Life's Work

I don’t want to work another day
Hear people talk behind my back and say
I don’t work as hard as I ought to
I left early - got caught - lied and said I was in the library
after the children left
My work was done
Why should I stay
Bereft by 3 pm each day
driven to exasperation
complaints follow me
I came late I leave early
They tell me talk to Thomas who is 5, a year older than the others in his class. He picked up a chair and threw it somewhere. Luckily it hit no one. I could talk to him till I’m blue in the face.
Thomas needs to be in a special setting I'm betting they want some magic answer
They tell me call his mother get her in here
The mother comes in
cigarette dangling from her lips she says what can I do I have to go to work I have to make money. The espresso with milk she sips matching her own brown color, a drop drips down her chin
Downcast eyes
She patiently repeats I have to go to work, I have a family of 4 to support
she's got to hold down the fort, it's not for sport -
tomorrow she's got to go to court, she says- and that's another day lost
I have to pay my bills, what time can I go to my job
working working I talk about Thomas
She shakes her head - she doesn't know what to do
I pray I cry for me and others
I want to live free - I watch her sip her coffee, a cold winter day
My energy dissipates I anticipate our fate, acclimate to
another day, another school, a 15 year old girl is hearing voices, she’s afraid of someone in her head, a neighborhood Santera
A plethora of voices in her head make her scream
I hold her head to allay her pain told her to imagine a beam of white light, God supreme protecting her
no one else knew what to do
So they brought her to me, grateful they said Friday was their day for me
She held my hand and prayed
using strange erratic and loud routines
I told her she’d be ok, I'd keep the demons at bay
told her the saints she prayed to would help her
teachers and students were scared they were glad I was there
They called EMS tell me
I should take the girl no one knew was psychotic to the hospital
They called her parents
I got in the ambulance with her
They were afraid she’d go ballistic again is why they asked me to go with her.
At the hospital they say she was only calm with me cause I entered her world so perfectly
Helped her hold on for hope, played her band-aid, her nursemaid
There are times when there’s no place to go but inside someone's head
join them inside to guide them, I do it so easily it’s because I too am crazy
I long for the american dream - as we glide downstream in my capable hands
my sensibilities attacked by another breaker wave
It’s hard out here for a social worker

Poetry of Pounds

My pounds circled me like a shadow of darkness
I wore them like a protective shield
They accompanied me everywhere I turned; I carried them
A labor of self- hate evolving from my prison
Longing to be free from weight and worry
Pounds surrounding and grounding me holding my spirit
Hostage within the layers of fat,
so t’was fate on November 5th
When Mongo insisted we’d enjoy Gay Poetry Night
& I met the love of my life

These pounds were faithfully gained, a labor of distaste which at the time was resentful
I didn’t do it for me – I did it for him but in the end it killed both of us
These pounds were gained over time; it took a decade for me to begin to emerge again
These pounds were made for sitting watching TV and eating,
They weren’t meant to see the world
They weren’t made to write poetry prophetically or prolifically
These pounds were made to enslave and hold captive
They did their job well

Suddenly I was hired for a new job
Recently retired, all the time in the world
The position offered no benefits or pay only love, sex, & inspiration
Would you take that job? I did

Someone saw beneath the layers of fat shielding my spirit
I saw myself in his vision, and began to shed pounds
A different me began to emerge from my shell
I stand before thee and thee and thee and thee
Judge me no more – and go the way of the pounds I discard


© Joy Leftow 2007

Dead Long Ago

All those people? Dead long ago. Most of `em anyway
They ate up all the lead, used so many drugs
Their bodies shot to shit, they’re all dead
Some’s left, see em once in a while
walking down the street,
Standing in the rain, trapped
Stuck on their methadone, loving it, not moving on

Heroin was good in the 60’s, plentiful and cheap,
My friends and acquaintances died from o.d.’s
Me? I never used it. Uhh ... O.K., I tried it once,
You know what they say about birds flock together
I flocked, beats me what for, but I did,
Truth is that flock was better n’ home
What? You want to know if I had a good home?

I thought that flock was better n’ home,
14 years old hanging with the addicts.
So sorry, at 14 it was alchies. Alcoholics.
Yeah, tried that too, didn’t like it none
Having babies for a black man, angry alcoholic
He became a junkie. I saw him not long ago

Asked him when I saw him,
“Why were you so mean?”
“Don’t know,” he said to me,
“Couldn’t hep myself, I guess.”
He tells me, “I’m HIV now, got a hernia so bad
my balls swoll up down to the floor.”
He was a god-damned strong man at 20.
I saw him press 250 pounds. Handsome too,

6 feet tall, 180 pounds, muscular, well built
He had lots of girls. Gave me gonorrhea 30 years ago.
30 years ago I told him about our baby
“Shoe box size,” he said when
I held my hands up to describe
“Coffee color with lots of cream,”
I said about the baby’s skin.
Dead 30 years ago.

In the middle of the night they came, 2 a.m. or so,
Said “Your baby’s gone, you can see him now you want.”
Gone, born 2 days and a half ago,
“You can see him now you want,”
the doctor’s hand resting on my shoulder

I birthed him glimpsing his coffee
colored skin with lots of cream,
They took him away,
never `lowed again another see
“His lungs were half formed,” they said,
“You can see him now you want.”

Begging for 2 days and a half, not allowed.
“You can see him now you want.”
“What for?” I said, “I wanted him alive.”
“Too bad. So sorry. You can see him now you want.
At least let us do an autopsy.
Save some other woman pain like you.”

So Sorry. Trapped in a time warp.
Childhood? What Childhood? Childhood what?
So sorry. Never, ever heard the word.
Can’t imagine what it means.


© 1993 Joy Leftow

Ramblings Of A Dead Poet Revived

I’m your dream that drama queen you wanna be because you’re too damn scared on your own
so you talk about me –
My life shot and framed at every angle, a show and tell story of gory glory
A fit of reality TV evening drama
Me, an item to be discussed while you pine away
dismay pitted against your boring display of ridicule and scorn
a fine young thing wasted by the sideline of fate
a doorstep away
from where I stand
another miserable life invites me in
inciting an indictment in flight with a slight itch on the right side
another spiteful blight, pitiful, truly a fight to recite in the red light district of my mind
be polite do a rewrite be an anchor of light at first sight, sit tight
stay upright, only a bit contrite that my
knight in shining armor is all in my head
I have a legal right so join me in breaking bread maybe
Tempt you to try a
glass of organic Oregon Chardonnay instead
my life can’t be that exciting that you spend your time wondering when I do what I do and how I do it why do you care about my theatre life on the big screen
my life's a Sartre amphithreatre
play and I am the spectre at the center of the fuss
I reminisce I exist
the bliss a swiss- chocolate kiss amiss to a soul kiss
the calypso discussion
I disinvite you to an airtight conclusion

Madonna Likes Kabbalah

Nowadays everyone wants to be a jew; pop stars madonna
it’s popular in comparison to Catholicism Christianity
The biggest thing is
There’s no hell
It gives me sensation stimulation
Lucky me ~ born jewish
no hell
an undying inspiration to my senses – gratification
escape the backlash of hell
death offers indefinable possibilities
we all think this way
why is it this way why why
is it this needle in a haystack
is it a fact Jack
is it sinful to think
we’re part of the same cycle of things here today gone tomorrow
Wouldn’t you rather believe born again
I sing the blues today for cold wars for inner peace overcoming conflicts and prejudices, represent repent longed for - a baleful cynical haze
The crypt of tomorrow laid waste in a haze another fast faze of a circulatory phase
Around the planets
I’m agnostic –
It’s impossible to know there’s a god,
Now I’m atheist
I have no beliefs regarding our demise
Or knowledge that god is or isn’t - if the same god is the god inside each of our soul’s travels
Planting itself like a blossom waiting to bloom
Like a candle in a dark room
I sit here waiting for you to come on home
God’s a self combustion-able, - mutin-able futile activity
Sometimes I I I I
Wonder if I and I I I I
Will be
I I I I wonder the curiousity
The point is when you’re a jew like me you don’t have to worry about hell or the hereafter likely you believe your soul will see your loved ones after
Ooops gots to keep my bases covered
Jews ~ we have no hell we practice kabbalah we try to be our best our very best
and most of all I try to enjoy the beauty of life, I try try try to enjoy
The beauty of life I I I I
Do
Do Do
you you you

I Am: Part ll

I am the sun, the moon and the stars
I am everybody - daughter of the gods
I am a rainbow of color
jutting through reality
butting heads with jupiter
I am a fantasy of delight
Energy and lightning
all rolled into one

I am your mother, the goddess of time
I am your father, the god of anger and regret
I am your little sister who wants to be Ellie Mcguire
Jewel and Aliyia all rolled into one
I am your brother who longs for daddy
who says he will grow up to be the doctor
daddy always yearned to be
but never had the heart and guts to become
I am all of them yet I am me, I am one

I am your grandmother who guards
the memory of her son when he was free
and dreams that someday soon she will
awaken from this nightmare to find him
beside her where he rested
his head thirty years ago
upon her breast

I am your father your mother
your sister and your brother
your grandpas and grandmas
I am all the people you’ve never met
and have dreamed about
In your dreams we have met
I am them, I am me and I am you
we are all one, one together
not separate from the other

I am this dream you deny
Your closest ally, a sweet goodbye
A quick reply an outcry
Grab the redeye to Shanghai

I chase a moonbeam metamorphosize into a morpheme
in your dream I gleam
like polished silver surfer
I am your most titillating fantasy
I am love
I am who you want me to be

© 2006, written for my Beacon Center Saturday poetry students - grades 2, 3, 5, and 6 - to inspire and teach them how to write a list poem.

DANCING LIGHTS

Myriad colors of flame shimmered
all around the walls of my room
This brought back memories of you

How we watched together
these reflections,
Rainbows of colors
Shimmering on my bedroom walls

Chanting praise to the zig-zagged rows
of shimmery sequins on my rainbow dress
Reflecting vibrant lights
in kaleidoscope colors

Shimmering reflections of cut crystal,
Prisms of sun's light reflecting through
my western window I move through the
shimmers, the glimmers of colors,

Reflecting on my pale white skin,
No, not translucently white,
You know there are many colors of white

Getting into here a diatribe of colors.
I'm white you know, but my skin has a pinkish glow.
Yeah, you can see my veins sometimes,
in some places, but not in all places all the time

But lets get back to the reflections of myriad colors
Dancing in kaleidoscope lights across my bedroom walls
Me walking through these colors butt naked
Rainbows of colors reflected across my naked pink

Glowing body in kaleidoscope lights
Red, purple, gold, orange too, even blue and green lights
I feel like a multi colored leopard
Padding around my rainbow spotted room

Think of all these colors in uneven splotches
Reflected in my big bedroom mirrors,
Crystallizing dancing lights
All over my pink glowing body
As I dance to the dancing lights

© 1994

Happy New Year Everyone

Submission guidelines

We bare ourselves – down to our easily assailable and accessible frail frames to be known in the biblical sense as well as the primary sense when we (writers) create a new true being – a character who others relate to. Everything I spit is born two entities, how the other sees himself and my vision of that person. Since childhood my visions of the world has been very adult having had my parent’s bitter life view force-fed me since my birth. The way this affects me is that I relate to the world by constantly studying everyone around me since we are all cast in our own life drama novels anyway. No one wants to live in a drama but we often do even when it’s third hand or when we are just all “watchers” like in the fringe or living inside Jackson’s Lottery.

A long time ago – in two separate universes – one undergraduate writing class at Columbia University General Studies and the other two decades later in the Master’s Degree Creative Writing Program at The City University of New York City, A comment/ question was made regarding my style.

A fellow student said, “her characters lack any empathy; for my part they’re completely lacking. Why should I care about them?”

Basically both professors said the same; “The point is not whether you like them or not, but that you feel something about them. You may not like her characters, but they are real enough to tick you off. I care about what her characters will do next and that’s more important than liking or not liking them because that will keep me reading!” After this the class calmed down about my characters’ personalities. All I can guess is that they led more conservative sheltered circumscribed lives than me.

Not to disappoint but I also had the opposite happen with a weak instructor who later stole a few lines from my writing. He asked for my complete novel and I stupidly gave it to him. The class said I’d already presented enough when one of those times was an assignment no one else did – we were asked to choose a character from history and write a page or two about them. I read mine since no one else had one. Ah well, I was disappointed he didn’t defend me since I clearly hadn’t presented my two short stories. It bothered me but I pity him too as he hasn’t written anything worth reading in a while after he stooped to a new low. No one else from there gained name fame either so ... onwards all to a new phase and forgetting the past!

Creative people often set a standard and in that standard social commentary is included. If you don’t like a character I’ve made, that character has already served his purpose because he has provoked your dislike and judgments.

Writing is all I know and the only way to show true purpose. I’m also part of my own commentary emerging from a consistently frightful analytic mind. That said, like everyone else, I only want to be my best.

Ta Da!

Back to where we began:

May your new year be all that you wish it be; blessed be.

BEING JEWISH

The plague of my life has always been
I’m not Jewish enough to be Jewish
Although over the years I’ve had several
Jewish girl friends, I can count them on one hand

No Jewish man has ever wanted me except
for some really despicable Jewish male perverts
and I’ve never figured out the reason
why I’ve always been an outcast among my
own people, and then, even my therapist told me

“It’s all because you don’t know the difference
between a schlemiel and a schlimazel,” I said
to my therapist, “Andy, don’t be a schlemiel,
a schlemiel is a jerk and schlimazel means
an inept jerk who’s persistently luckless.”

“No,” he said, “you’re wrong and even Ellen
knows the difference,” “Oh com’on” I said,
“what is there to know, you’re making this
up to tease me,” “Oh no I’m not,” he said,

“a schlemiel is someone who
is Jewish who doesn’t know
how to tie his tie properly
and the other is what you said.”

I do wonder what Andy’s going on about
My mother was Jewish orthodox and
my father was Russian Jew and how
much more Jewish can you get than that?
The point is, ... I’m still not Jewish enough ...

Then he said “Even a Jewish atheist would know-
-but the gist of it is, that you don’t know enough
about the culture to be with a Jewish man
who gets pleasure from being around other Jews
who can understand the language they speak.”

What can I do?
Being an outcast
is difficult at best!


© 2005 More of my "jewish" poetry can be seen at http://joyleftow.com

MORE ON DAD’S ABILITIES, Part 5

My Dad was a music man. He played the violin
like his father and grandfather before him
stroking it for the breath of an angel
He played everything by ear
He could compel any violin to his will
Dad wasn’t allowed to be a violinist
instead, he was forced to leave school to
work as an apprentice in a drug store
And he became a pharmacist
bitter to the core, never learning
what it was to express himself freely
to enrich his spirit by playing music
He only played his violin to gain
relief and solace from his burden
of helping to support his family
Pity, because Dad should’ve been a
musician giving life to a violin


©2002 re-edited 2009

HOLIDAY CELEBRATION

I keep trying to tread water in quicksand sinking faster in disgrace in the face of disaster

Life is a carousel of dreams

The famous radio therapist armond demille wrote me his words linger in my head get off your carousel of pain

allow me to help you

as a fellow therapist with professional courtesy due you, I’ll charge you only three hundred a session, a concession in my normal fees, I’ll cure you of your anomaly, your obsessions, give me your confession sacrifice your worldly possessions give up your attachments there’ll be no regression, I’m so darn good at my profession – no more transgressions no more depression

no more digression back to the blues tonight

I can’t be perfect I can only be me

A man stopped me at target all smiles, making eye contact, he nods.

merry Christmas to you. I don’t celebrate Christmas. I respond, you’re smiling so much you’re so happy why?

Ah happy with family at Christmas u must celebrate something too what r u

I don’t know what I am Call me Jewish Buddhist if you want –

But you look happy he said Looks are deceiving I said You joke he said you’re happy I see you smile really I said I’m always blue I don’t believe you

I don’t know how to limit myself to one religion

Dubblex is confused they always pick you – why your pretty face in a store full of women- there are so many women around why do they always come to u - he accused

Innocence devious claim to name fame our goals

The “all religion” ~ old religion

all religions are one – the word shall be one shall be done in heart space mind prevails so many travails hate to fail no bailing out I wail in my own jail hit the nail on the head

the world shall be one

one one one (((((((((oneoneoneoneoneoneone))))))) the one and one Irie

lightening and thunder

one nation under god indivisible with liberty and justice for all

one people united by love with peace and justice for all

I want the world on a string to spin in my my my my my my heart’s spin in a gleam with a ream of justice in economy for all full of bull

A wedding ring an office slur poetry in the afterlife

nose too big stomach too flabby

It’s inflatable unpredictable accounts payable receivable I’m not accountable for your bills my assets are not bequeathable retractable to your psycho babble circumscribable to your collectable circumstancial financials I’m familiar with the details

Fastidious and obsessive compulsive a hidden insidious agenda oblivious to the truth

I keep up with doctor ruth who lives in my hood

Embracing brotherhood understood under the fresh scent of cedarwood tree

The world will imbibe truth like a newborn with a new milk tooth

forsooth my youth I search like a sleuth

for the word shall be the truth

and the truth will set me free

I Am ...

I am a woman who’s had a hard life,
a woman of great lust, a survivor of strife
a woman graced by starlight and the morning star
a woman of delight nourished by dreams from afar

I am a woman who’s soul has been drained
drained and replenished again and again
a woman wrenched fiercely from all
that I’ve loved
who’s had moments of satiety, sobriety,
wonder and lust
a woman who rarely experiences trust

I am a woman who is secure and insecure
I know what I have and how to use it
but also fear its loss
I am a woman who possesses
great energy and insight
who owns potency as much as any
man I’ve ever met

I am a woman of great determination,
initiative and skill
Some say I’m opinionated, afraid I’ll bend
them to my will

they ignore my flexibility,
concentrate on my fear,
not seeing my ability
to metamorphasize,
to go with the flow
I am a woman not easily beaten
I have stamina for sure

I am a woman who will never give up
Who will be eighty and be active sexually,
still growing, mothering and loving

I am a woman who will always be strong,
it may continue forever, if I have another life
I will never give up - will never give up - never give up

I am a woman who works hard for all
that I have and all that I’ve lost
A survivor, a winner, a mover, a lover,
and someone’s mother
when threatened in her lair
a woman of strong suspicions, angers and fears

I am a woman who loves many people
who’s chosen profession is proof of love’s power
I am a woman who will fight ferociously

I am a woman who possesses great power
with ability to bestow great love
I give to all who have been disavowed,
hurt, abused and neglected

I am a woman defined by desire,
a risk taker by choice,
a woman with large sensitivity,
charm, and proclivity,

I am a woman who will always do more



© 2005

city bus intrusion

The young brunette on my left turned to me
donned a pair of huge square shaped red rimmed sunglasses with green lenses
the price tag still hanging from the frame
How do these look, she asked.
The bottoms of each rim slid smoothly over her cheekbones almost reaching the end of her nose
what’s the point I said unless you need to hide your face because you’re a famous movie star or you want to fool people into thinking you’re one.
I don’t see why you’d want to cover up such a lovely face.
She enigmatically pulled another pair from her purse
How about these she said enthusiastically
Putting on a translucent purple-rimmed frame with gray lenses
a slim lined cats’ eye wrap around shade
exposing high cheekbones and smooth skin
Hmm I said I like these better, you look mysterious
plus your pretty face isn’t hidden away
The matronly lady on her other side scolded me
how rude you are to say that
Those red glasses are perfectly lovely
they fit you divinely
she said to my seatmate smiling
Well I prefer the violet and she did ask my opinion
Would you have rather have me lie?
I see many women wearing those big framed ugly glasses and it doesn’t do much for them either
You asked my opinion didn’t you want to know it?
The young lady put the mammoth red framed glasses back on and turned to her new BFF
Those look very nice dear, the old lady said, I like these best
They suit you just fine
Ah me too said the young girl putting away the violet ones
I like these best too she said, turning away from me
I think I’ll wear these

© another true story by violet

Kick These Blues Around - bluetry #11

Vanilla frost skies roll thunder tributaries to another universe from my inner space continuum
peace into practice, activ -ity verily elemental I say unto you fred while I inadvertently turn my head

Got my flow on the rhythm of the down low joe if you know where to go to catch my drift

Ejaculation crashed against shores of revolution still seeking solutions in slow jerks instead of bred he offered her concrete proposals and requested favors for which he gave her candy.

No worries, took the devil’s deal and he even refused my original proposal.

I’m that bad - hear your belly laugh.

I’m a kind-of lonely kind-er-garten-er longing for laughter. Humanity’s incipient recipient spiritual guide hovers near offers incise insipid bites of one size fits all incrementing advice for what it’s worth – let the dogs out - cash out on lock down blues let loose to see what they do, a trombone’s misery, the down home blues conspiracy

Poetry thunder back in the day in a smoky cafe in east Harlem reading next to alan ginsberg, no go, not the me you know the one I was back then when I met him.
All right it’s a downright lie. Met him at a dark dank theatre in the east Village with his 20-year old boy toy. Which version do ya’ like better?

Poetry, networking, writing editing posting - promoting, poet @ poetry poetessing protesting being me, do you do what I do every day ~ do I do enough to satisfy you madame ginsberg, establish exacerbate emolliate emancipate your rage, engage you in becoming your age. Do you no write from wrong? Are you worried I’m not free enough of need to write like I’ve come undone, my fury unleashed turned fairy into solemnity Mary in May when I tried to wine and dine her, she made me dismantle my soul instead.

Soul inspiration you’re too old to decay before the sunset light my fire outside your soul’s window while I sing my blues to you.

Aching all over wonder how long I’ll survive to a hundred and five maybe eighty five wtf I don’t know what to do when I do what you do when I become you in my flurry frost forsaken fury lust lettered red. Memory records voices run on in my head on elemental disk space in my brain. Penis in my hands, a dandy thing, a dick & pussy. Silly putty pussy, eye-scan. Penis inside brain scan

desire ~ diaries she told me the history of her pussy it made me want to join the line.

Strangle out negatives no undo’s to become undone- progressive linear faith while awaiting with grace won in non linear to do getting done - proceed in all directions at once abstractions go back and forth with a new mazed dawn suddenly seeing new energy forms, intrinsic instinctual inhabitable happiness, death a no go to provenience

Liberty the right to pursue happiness peace hand held evolution a solution dedicated to the handstand I stand on end about to implode explode my spaghetti solutions to allusion gut solved evolutions pour out my ass-ness with sassiness a little fruitfulness

Lettuce find the source of the force lost in series of unfortunate masquerades of delusion, an allusion to who I am, an illusion, illustration for the children my minds been set a fire.

Catch a fire you’re gonna get burned.

JOY'S COOKING tribute to hal sirowitz

Come on over here I said
You keep typing
and ain't paying
attention to me
Now that you're a poet
you're torturing me
making me wait to be with you

I’m a sensitive
new-age, macho-man
So, I'll be
through very soon
and be free to satisfy you, he said
as soon as I finish this

O.K. I said, I'll get
ready for you
An hour later
he was still revising when
suddenly he yelled out
Perfect, it's perfect now

What is I asked
You and the poem he replied
I'm not perfect, I denied
just the best
I've ever been
and the best
you've ever known

© 1994 Joy Leftow