"challah" poems
I had a dream This
One time where you were
All up inside and I was
all upsidown at camp
and there was rain and baked challah
with hair and dirt inside, but hey
why argue with free food?
And you were feeling me, making my hair stand
On edge and taking your time
Even though an avalanche was ready to hit
Come, bury me in snow and leave me to die in
Ecstasy, come, throw me off a building and
Let me fall into your dark
Gaze but don't let my boyfriend know, I don't
Let the devil out to play when he's around.
Baby, your fingers were lightning, breath like
Cigarette smoke and can you do
The french inhale because I want to be hot
Hot for you, but not only you
Don't forget, I like to roam wild, test
How far I can get you to go.
Manipulative? Nay, ingenious.
But somehow, you end up on
Top, getting me to beg for more, beg for you
To allow me to come and seep through
And you laugh as I grasp at straws,
Smoke some **** boy, its how you feel alive
You're how I feel alive
Passion, pity, cause me pain
But just a little, I like to be handled rough
Hair pulls, slaps, punish me
I've been a bad girl, I've been naughty
Cheating on my boyfriend in my head with you and you're
EVERYTHING THAT HE ISN'T
And nothing that I want him to be, so let
My fantasy continue, see you in hell
You make all my muscles clench with just
A tiny graze of skin, a stupid
Text and I know you don't mean it
You just want some, trying to get down my pants, it's
A game to you
Maybe I want to play
**** I know I want to
Me, a girl like me
As if you could possibly
Hard, let me feel you
As you run your teeth down my
You, stoner boy, make me scream for
Can you make me feel?
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 11:48 PM UTC
Challah here, and cookies there.
Pastry ******* everywhere.)
Its what I live , and how I think.
In the air, and what I drink.
Cupcakes, pies, brownies all around.
But not a drop of sanity to be found.
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 11:58 PM UTC
The first thing I remember is breathing under water.
And what do you remember, dear and distant friend?
Lifetimes, braided together like blessed challah bread,
are intertwined, one into the next, sometimes glimpsed.
Living so differently, in music, through earthquakes and
tidal waves, we visit from one time into another,
to learn, to see life through one heart, our one unbounded
mind, the one universal soul that inhabits us all.
I have heard it said that after our ten thousandth lifetime
we can go home to our limitless beginnings.
Are we ready, dear, and distant friend?
Are you? Am I?
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 1:26 PM UTC
In these ways unlike any other
You have made me a bigot
How can I trust someone
With your nose; broad as any stereotype
Your eyes; The color of over-circulated dollar bills
Your lips; billowing, plush, plumped like a fresh Challah
Over-flowing like your Manischewitz Wine.
Lying mouth
A liars mouth
You look like a lender
You look like a heathen
You are an Aryan Mother Mary
Your hair is blonde. No, it’s yellow. No, it is ***** blonde
***** blonde
Stop controlling my multimedia experience
Mismanage the tasteless fruits of my love no longer
But who am I to hold your cultural tropes against you?
The way you hold my state of mind
Up to my eyes, only to make me see what it is you view
You are the jew. And I’m the one burning alive.
Jan 2, 2010
Jan 2, 2010 at 7:48 PM UTC
Sitting on the bus
my Israeli Paul Revere seminary nightmare steps on
armed in pantyhose, eyes stretched
wide by a thick black headband
Dense Brooklyn accent, perfect Hebrew.
Laughing on the phone, she
tells the details of the most recent terrorist attack,
a family of five murdered in their home,
a baby stabbed in its cradle
She said she’s just come from the memorial in Jerusalem,
where hundreds of Israelis stood in the streets sobbing and
screaming for vengeance
A sea of black hats, writhing and angry
She said they showed everyone
pictures of the bodies,
so they would know the horror of what happened
And as she sat there smiling, broadcasting the news like
a recount of a primetime television episode,
I sat
on the verge of tears
and watched the rest of the bus sit stony-faced,
distracted and desensitized.
We drive through
a market place.
An
old woman gets on clutching
a challah swaddled in plastic, sleeping salty.
(The bus is full off babies,
but none of them are crying.)
Meanwhile, in Gaza
the murders had another crowd
of people filling the streets,
dancing.
Jun 12, 2011
Jun 12, 2011 at 6:57 AM UTC
Always use the best you have...first
That what she says, when she makes us breakfast.
Then the next best, and the next...
Then life will always be curving, on a tangent of the finest line,
Linen before cotton, cotton before paper.
She brings champagne and fresh orange juice to our table,
challah so soft, we could lay and love upon it.
All I have to proffer, tears-of-the-saddest of souls and some
scribblings, and a philosophy of fear, hoarding,
lest the day come of none,
when I have a true zero.
She smiles.
She says:
Nonetheless, I think I got the best of you,
I am-contented, for now,
for each new last poem you surrender up..
will be, the best you have,
and your eyes see poetry continuously,
your poems reveal your courage,
that which I recognize, that you cannot hide.
August 31
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 1:13 PM UTC
*sure thing, if you think that if living with your parents is a hellraiser: inferno summary's worth of movie: you're on it spock! well done, clap clap! oh, you know the first thing worse than an israeli? an american jew; antagonistic mouth-offs: once they start teasing with a feather (on pretend), you start to want to antagonise with an AK-47; oh right, and the world isn't like this? i wish israel was akin to the sacred hindu cow, untouchable, known as the vatican too... yeah, and israel-kamadhenu just said: **** you! well... mind the arab, on the way out; and matisyahu shouting bongo-bongo in patwan, via the precursor of tashlikh... begging for a matzo bloated into challah! what?! you want a ******* brioche bun to boot?*
the last fool left the last set
saying all that was worth said:
i'm hungry.
may i mind you to ask:
have you?
have you ever minded living with
your mother?
is it a hell, or a "heaven" to be minded
in terms of
asking for a gymnasium stipendium?
are you sure it's not both,
at the same time?
to know one's mother,
is to twice acknowledge one's bother,
guarded by the entitled status of wife...
it would appear:
twice the wife,
makes half the mother...
as it would appear:
a mother makes half the wife...
english children abhor the idea of
parenthood, hence they shun their own
parents...
and enjoy the "freedoms" of
being relieved from both child &
parent...
they're firmly bound to a firm:
"relinquishing"...
a set affair of ensuring:
that saturday night be the forgettable
chance for "sabbath".
i abhor the english language
for its acronyms and emoticons...
i am not m.g.t.o.w.,
or a :) face...
i cut it short, i cut it sweet,
me?
i'm just a pontius pilate...
i wash my hands clean from this "affair":
i have not time for the ugliness
of english in either
acronym or emoticon form...
i, royally, wash me hands clean:
from the ****** crudeness of "concern";
i have no ambition to worth minding
an ethno-centric "care"...
english has become ugly
in acronym and in emoticon "phrasing":
even by m.g.t.o.w. it simply
reads a biblical aversion of "concern":
by now, i am but a pontius pilate...
and?
well... at least you won't have to
cite an acronym, but have the proper poetics
at hand.
Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 10:34 PM UTC