Tag Archives: poetry wednesday

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 →

282. Photo Journal/Poetry Wednesday at the New York Botanical Garden: 8/6/08

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The Monumental Sculpture of Henry Moore We are off to The Bronx on a hot, humid day to visit The New York Botanical Gardens; aside from the wonderful blooms there are Henry Moore sculptures visiting from abroad and beautifully placed all over. The Gardens are huge.     Bring your poetry and lets sit in the garden. Photos by Sans on a recent outting. (Below, left) True Love! The hugging cacti. 55 CommentsChronological   Reverse   Threaded reply sanssouciblogs wrote on Aug 4, ’08, edited on Aug 5, ’08 Please visit my sister Laurita’s poem here: http://lauritasita.multiply.com/journal/item/815 She left it for us … 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 →

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 →

289. Poetry: Mary at the Tattoo Shop

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After doing a little research, I found that the author is 26 years old, and has achieved one of my dreams~publication by the esteemed New Yorker Magazine.  That’s where I found this poem. Background… From Toledo newspaper, The Blade By Ryan E. Smith BLADE STAFF WRITER Marcus Jackson couldn’t wait to get his hands on last month’s controversial issue of the New Yorker, the one whose cover caricature of Barack and Michelle Obama set the political world abuzz. It wasn’t the cover that interested the Toledo native, though; it was a piece of poetry – his poetry. Tucked within the … Continue reading →

213. Poetry: On Butterflies

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art by Sans Souci   I came across a link to a blog by someone who I am not affiliated with, and was moved by the request to make a yellow paper butterfly to remember Pavel Friedman.  It was said on the blog that he wrote the following poem while in the Warsaw Ghetto, but he was actually in the Ghetto of the Terezin Concentration Camp Terezin was the “model” camp, the sham, the lie, projected to the world to cover up the disgrace of the Nazis. It was billed to the elderly as a “retirement home,” when in fact … Continue reading →

178. Poetry Wednesday: Civil War: Part 2

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When we returned “North” this is what happened… (The poem starts here: Civil War)     Civil War Part 2 The North His parents were away, on the heat-heavy night of our return on Eastern Airlines, “number one to the sun” and we were driven to the frigid refuge of his parents’ bedroom.   Then: partially unpacked bags, co-mingled damp underwear, condoms, Kools, cold, white king-size sheets. Skin tannned, wearing our hair and our watches we slept entwined until the light crept through the Venetian blinds and painted slats on our faces. ***Having some issues with imeem, please let me … Continue reading →

95. Poetry and Illustration: Slice of Life

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Slice of Life ©11/01 poetry and illustration srk all rights reserved The Original Ray’s Famous Pizza now $1.75 a slice, on the Upper West Side. At the next booth, a heavy-set woman with blonde-streaked hair, baby stroller parked at the table’s edge, sits across from her companion, a dead man-mummy. As the woman eats her pizza, The wizened old face sleeps, Nestled, gray, into the collar of a down coat. K-Joy 98.3 Long Island’s Best Music Mix               This report brought to you by Boston Market…   The woman eats her pizza. The dead man sleeps, then opens its … Continue reading →

103. Original Poetry and Photography: Make Over

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I hope this is a crisper version, and integration of the original and first edit. I really hope. Thank you all so much, you taught me so much. Make Over (second rewrite 2/3/09) I have seen you in dreams. You are young and beautiful, sitting in a car, giggling with your date in front of your building, off Fifth, waiting for alternate side parking to end, having martinis that you brought down on a tray. I still grab at the moment, the one in my mind, where I can see you laughing, tossing the perfectly cut curls, white teeth surrounded … Continue reading →

143. Poetry: Series: Harlem On My Mind: 5. Flaws

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A special “thank you,” to Tyler, who was the impetus for me to write this poem. I had thought I completed this series in 2002, but when he said he anticipated the 5th poem, I thought, “uh oh!” I better get out of my “dry spell” and get to work. I  highly recommend him if you are suffering from “writer’s block.”       The poems in this series are: 1. Skin 2. Take The “A” Train 3. Hail Mary 4. Theft 5. Flaws It was 1966, I was a freshman in college, Harlem was one of many suffering parts … Continue reading →

128. Poetry: Series: Harlem On My Mind: 3. Hail Mary

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Shephard Hall, The City College of New York This is the third poem in my series, Harlem on My Mind.  Harlem is a black community in the upper middle section of Manhattan.    Series: Harlem on My Mind 1. Skin 2. Take The “A” Train I graduated from High School a term early;  I was in a rush to start college and get my life going.  I attended graduation ceremonies on a cold January night and the next day began my life as a college student at The City College of New York, in Harlem.  I was 17 years old, … Continue reading →

121. Poetry: Series: Harlem On My Mind: 2: Take The A Train

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Part 2 of a series. original poetry It was 1966 and I was a college student in New York City, at the City College Of New York, in Harlem. ! was dependent on public transit. And on my parents.  I was about to grow up.       Take The  A Train ©3/23/02srk all rights reserved 1966 My dad left me on the platform of the A train on my first day of classes.  My mother told him, “Jack, take her.”  The truth was I had never traveled on the train myself. It was early in the morning when the … Continue reading →

110: Poetry: Series: Harlem On My Mind: 1. Skin

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Harlem Parade: Adam Clayton Powell, Jr. Passing in a Car Joseph Delaney, 1971   Collection of The Museum of the City of New York This 1964 Harlem parade honored U.S. Congressman Adam Clayton Powell, Jr., who later served as chairman of the House Committee on Education and Labor under President Lyndon Johnson. Delaney expressed how the Harlem community felt about Powell by scrawling “Baby, I love you” across the upper left area of the canvas. Memories linked to the black community of Harlem in the 1960’s when I was a college student at the City College of New York. Sometimes … Continue reading →

99. Poetry: The Lake

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Ainsi, toujours poussés vers de nouveaux rivages, Dans la nuit eternelle emporté sans retour… ~from Le Lac, by Lamartine     photograph: Roger Williams Park, Providence Rhode Island 11/23/07   The inspiration: Oakland Lake on April 3, 2002 The Lake ©srk 4/02 The day before this day of bright sun, the water was the broken glass of a Perrier bottle; a sullen, yet rich green, refractive along the edges, heavy from the co-mingling of clouds above. Now it leans to blue then gray like the eyes of a flirtatious fickle female. On the promenade, a goose approaches, his broad breast … Continue reading →

143 b. Addendum to Harlem on My Mind: decoding poetry, by the author

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I have decided that an author should speak: A reader is never really cognizant of what is going on in the writer’s mind when a poem is written. I think it would be interesting for us writers to give some extra meaning to our work; the poem then expands and the insight becomes a lesson. If you are an author, please think about augmenting your work with a little background for Poetry Wednesdays. Here’s mine. I wrote this series about a time when I was barely out of my teens, just out of High School, and attending the City University … Continue reading →

260. Poetry: Series: Couples 6. Ötzi, the Iceman and Erika Simon

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6. Ötzi, the Iceman and Erika Simon, the German hiker, at their reunion in the Otzal Alps, September 19, 1991     Ötzi made the news when he was found buried in ice; it was thought he was a modern day hiker who had been buried under an avalanche. He was actually an ancient traveler. ***** ©10/13/06 all rights reserved She was the one who found me, not her husband, Helmut. They were hiking on my mountain; I had been lying face-down in a ravine for 3,000 years under glacier and when I heard her voice my heart, a block … Continue reading →