Smattering of Poetry 'ull Do Ya!

I'm feeling a little hippie dippie over here, sitting outside sipping some coffee and enjoying the cooler version of "summer" in New Jersey. The breeze is spinning around and the sun is peeking through green leaves ... and I'm content. I'm relaxed. I'm enjoying the fresh air and my allergies haven't spiked. Color me happytastic.

On a private forum I sometimes frequent with friends from college, someone brought up the subject of poetry, and I remembered this one poet who I fell in love with eons ago named Daphne Gottlieb. Mind you her work can be a little ... colorful ... but her sentiments and style are just beautiful. I discovered her during my early college years, probably seven years ago, you guessed it right that she's Jewish. One of my favorite poems of hers is simple, poignant, and powerful. May it move you as much as it moves me.

the jewish atheist mother has her say

baby, there is no
god but
they'll kill you
for him.

-----------------------------------------------------------

It kind of smacks you in the face and wakes you up, right? I also found this little treasure from 2008 on my old Livejournal (even when I had this blog, I still kept up the Livejournal for purposes of dreams and poems, so thank cheeses for that!).

This thrift store buy is the inspiration for the poem. 

i hadn't bought the box with this in mind (08-22-08)

the knickknack never used to sing before

the way it does now, with its big red bridges,
and the Bay in the background, but upon the
shelf the box still sits still, ever-so empty.
because memories were meant for the other,
one who said forever wasn't just a metaphor,
but now -- those words are distant and different.

so this little black lacquered vessel,
it is vexing me as i sip slumber slowly.
i could fill it with the words i whisper
between boy and girl normal when i'm wishing,
whisking myself away in fabricated fiction,
stories i dream, vast displays of affection,
figures intertwined in sheets, placing words like
"i love you" upon the earlobes of the other.

words that whip and twist likes wind through waves,
overflowing the little black box, sentiments seeping
into heart chambers, filling up the empty spaces,
making the small glossy bauble worth its weight in gold.

Not Jewish, just Beachy.

I went to North Avenue Beach today. Yes, it's in Chicago, and it's a beach.

It was Labor Day, and I didn't want to waste it. So I thought, yes, go to the beach. So I hopped on the North Avenue bus toward the beach, forgetting my sunglasses and folding chair. I got to the beach and thought perhaps I'd rent a chair or umbrella and pick up some sunscreen, but it was $15 for a chair, $15 for an umbrella and $18 for sunscreen. So I said screw that and went back a few blocks to the Walgreens and picked up some sunscreen and a beach chair. I wished I had worn flip flops, but it was too late for that. I trekked out in the sand amount the thousands and plopped down. I slathered myself in sunscreen, leaned back, and watched the beach folk.

I did this for nearly two hours before I couldn't take it anymore. I'm not a hot weather person. I don't know what struck me to go to the beach. It wasn't THAT hot out by the water, because the breeze off the lake was beautiful. But I could only take so much of grown men in thongs, grown women with their boobs hanging out all over the place, and teenagers and 20-somethings flaunting a little too much while tanning. I wasn't feeling self-conscious ... at least not for me.

And that was how I spent my day. I probably won't go to the beach again. Unless it's at night and it's cooler outside. I'm a late-summer/fall beach person, where you can walk along the water's edge and it feels romantic, not hot and sexual.

And that's that.