Friday, June 21, 2013

"Defense Mechanisms"

Digication e-Portfolio :: Social Studies, Mr. Young :: 8. PersonalityDigication e-Portfolio :: Social Studies, Mr. Young :: 8. 

Defend and Protect at all costs    
bury unpleasant thoughts and feelings under, down, below    
refuse to accept reality    
deny, deny, deny    
change existence and rewrite your life    
fabricate your lies until they morph into your new reality    
regress or act out    
childishly punch the wall of your frustration    
disconnect from your follies    
forget, forget, forget    
place each dissonant thought into a strongbox    
locked away even from yourself    
project your pettiness and bitterness onto the wholesome    
react in opposition with your infantile impulses    
blockade your imperfections behind fantasy    
beat your spouse, kick the dog—never harm yourself    
Defend and Protect at all costs    

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

Wednesday, June 19, 2013

“Go Spurs Go!’

            I just don’t get it.

            The frenzied, obsessed, crazed behavior of Spurs fans puzzles me.

            One day, they love their team. Their besotted comments flood social media constantly with tweets and status updates on the magnificent players and coaches. As I scroll down my Facebook Home page, I’m bombarded with pictures of Duncan, Ginobili or Parker doing some heroic deed. My friends plaster praise and promote their team with profuse passion.
            Then a game turns sour, and so does the support for the home team. Fans feed their frustration by frantically documenting play-by-play groans and curses. The favored player from two nights before becomes a target for malicious venting. And I don’t even want to touch the comments spewed about the refs.
            The Spurs often do a back-and-forth win-lose dance during playoffs. I suspect it increases viewership. It definitely augments revenue to go into more games. Professional sports are, after all, big business.
Copyright 2013 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman




Monday, June 17, 2013

“Going to Seed”

            We don’t mow our yard every week, and when we do cut the grass, we have our mower set to the highest level possible. Unlike our neighbors who labor continually in their yards, we take a careless approach to the lawn itself.
            We let our grass go to seed.
            All of the negative connotations of neglect seem insignificant because we’ve learned that grasses need to reseed. The long drought we’ve seen over these last couple of years means patches of our lawns have shriveled up. With this year’s rain comes relief, and the only way to reestablish section of our yard is to let it go to seed.
            I love walking through dew drenched grass in the mornings as I check the gardens and pond. The gossamer fibers tickle my feet. Later in the day, sunlight polarizes the hue of the grass, crisping the greens into sharpness. By evening, a slight breeze kicks up, and the seedy fingers of grass hula dance.
Copyright 2013 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman


Sunday, June 16, 2013


Time pauses   
            when I dream of you   
                                    pulling me back through years   
            until I hear   
                        your booming laughter ricochet     
            You appear before me   
            I embrace your solidity   
                        catch a whiff of Old Spice,   
                                    pipe tobacco   
            My tiny hand clutches yours   
            I am your child   
                                    looking up into your deep brown eyes   
            You swing me up   
                        high onto your shoulders   
            I pat your chin—rough, unshaven   
                                    We stand in my front yard   
                                                hugging goodbyes   
                                                promising another visit   
            Plans cancelled by death   

Time pauses   
            when I dream of you   
                                    pulling me back through years   
            until I stand   
                        alone in the night   
            Suffering under the weight of grief   
            Conjuring you with my heartbreak   
                        your voice rises with enthusiasm   
                                    strengthens with determination     
            We argue politics   
            We agree to disagree   
                                    looking into your deep brown eyes    
            You vanish   
                        leaving me sorrowful   
            Regretting silly squabbles   
                                    I stand alone   
                                                searching for you     
                                                listening for your essence   
            Knowing you are gone forever   

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman