Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
somewhere down the broken lines
we will meet and know
the answer of all those hows and whys

how my truth is no longer you
and why your love is no longer mine
to all hows and whys
how would
it feel

to kiss
your lips?

to feel
your arms
protectively
around me?

to feel
your love?
also check out my other poems! :)
Jana Pelzom Sep 18
Today was my graduation
There’s one every school year
The money spent
On knowledge
Where they tell me
Money can’t buy wisdom  
Contrary
Then  tell us all
No graduation this fall
We’ve all been given digital passes
To go work in
Maybe a mall
They tell me I’m too caught up
My heads way up in the clouds
And then they give me
a virtual Hat toss
Hurrah to our 2020 graduates
Bless us all.
Class of 2020 ©️2020 Jana Pelzom
Nat Lipstadt Aug 11
~~~~


~for Isabel (‘30), Alexander (‘31), and Wendy (‘35)~


~~~~


In a place of perfect solitude,
No crowded synagogue within to hide,
No cantor to intercede on my behalf,
I spoke words of mine own creation
To my Creator
Who wisely empowers me
To judge myself, for knowing,
None harsher

We two,
Old travel companions,
Upon worn grayed, Adirondack thrones,
We overlooked
A natural prayer place,
Bay and breeze, white-clouded, sun-laced.
Only the full time inhabitants,
the animals,
Grayling butterflies to match and contrast,
Eavesdropping on our Greek dialogo,
In this holy place,
Palace of Perfect Solitude

Amiable did we chat,
I, of family, this and that

He,
wearied from recent travel,
To Syria and India,
Was glad for a day off,
For He had little to do,
But wait for twilight,
To then close the books

For us no formality, easy the going,
No prosecutor, no defender in residence,
For we exchanged these roles intermittently,
The incriminatory, the penance, all deeds displayed,
No adult games of winking eyes, and
Hidden heart, secret chambers,
Rabbinical or angelic intercession

He does so love his Bach,
Adagio on strings,
My soothing gift to him,
This music more than divine

He returned this courtesy

Warming sun to expose my chest,
Cooling genteel breeze offsetting,
sunset color palette spectacular,
The bay emptied of wayfaring skiffs and yachts.

A cooling beverage proffered,
But sighing, He said that he had yet to find
A beverage that could ever slake
his kind of thirst

For his eyes, tho shining, did not effervesce,
As when we shared this day in years past

Too much killing, this year,
It tires Me so to tabulate human excess,
Spoke not a word, for my critique would
Comfort him less,
if at all

Thanks for Kol Nidre, He plainted,
So I too can disavow,
The best intended oaths I took and take,
For each year, I fail more than the year before.

If only I could sit with each,
As I do with you,
Where what needs saying,
Is said, understood,
Undisguised as praying

A schooner to the dock did appear,
For Him it attended, for Him, it waited,
Sails, wind whipped,
Sails, both black and white.


He stood to depart, my arms-he-grasped,
Me-taken, he-graphing,
Measuring my fortitude, the strength,
of my divine spark

I do so love this day in your company.
I shall sit with you again one year on,
Bach sweet, when next we meet, please

Soft spoke, as almost I should not hear,
Your time is nigh, no thing I create is forever.
He spoke with such sadness,
For well I knew, the intent, his meaning.

He,
for-himself, saddened, for he loved
Sitting beside me in this manner,
Since my inception, never a deception

Only He resting easy,
when He atoned before me,
And I gave him His absolution conditional,
As he gave me,
mine
Colm Aug 4
Give me nothing
But time
Everything within

  This wanting to be of something
    And there will be neither writing
Nor ending

   For a summer storm

But combined

      And in giving me a required aim
  When there is sound to be found

And creation to pro

  Then the writing will flow
As if out of a struck desert stone
      And swell
How Writing (Told) Goes
How weak is this heart......
Without any push or pull.....
Without any touches.....
It breaks....
by;
"Feelings and emotions"
And;
Unbearable pain and sorrow we faces.

How weak is this heart,
that's break by feelings and emotions..
Without any push or pull.....
Without any touches.....Unbearable pain and sorrow we faces.
Andrew Rueter Jul 27
Yemen is a floating failed state spinning in the maelstrom
of flu, COVID, diphtheria, and cholera on one side
and the US backed Saudi coalition on the other.

They float there
like an abandoned oil tanker
floating off the coast in the Red Sea
threatening to spill 1,000,000 barrels of crude oil
until entirety turns black—
a sticky substance that’s hard to clean off.

It floats there as a deterrent—a ***** bomb
Houthis hold hostage future generations
with an IED that will injure all of our children—
why have Houthis weaponized the destruction of our planet?
Could it be that we’ve taken their world from them?

The people drop
like a bomb from the sky
in the Shada area of the Saada province.

The country explodes
like a car of 13 Houthis—4 children—
sending shrapnel to every corner of the Earth.

How many children is a terrorist’s life worth?
Keep in mind terrorists could hurt children
or those children could grow up to be terrorists
or a defense contractor could go out of business
so what’s the price of a child relative to those scenarios?

21,000 airstrikes in 5 years
5 years to do the math
every time we try to solve the equation
the answer comes out negative.
this is how the poetry bows out



the tying of the tongue,
fingertips are shaved, nubbed,
heart seized, it rhyming ceased,
veins are dammed, arteries blocked,
the emotional fled, to a wild wind wed,
this is how the poetry bows down ‘n out

the remainders, sticky stuck, viscous,
through small pore filters they leak,
with the soap and the sins, all drained,
the shower uses holy water to no avail,
this is how the poetry bows down ‘n out

the brain cognitions loss, realizing a release
ending, time sensitized, the mantelpiece badly
cracked, each of the body’s words in reliquaries hidden,
the other worldly acquaintances greet him joyously,
commence a choir chant, a motet centuries old,

this, this! is how the poetry bows out
Amanda Jul 19
I am sorry that I am a hopeless mess
Waste of space
Broken at best
Words my comfort when taken by fear
Times I can't face who's waiting in the mirror
I want pain to end so I can be free
The overwhelming misery
I try to pause
Breathe deep and slow
Anxiety will not let me go
And I want to change
Be happy once more
I'll never get back the life I had before
Just make the world disappear for awhile
Then maybe I'd remember how to smile
It's been so long I think I've forgotten how it feels to laugh
-elixir- Jul 17
How long till your
tongues stop
spitting arrows of
assumptions of
delusional malice
against me?
Does it feel good,
to stoop so low
for your apparent
ego,
that you deceive
yourself into spewing
lores of lies?
These arrows will miss
me, as I sway to
my nature of mind.
And you will go on
for,
how long?
Next page