Children dancing

 

Teens dancing

 

Cute pigs

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Candy bacon

A tiny request: If you liked this post, please share this?

I know most people don’t share because they feel that us bloggers don’t need their “tiny” social share. But here’s the truth…

I built this blog piece by piece, one small share at a time, and will continue to do so. So thank you so much for your support, my reader.

A share from you would seriously help a lot with the growth of this blog

 

Bacon candy

 

“Pesach in Blacksburg” By Erika Meitner

 

“Pesach in Blacksburg”
By Erika Meitner

is ushered in by the neighborhood Easter egg
hunt, my kids scrambling beneath backyard
playsets for chocolate, by the ads I’ve been
seeing on Facebook for weeks for the Messianic

Jews welcoming Yeshua at the local Holiday Inn—
is matzo that comes in giant bulk multi-packs
of six stacked on an end-cap shelf at the Kroger
though each of the few Jewish families in town

only needs a single box or maybe two and someone
(a stockboy?) has hung a neat row of Fried Pork Skins
nestled against the Manischewitz Matzo Ball Soup Mix,
the Kedem sparkling grape juice and gefilte fish slabs

suspended in glass jars. Pesach in Blacksburg is a
complication, an exile, and we are the small but
holy remnant so we open the door during Seder
for Elijah the Prophet to find a neighbor selling

magazine subscriptions for a Young Life fundraiser.
We welcome the stranger but I’m sure this is not
what the Haggadah meant when it says Let all
who are hungry come and eat, and this year

again we defrost the shankbone Jenny left
before she moved to Baltimore, and this year
the kids wear plague masks I ordered from
amazon.com (hail, lice, locusts, boils, fire,

and a few others, though I still find the closed
eyes on the Slaying of the First Born unbearable)
and this year again only some of us know the songs
but we sing them over and over: Dayenu, if He had

supplied our needs in the desert for forty years
it would have been enough—and the kids eke out
a weak Four Questions with the help of the adults
then ransack the house for the afikomen. This is a

shadow of the seders of my youth, the lace table
cloths, my survivor grandfather in his resplendent
satin robe at the table’s head leading, switching
between Hebrew and Yiddish, but we do what

we can, so I string together folding tables in the
dining room and guests roll in with wine and extra
chairs and here is the bread of affliction, of far-
from-home, of galut, that we eat and eat and eat.

© Erika Meitner 2018

Erika Meitner’s most recent poetry collection is “Useful Junk.” Meitner is 2018 winner of the National Jewish Book Award for a poetry collection, “Holy Moly Carry Me.”

“The Burning Bush is a Blackberry Bush” By Sarah Mathes

 Sarah Mathes and Erika Meitner are award-winning American poets who notably explore Jewish themes in their work. The poems presented below are thoughtful jumping-off points to discuss the Passover holiday, the Exodus from Egypt and anything else that comes up at the seder table.

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Mathes and Meitner will be reading together at Porter Square Books in Cambridge on Tuesday, April 12, at 7 p.m.

“The Burning Bush is a Blackberry Bush”
By Sarah Mathes

I wrote the poem. And then I rewrote it, and made it worse.
I thought time would heal it. Time passed. I did research: Exodus,
midrash, my mother. I rewrote the poem. I ate fistfuls of soft berries. Navy
lips. Purple lips. Juice bursting out of black balloons. I made it worse.
The poem knocked around my mind like unlabeled preserves darkening in the fridge.
Outside the page: tableaus of simple beauty.
Three different trees in one line of sight—plum, pear, palm.
Inside: A hand runs under a faucet, the soap stinging invisible cuts to life.

Have you seen a blackberry bush at the exact moment of its blushing,
when its tight little spheres bleed the green seeds bloody—
have you walked by shoeless on the way to the lake,
the sun lifting the hairs on your cheek,
no matter where you turn, something you love coming after you,
the bush burning in the stripped light,
unripe, alive, surviving—

Used with permission of the author and reprinted from “Town Crier: Poems” by Sarah Mathes, winner of the 2020 Lexi Rudnitsky First Book Prize.

Seder-Night BY ISRAEL ZANGWILL

Seder-Night

BY ISRAEL ZANGWILL

Prosaic miles of streets stretch all round,

    Astir with restless, hurried life and spanned

By arches that with thund’rous trains resound,

    And throbbing wires that galvanize the land;

    Gin-palaces in tawdry splendor stand;

The newsboys shriek of mangled bodies found;

    The last burlesque is playing in the Strand—

In modern prose all poetry seems drowned.

Yet in ten thousand homes this April night

    An ancient People celebrates its birth

    To Freedom, with a reverential mirth,

With customs quaint and many a hoary rite,

Waiting until, its tarnished glories bright,

    Its God shall be the God of all the earth.

• 
  

 

Bacon soup

 

Candied bacon

 

wokeness

 

"Aware" wolf

 

 

Another Change Of Heart

Someone took pictures of the autopsy 

Before they bought the whole thing down

The boats were in the harbour

When the circus came to town.

 

The mayor was in his pajamas

Because his mistress wore the pants

He was caught between a rock and hard place

Trying to catch up in the dance.

 

And while the band played mostly Souza

The audience often played their part

Because the maestro was having second thoughts

With another change of heart.

 

They often called her by her second name

It was traditional and to her, a trial

There were moments of rage and silence

Which was very much her Garbo style.

 

There was talk of an engagement

But she was not that way inclined

Her tastes, it was said more exotic

Which to some made you go blind.

 

In the silence that was now defeating

Filled her world now so very dark

If it wasn't for her many lovers

She'd have another change of heart.

 

You asked me did I know her

I presumed in the biblical way, you meant

Her face was quite familiar

In the photo that you sent

I may have had a change of heart

But how much and to what extent?

 

 

Prompts

A poem of

14 to 30 lines

© Feb 6, D. Edward Barnett   personal • dark • thoughts • life • angst • longing • loss • abstract • lyrics   

 

Meanwhile, Back At The Blue Mambo Diner

Another night filled with junkie shadows and Madonna tears
And raindrops leaving grimy finger streaks down window panes
Strobing neons stain the sidewalk like Jackson Pollack afterthoughts
Filled with mind tripping 'shrooms.

Somewhere in all this miasmic hellstrom is a greasy spoon moon
Shooting craps and lighting box crates and bolt holes
Traffic crawling on all fours coughing up unleaded fumes
Trundle cars rattle and hum overhead in this civic symphony.

Street angels flock in alleyways, heroin chic
One more night teetering in this boulevard of dreams
Laced with alcohol and laudanum
And laceworks of Jacob's ladder fire escapes.

I'm still mulling over the world damp through to the skin
My clothing clinging precariously to my a-frame torso
Guess some folk are just too plain dumb to get out of the rain
Count me as one the flock in that regard.

Shuttered shopfronts gaze down solemnly at the down-and-outers
Shuffling past with their shopping trolleys of other worldly goods and chattels
Past heaven-gated taxi stands and domino stacked skyscrapers.

Yellow cabs like pus scabs trawl for fares as beige folk wander aimlessly about
It's a world full of blank cartridges and misanthropes
Of megalomania and soap box oratorios
Proselytising and muttering personally to something or other god .

Maybe they do have a personal direct line, who knows!
And who knows who's right or wrong?
Who am I to judge, got my own angels to wrestle.

Another electro-plated moon reaches out
Pulling back tasselled curtains to expose a turgid sky
Above a city that can suck you dry
Leaving discarded husks and bodies drained of humanity.

Meanwhile back at the oasis that is the Blue Mambo
Sipping on a cup of Joe to caffeinate those blues
Too much emptiness can bury a soul
Among the desert wastes and roadside litter.

The city hums 12-bar blues to a rhapsody of life
Filled with promises of twilight assignations
And passages from a symphonic movement
To move a soul to silence and tears.

It's an emotional rollercoaster of love and tumours
Wistful and cancerous and unfulfilled endeavours
Leaving thrown away wrappings and sutures
And other hymnal psychoses.

Idiosyncratic fantasies now become clickbait
Losing substance and credibility
Until all that's left is cold coffee
And no room to grow encased in these four walls.

Prompts
Contest: Write a new poem about ANYTHING.
Word count 50-400 words
put word count in AN
swearing is allowed
nothing sexual or porn related

Word count: 336 © 7 hours ago, D. Edward Barnett   abstract • angst • dark • death • life • longing • personal • society • thoughts   

Chicken jokes