White Nights

Another sleepless night, white night,
Images running in my head, a sight,
Same images that were with me for decades,
Same dark pictures in their one-color shades
As of last year, I have a few new ones,
The last words, of a dying man, my father
“Help Me” – his lips whisper,
There is nothing I can do, helplessness,
I was not there for him, in his time of need and stress,
Yet that picture is burnt and seared into my brain,
Scorched into a memory that never really was,
Nevertheless, is,
My cross to bear, my mark of Cain,
My guilt, my ball and chain,
My always “there” companion,
My tribe’s only true friend,

The Scream

Autumn, brings out the greys,
The well-honed triangular edges of the trees,
Their silhouettes light,
In their nakedness,
Against the backdrop of the dark, gloomy skies,
As a reminder of our mortality, the fallen golden leaves
Fading into dark brown, until dissolving into rotting decay,
Every silhouette, a reminder of some past vision,
As I drove by a tree, naked and bare it stood,
Yet majestic in its unadorned, Spartan, unbending scarred trunk,
It stood there shaped and looking like – Monk’s, “The Scream”,
A little tilted to the right, its branches raised like arms towards the face,
A look of utter frustration, abysmal dismay and fathomless fear,
I always wondered how many of us are looking at “The Scream”,
Not as a painting,
But are looking into “The Scream” as a mirror reflection?


Lately, the best dialogues that I have,
Are the ones, I have with myself,
It seems, I make an amazing bantering partner
Witty and funny, amusing, shrewd and clever,
My timing is perfect, I always wait for myself to finish
Before I start my reply, it is after all the polite way to be,
Sometimes I get insulted, from what one of me had said
Nevertheless, I do not stop bantering, just because one of me bled
I do not pick sides in this situation; one of me may get hurt
So it is kept very personal, one may say:”sort of an inner flirt”,
Sometimes I win the argument, sometimes it is me,
Sometimes there is no choice, so the two of me agree,
One thing I still cannot figure out, I know it seems strange
Never did I walk out of me, because of a harsh exchange

Hug Me

Hug Me – He Asked
Hug Me – He Pleaded
Hug Me – He Begged
Hug Me – He Requested
Hug Me – He Submitted
Hug Me – He Applied
Hug Me – He Petitioned
Hug Me – He Demanded
Hug Me – He Appealed
Hug Me – He Invited
Hug Me – He Bid
Hug Me – He Pressed
Hug Me – He Implored
Hug Me – He Beseeched
Hug Me – He Argued
Hug Me – He Proposed
So Close
So far

Poopy in the potty

Little Emme, made her first potty poop
Alicia tell us please, was it two or just one scoop
Was the potty in the kitchen at the time?
Was the quality lowly, or prime?
Were there witnesses to the deed?
Was it slow or done high speed?
Was Emme smiling, or had a serious look?
Was she reading the paper or a book?
Could you tell if it was lunch or dinner?
Was it a professional poop or just a beginner?
Was it done gently, like snow melting into water
Or was it a huge pile , worthy of Adam’s daughter?
Congratulations to all. Big and small
Emme now has sampled her own stool

Tired 2

What has happened to our dreams of youth?
All have gone down the tube,
The fire that burns the strongest,
Burns fastest,
All that remains is cynical and bitter,
We now know, not all of value, glitters
What was once, so important and crucial,
Has now become banal and superficial,
We look back with a look of disdain,
Mixed with a dash of contempt and pain
At our dreams of benefiting humanity,
Were all the results of stupid arrogance and vanity,
The mountains were here long before we came
Here will stay for millennia, and here will remain
Long after, we are gone and vanish without a trace
I am just tired I must confess

My Blessings

Sitting in your “office”, on your chair
Watching “Hunt for red October”
For the 16th time, alone
As if I have already died and gone,
I know you will not say
The words I want to hear
Words tender and caressing
That makes me count my blessings
Early morning just before you leave for work
You must do this and that
Get moving fast
You’re just too stressed to say
The words I want to hear
Words tender and caressing
That makes me count my blessings
During the day
Needless to say
You are just as busy as can be
Too busy to say, the words I want to hear
Words tender and caressing
That makes me count my blessings
Morning gone, day gone, night gone
Gone are those words I want to hear
These ones I long to hear
Tender and caressing
That makes me count my blessings
Though you used to say you love me
In the darkness of the night,
Many years ago,
So long ago, I almost forgot,
When in my arms you lied content,
In a bed so ridiculously narrow,
Words I want to hear you say,
Those words that seem to have fade away
In the morning’s grayish light
But as distance comes between us
We seem to have regressed,
And never again will I hear the words I want to hear
Tender and caressing
That makes me count my blessings