188. Mother-Daughter Journey: Cynicism

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    C Y N I C I S M   I’m not sure what I want to say; I’ve been down this path before and Wolf was called so many times that I, Red Riding Hood, had so many bites taken out of my heart, rendering it useless but still pounding for breath: I cower. The fear, the stress, the listening to the words of those who are there watching over her— The clergy: Oh, I had such a wonderful time with your mother! She looked so nice, clean, was so engaged, we sang old Yiddish songs! The Hospice … Continue reading →

187. Mother Daughter Journey: I’m Not Ready To Die

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There you have it, loud and clear. She said it to the aide. She said it to the visiting Hospice nurse. She said it. I will fight death. And then she asked the aide to call her sister, Annette. What do you say when an elderly person in the throes of transition asks to speak to her sister who has been gone since 2007? “I can’t call her now, she went out.” And that quells the request for a while. For a while. Until the spirits of the past return carrying white clouds of memories. Of how her sister took … Continue reading →

125. Mother-Daughter Journey: Poetry: Bird Call

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©S.Kalish 2/22/18 This morning my eyes were pried open by my ears at 6:00 am, by a bird that sang in a tree loud and clear on a cold gray morning, singing a song I had never heard before. Yesterday was 78°. The bird had been fooled, the seasons had been spun around but no one notified the singer: It sang until 6:21. A younger friend of mine has been near-death in a hospital, not the first time, she has accident after accident but remains highly psychic, all-knowing, her energy is undefeatable, her body crumbles and her mind escapes: She … Continue reading →

A Poem For Snow

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    SNOW DAY by Billy Collins Today we woke up to a revolution of snow, its white flag waving over everything, the landscape vanished, not a single mouse to punctuate the blankness, and beyond these windows the government buildings smothered, schools and libraries buried, the post office lost under the noiseless drift, the paths of trains softly blocked, the world fallen under this falling. In a while, I will put on some boots and step out like someone walking in water, and the dog will porpoise through the drifts, and I will shake a laden branch sending a cold … Continue reading →

Birthday-Poetry Wednesday

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My sister was born on December 10th as was Emily Dickenson; I visited her home in Amherst, (see photos) Massachusetts this past summer.       In honor of birthdays, a brilliant poem from Billy Collins. Let’s just call this BIRTHDAY-POETRY WEDNESDAY.   Happy Birthday, Emily Dickinson. Taking Off Emily Dickinson’s Clothes by BILLY COLLINS First, her tippet made of tulle, easily lifted off her shoulders and laid on the back of a wooden chair. And her bonnet, the bow undone with a light forward pull. Then the long white dress, a more complicated matter with mother-of-pearl buttons down the … Continue reading →

A Fair Memory (revised)

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      rewritten from previous post A Fair Memory On a NYC bus, hired for a trip to the 1964 World’s Fair, were sophomores and juniors from a dingy, gray high school on the Lower East Side of Manhattan that was shaped like the letter E: It housed the middle class and the poor. On a beautiful Spring day we were going to Flushing Meadow Park, in Queens, New York. There weren’t enough seats; some of us had to stand. I was near the well by the door, holding onto a pole facing the people in the seats nearby: … Continue reading →

A Fair Memory

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A Fair Memory On a NYC bus hired for a trip to the 1964 World’s Fair were sophomores and juniors from a dingy, gray high school on the Lower East Side of Manhattan that was shaped like the letter E. It housed the middle class and the poor. I don’t remember going on any other trips, ever, with this school, but on this beautiful day we were going to Flushing, New York. There weren’t enough seats. Some of us had to stand. I was near the well by the door, holding onto a pole facing the people in the seats … Continue reading →

Poetry: The Afterlife by Billy Collins

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THE AFTERLIFE by Billy Collins They’re moving off in all imaginable directions, each according to his own private belief, and this is the secret that silent Lazarus would not reveal: that everyone is right, as it turns out. you go to the place you always thought you would go, the place you kept lit in an alcove in your head. Some are being shot into a funnel of flashing colors into a zone of light, white as a January sun. Others are standing naked before a forbidding judge who sits with a golden ladder on one side, a coal chute … Continue reading →

Poetry: The Blue by Billy Collins

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THE BLUE by Billy Collins You can have Egypt and Nantucket. The only place I want to visit is The Blue, not the Wild Blue Yonder that seduces pilots, but that zone where the unexpected dwells, waiting to come out of it in the shape of bolts. . I want to walk its azure perimeter where the unanticipated is coiled, on the mark, ready to spring into the predicitable homes of earth. . I want to stroll through the pale indigo light examining all the accidents about to rocket into time, all the forgotten names about to fly from tongues. … Continue reading →

Poetry Wednesday: 11/28/2012 Sign in and take the tour

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  Cats Took Over My House by Susan Margulies Kalish Cats took over my house! Cats took over my house! I never sleep; They tickle my feet. The couch I mourn; The leather is torn. The run and they zoom by the light of the moon. There’s never a day They don’t want to play. There’s nary a mouse, just my fur covered spouse. Cats took over my house! There’s 9-Lives always, and Friskies Buffets. The rub my leg; for turkey they beg. I cry and I blink when their box starts to stink. They knock over clocks while tossing … Continue reading →

Thoughts before a storm

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NEITHER SNOW by Billy Collins When all of a sudden the city air filled with snow, the distinguishable flakes blowing sideways, looked like krill fleeing the maw of an advancing whale. At least they looked that way to me from the taxi window, and since I happened to be sitting that fading Sunday afternoon in the very center of the universe, who was in a better position to say what looked like what, which thing resembled some other? Yes, it was a run of white plankton borne down the Avenue of the Americas in the stream of the wind, phosphorescent … Continue reading →

275. For Poetry Wed:Travel Part 5: Mass MoCA: from Art to Music: Abena Koomson

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I had no idea who Abena Koomson was when we got tickets for the Saturday night show. This young woman is a New Yorker who will be starring in an off-Broadway show. She is a poet, songwriter, instrumentalist, and actor. I think you’ll be hearing about this young lady soon. I was particularly amazed by the power of her words; her presence and recitations were masterful, unselfconscious and well beyond her years. Check out her CD, too. Abena autographing her CD, which I was most happy to purchase. Photo/Sans Souci The bio from ALT CABARET, given at the show: Abena … Continue reading →

342. Poetry: Overheard In The Love Hotel: Robert Polito

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Robert Polito, born 1951, is from Boston and lives in New York City. He is an academic and poet, director of the writing program at The New School, here in New York City. He holds a Ph.D in English and English Language and Literature from Harvard University. He received the National Book Critics Circle Award, and an Edgar Award for Savage Art: a Biography of Jim Thompson. From the anthology: Poems of New York Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets This poem takes place in Manhattan’s Meat Packing District. I grew up on East 14th Street, this area is at the other … Continue reading →

488. Poetry Wednesday…new work in progress

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        Poetry Wednesday Revisited I have had a few poems cooking and this is a first draft. It’s been a long while since I had the time or inclination to write; there’s been too much going on in my life. I began the poem last night and have edited it about 20 times so far. It’s never finished! Friday Night on Bell 1 Muni Meter The Muni Meter was broken. No need to feed coins or cards said two young women, long hair and busty. They were on their way up Bell to hit the bars. What … Continue reading →

364. POETRY: The key poem for book: The Cerebral Jukebox

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It is done. I felt that my book should have a featured poem that would reflect the title. This was weighing on me for months. Then it hit me. In 1968 I studied writing at The City College of New York. I finally had the space in my schedule, and I registered for fiction writing with author, Mark J. Mirsky, and nonfiction writing with the author, Eve Merriam. They were cool, smart and funny. Both liked my work. But I was a kid, had so little experience to draw upon. I realize now how living and learning is key to … Continue reading →

164. Poetry: On Leaves

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My last year working in the school system before retiring, was a year of transition; I actually didn’t know what I was coming back to.  I had been out of the classroom for 16 years testing children for special education services and writing educational prescriptions.  But suddenly 1,100 of us in that capacity lost our positions when the budget was cut and the education system went under a business model.  It was a nightmare.  We had to return to the classroom.  I lost my office, my balance, my grip.  But it ended up being a delightful year as things began … Continue reading →

317. Poetry/Photos: Before The First Frost

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Before The First Frost 11/17/08 The rose bush produced one final beauty, fighting against time. I cut it. Brazenly, with a scissors from the desk. Tiny thorns tried to fight back, and its thin stem maintained a defiant posture. What makes a rose still want grow in November? Do roses fear dying? It was standing tall, proud, alone, still spunky from summer, maybe a teenager, peachy, against crisp brown, smelling of citrus and attar. It missed curfew; it mocked the season. It’s supposed to get quite cold on Wednesday, the first frost: I scurried around bringing in what I could. … Continue reading →

361. Poetry: Couples Series: 8. Nicole and Rich: Stones: Final in series and book

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This poem was just edited and is the final poem of the Couples Series in my book. Other poems in this series can be found on the index of my blog under Original Poetry Index 4. This, like all my work, is true. Nicole and Rich, 2006 Stones He gave her a princess-cut diamond. She wore it on her left hand. When she was a child, she learned that she was a little princess, and she dreamed about her prince—as girls do: The prince finds you, he looks upon your face with adoration, and he falls in love with you. … Continue reading →

326. Poetry: What The Birds Know

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What the Birds Know ©12/12/08/srk/poetry and art Through the back window, the apple tree stands, rooted and bare, beseeching the sky for the sun it recalls, reaching with black arms, dripping with cold rain. It wears the bird feeder; I hooked it into an old vacant wound, like one bohemian earring, and to it go fat, crested blue jays, bright cardinals– the females in drab. Small brown sparrows and red robins, feed from the soil below; the squirrels, wide-jerking-tailed, and gray fluffed, yank and pull, and spill the seeds, changing the bird dance, manipulating the food chain, and creating a … Continue reading →

311. Poetry Wednesday: Somebody’s Mother/Mary Dow Brine

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When I was 11, and in 7th grade, we were given a project to set-up a poetry book. In it we were to include any poems we liked and any original work. I remember thumbing through a poetry anthology while visiting grandma and aunt Florence in Brooklyn. Aunt Florence was my father’s sister, (she’s in her 90’s, outlived everyone), and she never married. In a mahogany bookcase with glass doors there were the likes of “Sex and the Single Girl,” to Shakespeare, all with stickers that said “Ex Librus, Florence Margulies.” I found the pocket book of poetry and borrowed … Continue reading →