares about my race
I’m doubly screwed, woman first, then Jew, Greek, Spanish, Turkish and Persian,
a few dollops of North African mixed with Middle Eastern.
I’m nobody, nothing to you, you’re nothing too.

Either way I lose
So why does it matter to you what I do.
I’m fucked out of luck no matter what I choose to do
What the fuck? I’ve got no luck
Clock’s struck one. I’ll turn into a pumpkin
Moon struck, sun struck and awestruck
Life should be a well-struck bargain

Instead of what we’ve done to it

Friday, October 16, 2015

A Funny Memory

Florence said, “He’s nice enough, he’s got money, he's a doctor and all but he’s not a lot of fun. Worst of all his dick is so small it’s like a button. I can’t do anything with it.”
“Like a button,” I say unbelievingly, “you mean like this?” and I hold up my pinky to show her.
“No, Florence says, “more like the nail on your pinky. What am I supposed to do with that?”
I look at her in disbelief.
“Oh, I know he’s in love with me,” she continues, “but I have to have something to work with.
“That is just too much to have it so small. Even rubbing on it can do nothing at all. The first time I saw it I was shocked. If I weren’t a nicer person I would have laughed. Maybe he could get a skin graft to enlarge it or if he had some skill or craft, but all he’s got is that little button without a shaft. I’m not a glutton for punishment so I can’t continue to see him no matter how much he loves me. He calls me every day. I don’t know what to say.”
“Is it the same size when hard?” I ask.
“Yes, it’s no prize, a hard little penny he rubbed on my thighs. I don’t want to see him anymore. I’m not shallow. I know the score, but what can I say to him? Your dick is good for nothing, it’s too small?” 

Although this conversation happened in 1998, I recall it like it was yesterday. It's strange how these conversations stay in our minds and replay themselves day after day, even long after the person who said it has passed away. 

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

Reinvent The Universe ...

Need alone down time
To survive threatening circumstances
Need to listen to the hurt, hear the cries
Regrets I try to forget, leave behind
I turn a blind eye to the answer
Vow to leave doubt out of the question to my answer
Lies survive my lips deny my heart
Fear a mishap on the horizon
An angel forsaking our great nation on the verge of denial
Does Gehinnom exist? - Jew’s purgatory
Refuse to accommodate doubts about heaven or hell:
Intensification exists no doubt
Fingertips feel my heart beat with passion
Sensation alive in my drive
Pain sears through my womb
Pain, rips my soul from a concentration camp
Revive a better nation based on the assumption
That they do what they want to and we do what we’re told
Secrets we hold near, they hurt but they stay there
I deny what we live through
Live outside my head in the grip of a constant illusion
Hear conversations that never occur
Survive the delusion I live inside my head
Rich imaginings of what was said
What never was nor will be
Die and I never said what I meant to say to you and now I never will
The pain never stops
I keep moving my feet to a beat only I hear,
I try to help someone hear,
Please hear but no one hears but me
Standing alone in a grim bleak reality, coming and going alone
Solutions flash by and are slashed off by reality as 
I follow the path of Dorothy unafraid of what precedes me, lays in wait 
In a roughened bush burning by the side of an elegant brook 
In forest of deceit I wander hearing innocent animals slaughtered 
Cries calling out in my head instead 
Reality frozen in a time frame 
Waiting for a way out of the underflow 
I call to every passer by I see
Please, I beg, a hand please, I beg you don’t hurt me 
I’m only a first time offender 
I didn’t mean to raise my hand, 
Absolution for the abortion, 
Please stop the pollution, 
I hear the cries of an ancient race of animals now all dead, 
There’s no more of them to kill, only a lab created animal exists 
Please father, a benediction before I go and leave this universe
Can you give me a calculation of where you think I’ll be?
Father I have sinned, 10 hail Marys and go your way and sin no more 
I promise, father I have sinned
Afraid there’s another life waiting somewhere to find me 
Explore, seeking to find my way out of mischief into a glance of an inner richer universe
No exsanguination please
Try not to cry but the tears build in my eyes betray me
Water builds but doesn’t flow, yet you see me
I explode into another me who is she? 
I don’t know 
I didn’t make her 
She is I bubbling beneath the blood 
Warm ready to burst forth in flames fires 
Burst forth from my mouth like a dragon breathing fire I
Explode into a new me
Once more a reinvention of whom I want to be

Friday, September 11, 2015

I Feel Like Joyce Kilmer Tonight

The sky is falling upon me
So stifled I can barely see
Droplets of rain assuage the pain
Insane in the membrane, refrain
In life itself there is no gain
Kind of like a runaway train
Tremendous shame causes anguish
I wish I had some other dish
I am a fool to fall in love
Duped when someone fits like a glove
I’d love to live a life of bliss
Learn how to dismiss all of this
Not try to fill the emptiness 
Experience true happiness

Thursday, September 03, 2015

I Think I’ve Gone Crazy, Don’t Tell Anyone

The old tell the young
Don’t leave the store unminded
I’ve gone a step further 
Left the store of my mind unminded
My unminded mind is a travesty beyond words
Licorice on my fingertips makes me
Feel like a psychopath
Waiting on a Sabbath never comes
My unminded mind gasps for breath
Resuscitates and recreates words
Paints edible pictures to make you
Get your second wind in my breath
Make you open your liliaceous lips to
Hungrily absorb my sentiments,
Your temperament
Feels my words cry
You see & feel your loneliness
Like you thought you never felt it before
The helpless ones, the children and the hunger
Desires awaken, I’m a word monger
Forget your Oreo cookies and ice cream
Desires die tomorrow along with the wind
They didn’t mind the store of their mind either
I’m not alone in not minding
Unsolicited freedom rings in some country far away
My mind leaves behind
Stores energy of its kind trying to find out & unwind
Another way in or another way out
Of this rabbit maze my world whirls
Whirlpool faze with sheeps in wolf’s clothing
A different design
The I and I goes way 
Beyond the words we know

copyright 2008

Wednesday, August 19, 2015


Your light snuffed out like this candle
I light in commemoration
Not permitted full potential
Never reaching maturation

Your flame put out prematurely,
Wounds my heart like a sword surely
Michael requests positive energy
To help her on her journey

Light a single white candle at sunset
Blue, yellow and red flames ascend
Many loved you, will not forget
I would redo, make amends

Stopped literally in your tracks
Flames soar; see you clutching red wine
Forced before time to pay death tax
Passion and spine created your shine

You were like my sister, my family
Joey recalled movie class, your arm
Resting on his shoulders, your words
Softly spoke, a blue rhapsody

Short winded, precise and clear
Owned the gift of repartee
Camille possessed much flair
With her, no boredom guarantee

Times gone, I snuff the candles light
My mind’s eye reminiscences
Memories live, my delight
Death abandons all; relentless

Monday, August 10, 2015

Loss and Bereavement - Tribute to Camille Vega-Willard

I recently heard my beloved friend, Camille Vega-Willard, passed away. Her husband Michael Willard wrote to let me know that Camille had passed away on August 4th and that he was "flying with her physical remains and sisters to let her join her mother and father in the family plot in Luquillo, Puerto Rico." Michael added, "Request good memories and positive energy to help her on her journey." As we age, it is inevitable that we will experience loss.

Here follow my good memories and thoughts about my dear beloved friend Camille.

I recall Camille fondly, nursing a bottle of fine and inexpensive red wine with her wit and intelligent banter, listening to her pontificate on a variety of subjects, listening to her short whispered insights and stories. Her lust for life and her love for Michael were evident in every word. She was fun to listen to too. She could discuss any subject with clarity and sensitivity. Camille knew how to use satire in her talk. She was very precise and short winded. Listening to her made me laugh and made me think. Camilla made me feel special, like my ramblings mattered.

I remember when we were at Columbia University together. I had a young child and Camille was very friendly. Camille convinced me to take a class on film with her. One day, my young son Joey, 7 years old at the time had no school and I had my movie class. The class was packed and Camille led me to in front of the front row of seats and we lay down to watch Fassbinder. Joey loved movies too. He ended with his head on Camille’s shoulder with her arm around him. After this, Joey loved Camille too. When I texted him that she’d passed, he came down and we commiserated several hours remembering Camille.  

I remember when Camille would do one-third the amount of work I did for a class and she’d pull an A and I’d pull a B or B+. She gave me her paper to study, telling me to say less and focus more. All of our professors loved her too. One came to weekly family dinners and it seemed like roles switched when his marriage was on the rocks and Camilla acted like his therapist.

I recall when she told me she’d met Michael. I asked how they got together. She told me that she’d been planning to go to Mexico to study a Gypsy community there and Michael protested that they’d just only met; he didn’t want her to go. Camille said she presented her solution: “Marry me and go with me to Mexico.” He did and they’d had a big adventure in Mexico.

Camilla was honest and forthright. You knew you could depend on her not to bullshit you. If you wanted the truth of what she thought, she’d give it to you straight. She wasn’t beyond offering coddling when needed either. Plus she was simply and deliciously beautiful, inside and out. Whoever knew Camille knew Camilla could make you feel special. Camille never tried hard to look sexy or pretty, she didn’t have to. She naturally had the most beautiful hair, the greatest skin, and she had va-va –voom!

Camille had many special talents. She made you feel like every utterance, every incantation, every word, was only meant for you and that your every utterance was just as meaningful. I remember how impressed I was when Camilla began exploring her more creative side with photography. Up till now I’d only seen her intellectual side. She even began producing her own photos in a dark room she designed and made with Michael’s help. Her photos were stories that began to develop into complex tales. She became very adept and I imagined her work in galleries. They were good, tasteful, and artsy.

I will achingly miss her. What I will hold dear in my memory is that Camille is a bright light who shined upon us in this world. I was blessed to have been included in part of her life.
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