At the end how we cling
to bodies wracked with pain
~ though the soul is the thing
that returns to the King
1/
Timorous, and trembly hearted
Quivering, world-blown besides.
My sister in sensitivity
Relief, know. Where it abides.
2/
Sunned; and for a seaview
As sparkly eyed, Love's own
Unfathomable depth!
Both dawn and dusk facing.
A brightly sailed width.
As far all pangs from out
Cape-hung, yet still cleaved to
Dearest, your hand!
Life's ongoing procession
A peaceful dream; fanned.
The air clings to vintage cherry wood, scalloped & ruffled as it curves, standing on robust intricately carved lions feet, crafted well over 100 yrs ago, living many years in one of Chicago's many stately red-brick row houses, now watching over me in my small condominium in the heart of Minneapolis where Grandpa helped my parents establish a life that would include room for Grandma & Grandpa to age close to their grandchildren & Mom & Dad, Sadly, Grandpa fell with a heart attack hurrying to find his neighbor in a bar downtown Chicago so he could attend his son's highschool graduation, Grandma lived a very short time here with us, but was encouraged to fly (her first nerve-wracked time) back to Chicago for her 50th. high school reunion, where she too, fell and died from a heart attack, anyway, these hardwood family pieces keep me rooted with memories of all the precious loved ones they served and hope for the future.
4/12/26
If the body is wracked with anger
love cannot exist
The urge to blame some others
such emotion ,please desist
It's now time to change the pattern
of internal pain that's felt
Self love needs integration
feel the anger melt
With the effort that's expended
to really make amends
The soul is then a magnet
to attract so many friends
Imagine all the world
if we eradicated anger
To live in love and peace
no longer faced with danger
Why, why nine, why nine cupcakes in the pack?
Only nine friends, or three, can share this snack;
no tea for two without a fight,
four or six have to be polite;
or be wracked with guilt if I hold one back.
Poetry ...
the desperate
exercise
of the socially wracked
Feigning with
words
what their confidence
lacks
Imploring
the reader
to embrace
and befriend
One step
from the needle
the bullet
— the end
(Rereading Kerouac: November, 2025)
I look upon these silhouettes; of night trees
Dark delineation is the monster who comforts me
As my haunting sorrows swayed in the breeze
I warned them of being wracked with disease
On a calm night when they're still
Words of rage make me think I have skill
Shaking hands chop against their will
And when my mind has had its fill
I close this world down like it's a sill
Just to wake up in the morning, ill
Wondering how to sift the chips;
to pay for the dregs within my quill.
These broken nails
Not pretty to look at,
My triumphs, my fails
Mean more than that
Been scratching away
Digging for some end,
By night, by day …
‘Til they begin to bend
Once polished to a shine
… Is perfectly cracked,
With pulled hair of mine
And my nerves wracked
All glitter, all gold …
Neither one can stay,
But, broken nails, I'm told
Says something anyway.
Veil of midnight, shroud of ache,
A hollow heart begins to wake,
Unfed, unwhole, in shadow curled,
Craving life within this world.
A wraith unseen yet bound to thirst,
The agony—a wicked curse,
Flesh untouched but essence bled,
Hungering for what is shed.
Through trembling dark and frigid moan,
I grasp at souls, yet stand alone,
Each stolen breath a fleeting glow,
Still starving deep in depths below.
Ravishing grimness, wretched plight,
A suffering that breeds delight,
To drink, to drain, to taste the soul,
To feel—then lose—control.
In tortured pangs, my hollow cries,
A thirst that burns, that never dies,
No blood will sate, no flesh repair,
Only whispers in the air.
The void consumes, yet I remain,
Bound by hunger, wracked with pain,
A phantom lost, unseen, yet near,
Feeding off your trembling fear.
And when the night betrays the dawn,
Another voice—another gone,
A feast of echoes, dimly bright,
Devoured whole before the light.
It was during those bleak nights
when I’d wake up screaming
in a bucket of sweat.
The times I hailed you with bullets
full of ugly insults.
I’d cry in your arms,
my mind wracked with guilt.
The holes in the walls—
they’re plastered up now.
The room is silent as I watch you weep
holding the last photo
you took of me.
I did try to tell you.
Do you hear me now?
Wracked with pain, unable to eat
denied the pleasures of life
My friend ‘Nashie’ used his head
his heart, his teeth, his tongue
Cheering up his visitors, one-by-one
inspiring them to live purposeful lives
To honor his memory
~ when his life was done
My friend, Avraham Menashe Siegal,
passed away March 13, 2025, on the
Fast of Esther. May his memory be
for a blessing.
Though warned to stop smoking and drinking beer,
Why should I quit things that give me such joy?
So much wise advice I refused to hear.
All good things of life I vowed to enjoy.
But when I was told I had lung cancer,
And my liver scarred with cirrhosis.
Without the doctor giving the answer,
To my question, I guessed the prognosis.
I'm tied to survival with a thin thread,
My vibrant past now fades like a mirage,
Instead, imminent death is what I dread.
My life wracked with pains, no balm to assuage.
I finally constructed my life a mess,
Chaos now lives deep inside my body,
Causing my heart a serious distress.
Flee bad habits, my plea to somebody.
My body's all aching and wracked with pain
Not sure I want to travel this highway again
Once is enough
Journey's been tough
Who am I, life's been like sipping champagne
I am the wife; the loving, faithful wife.
His children’s mother and, he says, his life.
He tells me he loves me, brings me roses
And I believe him, he supposes.
And yes, I do believe he loves me in his way.
Love that we’ve had can’t simply fade away.
But he’s not mine alone, I know full well.
He forgets I never wear Chanel.
I am the husband, wracked with guilt,
Trapped in the web of lies I’ve built.
I know in my heart the right thing to do.
I stood in church and vowed to be true.
But I was weak and fell for temptation
And find myself in this situation.
I have to end it, I know for sure.
But, before I do, just one week more.
I’m the scarlet woman, mistress if you will.
My part in the story, a once a week thrill.
A cameo role in a tale of deceit.
A tale that for me must end in defeat.
He says he’ll leave her; I know that’s not true.
But things might change if only she knew.
So I’ve thought of a plan to make him mine.
I’ve sprayed his shirt with Chanel Number nine.
“Poke the bear
you get the claws
Chase the shark
you get the jaws”
With each lie
foundations crack
A friend once hurt
your soul left wracked
Timeless rules
do still apply
Where you can run
but never hide
Truth outdates
the oldest Sage
With us its servant
— time its slave
(Dreamsleep: August, 2024)
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