Monday, July 17, 2023

“A Lesson in Art”

 



            Take a few moments to check out the latest art my son’s offering on his site! These extremely unique pieces are his vision of a black and white world that reflects what we see in the mirror and model through our mannequins of perfection.

Mirrors and Mannequins



Copyright 2023 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

 

 

Tuesday, May 2, 2023

"Voiceless"






Rain burning on my cheeks like hot angry tears,
Scorching the world with its acid touch.
I brush it aside and wipe away my fears.
I ignore the destruction; I pretend too much.
 
The dank humid air burns me under its weight,
Forcing my mind to heave then implode.
I turn away from petty love; jealous hate.
Fighting against my resurgent need to explode.
 
The Conservative move against conservation
Eroding our lives, our will to live.
“Preserve Wall Street, Big Business, and the Nation!”
Forgetting we need Mother Earth to survive.

Where was my voice when those decisions were made?
Why did I passively shrug and sigh?
The future is now, and it’s melting away.
Our precious planet, once so vibrant, now dies.
 
Copyright 1995 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
 

Monday, May 1, 2023

"First Love"



Shoulder length hair
          streaked with fairies’ gold
          pixie dust sprinkled across her pert nose
          braces and rubber bands
          long legs reaching almost to her chin
          a ready smile and a contagious laugh
 
A year of friendship
          spent playing hide-n-go-seek
          swimming at Grandma’s
          trips to the lake house at Canyon
          homework marathons
          and a “first date” at the movies—alone 
 
A year as a couple
          buying Ty beanies because she thinks they’re cute
          Valentine’s Day takes weeks and weeks of allowance
          long phone chats
          Alicia Silverstone, Spice Girls, and the Magic Time Machine
          friends forever
 
He whispers
          as night embraces him
          “Mom, she’s the one.”
          “I’ll never love another girl.”
          “She’s different and special.”
          I feel the weight of his adoration
 
Times change gradually
          her legginess turns to curves
          mascara darkens her lashes
          her Tom boyish walk turns to graceful pirouettes
          her need for popularity outstrips him
 
He understands
          his boyish charm keeps trying
          his cherub face beams when she’s near
          his voice becomes husky when she’s on the phone
          she enchants him still
          even when she’s walking away

 
Copyright 1999 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
 

Friday, April 28, 2023

"He Doesn't Like Me"

  

An indestructible bond
Woven together by laughter and tears
Revelations of doubt shared in the hushed pre-dawn hours
Private thoughts and hopes spilled across endless pages
Our friendship strong and true
 
Subtle changes unfolded
Before a single box was packed
Before a vow of faith and love was made
You grew distant and reserved
Still our friendship held strong and true
 
You battled against yourself
Pulling me awake with midnight calls of uncertainty
Our friendship frayed around the edges
The years of sisterhood withstood your demands
Yet our friendship held strong and true
 
Imperceptibly, you excluded me
Letters not answered, phone calls shortened
Visits while our children played ended abruptly
You needed to clean, and cook, and make things perfect
Our friendship weakened by his demands
 
You tucked into yourself
Tightened into a ball so tight I missed your despair
Your silence the only response to my concern
Even after Death ripped through your life
He withheld you from friendship strong and true
 



 
Copyright 2023 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Thursday, April 27, 2023

"A New Journal"


            My freshman year in high school, I participated in a peer counseling program. The extensive training took place in a local hotel. The students who volunteered for the program, along with the faculty members involved, underwent eight hour sessions in counseling and therapy techniques for an entire week. At the end of my training, I could work in our campus “Rap Room” where other students could come in for confidential counseling. This multifaceted instruction knitted the peer counselors into a tight group as we learned about ourselves and each other. I don’t know if the teachers and administrators realized the depth of the therapy sessions we received, but that week profoundly affected my life. My goal to go to Texas A&M to eventually try for the veterinarian program altered forever into a love of studying behavior.
            The peer counseling training impacted me in another way because during that week I met another student, a senior, who kept a journal. In the months that we set up our counseling program back on our campus, this other student shared her journals with me. Her provocative poetry and insightful musings amused me. I fell in love with the idea of recording my life, my feelings, and my interpretations—myself—into the pages of a spiral notebook. So back in 1972, I started my first journal. I wrote about everything and nothing. All of the disappointments of high school lay neatly recorded in these little unassuming spirals. All of my first attempts at poetry, often with explanations, reside within these pages. All of the self-doubts and insecurities of living alone, starting college, and falling in love live within these volumes. Somewhere along the line, I shifted from spiral notebooks to folders crammed with so much notebook paper that the brads barely punch through and fold back.

       

     
I never hid my journals, and occasionally I’d read a piece to my parents or a friend. Usually, my most current journal sat upon my desk for easy access in case I wanted to scribble down a thought or vent an emotion. The first time David came down to meet my family, I had to work. Being at loose ends, David decided to read my journal. My mother walked in and found him stretched across the bed, and stood in shocked silence. No one in our family would ever invade the private space of another family member, so to find David perusing my journals seemed wrong to her. David told me, of course, of his faux pas as soon as I returned home. Although I wasn’t upset, I don’t believe he’s ever picked up my journal since that one day.
            Eventually, a friend witnessed me scribbling in one of my folders and asked about it. When I explained to her that I’d been writing since high school, she decided the folders and spirals needed replacements, and she bought me my first bound journal as a Thank You gift. I remember holding the small volume in my hands, flipping through the colorful pages with their decorated corners. My fingers itched to write!



            Last night, I started Volume 72 of my journal. Almost thirty-nine years (to the day) from when I composed my first entry. This volume wraps a giant marigold around the spine and over the front and back covers, exploding in bright orange and yellow. My pulse quickened as I put pen to virgin paper, and once I started writing I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I never know what thoughts and feelings my journals will hold. The unpredictability of life assures that this newest addition to my collection will center me through my heartbreaks and celebrate with me in my joys.    

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman