Snapshots

[kiz_paws]

A sickly-complexioned woman,
thin, hunched as if to contain
her body’s ache, slowly unwinds
her dog’s leash from a tree
outside the café
and, clutching a cardboard cup of coffee,
slowly, slowly walks away.

I have seen this thanks to your precision. Beautiful, PrinceM!

[dibyendra]

A sickly-complexioned woman,
thin, hunched as if to contain
her body’s ache, slowly unwinds
her dog’s leash from a tree
outside the café
and, clutching a cardboard cup of coffee,
slowly, slowly walks away.

I admire the way you capture the moments and sculpt them in the form of poetry. It's fabulous! Like Pen, I would like to say, "Encore!"

[Smoogles]

Your imagery is like a motion-picture put into words playing through my mind. Very good job.

[dibyendra]

Junkin’ at the supermarket

I go right by the section of fresh fruits
and produce, my cart clattering happily
on the tiled floor, I’m headed
for those gorgeous packages
made of plasticized cardboard,
cellophane, styrofoam
with something inside, like
-–remember those packages
of Cracker-Jack we bought as kids
that contained a free prize inside?

Remember the heady expectation
of fishing through the sticky goop
to find that prize! Oh no, not a-
nother pressed-tin piece of crap!
Oh well, there would surely be something better
next time. (“Next time,” come to think of it,
was the tense they forgot to teach us
in elementary school.)

I manage to collect a cart
full of foodish stuff
and head for the cash
to flirt amiably while I hand over
my hard-earned money.

Jer, it's interesting one! Loved it!

[PrinceMyshkin]

From above his long, grey,
straggley beard, a Khassid,
sunk deep in his wheel-chair,
glares at me as if to ask,
“What right have you?
What right have you?”

[Sweets America]

From above his long, grey,
straggley beard, a Khassid,
sunk deep in his wheel-chair,
glares at me as if to ask,
“What right have you?
What right have you?”

This is very powerful, Jer, even though I'm not sure how to interpret it, but I have my own feeling about it. Love it.

[ampoule]

Sometimes people cannot see just how vacant our looks really are, that perhaps we aren't really looking at them at all.
Wonderful snapshot Prince. I would like to sketch this one.

[dibyendra]

From above his long, grey,
straggley beard, a Khassid,
sunk deep in his wheel-chair,
glares at me as if to ask,
“What right have you?
What right have you?”

Never heard the word "Khassid" before, but the description of the man is quite interesting. And what does the underline at the last line signifies?

[PrinceMyshkin]

Never heard the word "Khassid" before, but the description of the man is quite interesting. And what does the underline at the last line signifies?

"Khassid" is my attempt to approximate the Hebrew sound of the name of a member of the "Hassisim," a group of ultra-orthodox Jews, the males recognizable by their long, often curled sideburns, beards, skullcaps or round fur-trimmed caps, long black coats and white cotton stockings. The women wear wigs, orthopedic-looking stockings and dowdy clothes.

A rugged-looking guy
walks by, a tiny parcel
of a baby in the crook
of his left elbow.
The baby’s pink,
bare legs hang free,
scissoring the wind.

[Sweets America]

"Khassid" is my attempt to approximate the Hebrew sound of the name of a member of the "Hassisim," a group of ultra-orthodox Jews, the males recognizable by their long, often curled sideburns, beards, skullcaps or round fur-trimmed caps, long black coats and white cotton stockings. The women wear wigs, orthopedic-looking stockings and dowdy clothes.

A rugged-looking guy
walks by, a tiny parcel
of a baby in the crook
of his left elbow.
The baby’s pink,
bare legs hang free,
scissoring the wind.

Interesting mix between roughness, sharpness on one side, and innocence and sweetness on the other. (I mean, innocence and sweetness as they usually are associated to babies by people...). Very nice poem. You are so talented, you really have the mind of a poet. I admire you so much, you are wonderful.

I had not heard the word Khassid before either, but searched and found 'Hassid' and I thought your Khassid reflected the way it was prononced by Jewish people. So I was right, eh?

[PrinceMyshkin]

I had not heard the word Khassid before either, but searched and found 'Hassid' and I thought your Khassid reflected the way it was pronounced by Jewish people. So I was right, eh?

You are ALWAYS right - sometimes more so than others. "Kh" is I think an accepted way to approximate the Hebrew guttural "ch" which is represented in the Semitic alphabet by either one of two letters, the "khet" and the "khaf" ח כ

[Sweets America]

You are ALWAYS right - sometimes more so than others. "Kh" is I think an accepted way to approximate the Hebrew guttural "ch" which is represented in the Semitic alphabet by either one of two letters, the "khet" and the "khaf" ח כ

Thanks, teacher! Yes, the Hebrew sound 'ch' like in Ich or dich (or is it Yiddish?). Actually we write 'ch' here, not 'kh', but I think that 'kh' looks good at the beginning of words. Anyway.

[ampoule]

So, Prince, if you don't mind my asking, where were you this morning? You don't have to actually tell me WHERE you were but why weren't you here. You don't have to actually tell me WHY you weren't here. I guess what I'm trying to say is this. If I don't see a post from Prince early in the morning I get all worked up. Anyway, I'm glad you're here.

[PrinceMyshkin]

So, Prince, if you don't mind my asking, where were you this morning? You don't have to actually tell me WHERE you were but why weren't you here. You don't have to actually tell me WHY you weren't here. I guess what I'm trying to say is this. If I don't see a post from Prince early in the morning I get all worked up. Anyway, I'm glad you're here.

Wow! Many thanks, and in apology may I offer this:

Sometimes we dance
with others, a tango, a fox-trot
or the slow tantalizing steps of romance
but sometimes, unseen, alone,
we dance with our dreams,
and that might be
the best dance of all.

We set the scene, a magnificent ball-
room or a forest glade under a canopy
of stars, winking at us
from light-years ago
as if to promise that our light
will continue to shine long after
our mortal bodies no longer
emit light or warmth or hope
or love. We are love!

Arms, legs, hearts
that burn for love, for sex,
for forever, but above all,
We are love!

Take us sweetly and softly.
Take us with hands
that could bend steel
but that would not bruise
the wings of a butterfly.

The fear of loving
has bruised the heart
of many an angel
and left it broken
by the side of the road.

[PrinceMyshkin]

On Bagg Street a man sits
in the lawn chair
he appears to have grown from:
whiskers, unruly hair,
paunch, and softly spreading derriere.