Posted in Writing

New Poem: The Little Things

It’s always the little things that get you.
The absence of a second toothbrush
Bits of laundry that aren’t yours
Suddenly that shelf is empty
I wonder what I used to keep there.
Whose shampoo is this? Whose shirt?
A note in sloppy handwriting
That fell out of my backpack
Dated back to ancient history
Captures an evasive moment
Language no one speaks but you
And me.
A pair of borrowed socks
A coat you lent me one cold night
And gifts, that made me glow with pride
Are sour when I think of them.
The college campus tinted blue
The corners where I laughed because
I was so happy, so surprised

That you could understand so deeply
Why I like the things I do.
Moments where I didn’t need
To make an effort just to smile
Since my cheeks were sore from grinning.
Now I have some things to do
First change the lock screen on my phone
My profile picture, cover photo
Oh, and my relationship status.
Photographs aren’t little things
They’re fragile bottled memories
A frame that froze so perfectly,
Preserves an ounce or two of joy
Reminding me how good I felt
Some time ago that isn’t now.

Posted in Writing

Jewish Wedding In Rozmberk – Poem

Liora Sophie

Is there a better time than now
To sing of my identity?
To wave my flag of Jewish pride
And dance beneath the golden glow
Of castle walls in Rozmberk

And in this town will sleep tonight
A dozen Jews with bellies full,
Content and warm, where once before
The Jews had but a footprint left.

Is this what Hitler thought could be?
If I could force that man to watch
As families unite with joy,
Unafraid and unashamed
Of who we are and how we live,
Drinking wine from silver cups
And passing on a diamond ring,
Free of fear and free of him,
That would be enough for me.

My people lives! My people lives!
And from the ashes, like a phoenix
We are born to live again.
And what a life it is. Amen.

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Posted in Writing

Jewish Wedding In Rozmberk – Poem

Is there a better time than now
To sing of my identity?
To wave my flag of Jewish pride
And dance beneath the golden glow
Of castle walls in Rozmberk

And in this town will sleep tonight
A dozen Jews with bellies full,
Content and warm, where once before
The Jews had but a footprint left.

Is this what Hitler thought could be?
If I could force that man to watch
As families unite with joy,
Unafraid and unashamed
Of who we are and how we live,
Drinking wine from silver cups
And passing on a diamond ring,
Free of fear and free of him,
That would be enough for me.

My people lives! My people lives!
And from the ashes, like a phoenix
We are born to live again.
And what a life it is. Amen.

Posted in Writing

New Short Story!

The Spaniard on the Amazon

*Based on a true story*

The two travelers were soaked from head to toe by the time they reached the Spaniard’s home. The canoe pulled up into the mud and they toppled out of it, grateful for the chance to stretch their legs. They thanked the local and handed him a sack of coins, which he stared at confusedly for a moment before pocketing it. As the canoe pulled back into the river, they heard the local man laughing to himself. Grinning at each other, they looked up at the small hut which camouflaged into the forest.

The Amazon. They had finally done it.

This is a story I’ve wanted to write for a long time. I heard it first hand at a party about three years ago and was fascinated. So bear with me, keep reading and I promise you an adventure.

Read Story –>