#yiddish
Sweet Yiddish whispers in my black and white slippers
Delving into daydreams of dark and desperate days
Spilling turpentine on tiles tearing me away for miles
Feeling frantic flutters in the back of my brain
Bearing backlot benches bordering the land of Spain
Roses rowing to Roman seas that no one sees
Leering lullabies of lackadaisical lovers, known to never fly
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 10:11 PM UTC
this alteh kocker nostalgically reflects
being ma late mama's boytchik
(now, she long since deceased,
whose cremated remains of day
scattered to all points on compass)
fondly referencing
both sisters as dabchick
incongruously sprinkled her Brooklyn brogue,
especially when angry, she quickly segued
from mild expletive fiddlestick
the latter playfully aired,
when kibitzing wit bubeleh
reminiscing being dirt poor,
nonetheless zee mother
every now an again homesick
regaling the whole mishpokhe
(meaning us brood of kids)
interrupting herself
with frequent non sequiturs
discombobulated anecdotes switching subjects
as if external forcefield
jimmying a joystick
interleaving disparate threads with subsequent
tangential linkedin snippets
with feigned lovesick
chatting 'bout cockamamie
"Grandpa Moishe"
and his chaim yankel posse
(to escape hen pecking nudnik
"grandma Rebecca"),
a trenchant termagent bubba,
not averse to incorporate dreck
in the same sentence with zayda
ostracized him
scoring figurative placekick,
whence upon his schlepping back home
met with "silent treatment" dampening rollick
king atmosphere choking tearfully
"mother" recounted
farblunget anger thick
lee palpable extremely discomfiting,
particularly when ("mom's")
girlhood friends bore witness aye gavalt,
where penury churned moribund thoughts
viz empty cupboards
devoid of bare necessities
a figurative apropos yardstick.
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 3:48 PM UTC
oy vey
everyday, oy vey
Granny couldn't get through
an hour without a dour
oy vey
the woeful phrase I recall,
though most of all, I still see her
scrubbed raw, red paws, always
clutching a tissue, to keep
the ghastly germs at bay
the ones she believed
yet survived the camps
no matter how much time
and scalding baptismal
water had flowed
though far from the filth
even farther from the ovens, safe
she still said oy vey and held the tissue tight
perhaps to keep out the night
I never had to see
oy vey, oy vey
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 12:23 PM UTC
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This is the story of two lonely souls....
Who found each other, without cajoles...
Neither had ever had a mate....
Yet Jack and Gill decided to date.....
They felt an instant connection....
As both were Chefs and had a fixation....
One for Chicken the other for Bacon....
And so decided to take their direction....
From what they had learned in life....
Party animals that they were....
And perhaps now you can concure.....
Their feelings for each other....
Was so far from any another....
People just didn’t understand....
Why when they walked, it was always hand in hand....
They never strayed and held tight to their ways....
Believing their world was just another phase....
But eventually the world would accept you see....
That what they had was called * “ smaltzy “....
*Yiddish word for rendered chicken / animal fat or a garish over the top fancy party...
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 11:28 PM UTC