Friday, April 3, 2015

"When"

When you look into my eyes to see if I’m in pain,
When you reach out at night and smooth my hair,
When you throw back your head and laugh at my small jokes,
When you hold in your anger as I rant and rave,
When you create a song, a poem or a painting,
When you spend time sifting through the sand searching for lost treasure,
When you say nothing about my shortcomings,
When you take my hand as we cross the street,
When you pout because I’ve been too busy,
When you pull me into your imagination,
When you give and take within the course of the day, that is
When I love you.

Copyright 1995 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

Thursday, April 2, 2015

"To Keats"

With pen touching paper,
I watch the gray shadow float.
What mystery is this—
This writing?
Thoughts of Keats’s imagery
flow through my crowded Mind.
How could he write with such
tingling beauty?
Each metaphor stings with perfection.
Every allusion, Spring water clear—
Fresh, sweet air,
almost the bitter sweetness
of a deep Red Wine.
Can our vineyards produce such a tasteful red?
Could I, or any other wondering
Bard of this century—
Ever create such subtle horizons—
such mystic hues?
No, Romantic as I may be,
there will be no more virile
poesy such as Keats’s
No Grecisms forever alive.

Copyright 1976 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman 

 

Wednesday, April 1, 2015

"Silhouette"

reflecting on glossy screen
delving into the mirrored universe
holding onto reality through voyeurism
crawling through a web in search of  just-the-right-word
looking through the window-or
stepping through the doorway
choosing motion over inertia
fearing stillness’s unbearable pain
losing myself within eternal bytes
entrapping my soul within the glass

Copyright 2010 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

Tuesday, March 31, 2015

"Flirt"

A crowded room
            conversations spilling out
                        along with cleavage
Eyes meet
            smoldering glances from afar
                        lashes lowered as blush spreads
Tongue tickles upturned lips
            in sensuous play
                        bottom lip captured in a pout
Maneuver clockwise
            lean closer
                        breath a whispered touch
Here and gone
            like smoke
                        before the fire

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

Monday, March 30, 2015

"Mother's Clone"


cradled gently in her arms   
Mother bends her head close to Child   
her finger feathers the pure smooth cheek     
her hair becomes a sheltering shield   
protecting them from prying eyes   
in syncopation Mother and Child breathe   
one without the womb   

Mother’s eyes mist as Child’s hair darkens   
her mouth becomes a rigid line     
when bluish eyes turn brown   
her voice takes on ice     
when others note differences   
in syncopation Mother and Child breathe   
one without the womb   

Mother’s heart hardens   
her Child wields her wayward will   
with terrible temper tantrums   
fists and teeth and legs fighting   
struggling against Mother’s programming   
in syncopation Mother and Child breathe   
one without the womb   

desperation drives Mother’s dissatisfaction   
she tethers Child with demands   
her fears feed phobias and fictional afflictions   
her disappointment distorts her love   
her rejection rips through Child   
in syncopation Mother and Child breathe   
one without the womb


Mother and Child stab and wound   
pushing and pulling in tangled bindings   
never severing the umbilical cord   
they dance in macabre madness   
enmeshed and ensnared within their love-hate trap   
in syncopation Mother and Child breathe   
one without the womb

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman