Saturday, April 18, 2015


 I lay prone        
            nose to mother earth        
                        a worshipper submitting        
                                    passion and passiveness          
                                          flowing into her with each drop of rain 


I roll       
            onto my back      
                              opening up       
                                 matching my heartbeat to the sky’s percussion

 I sit       
          offering my face          
                        to wind and rain        
                                    drops melt my sorrows away        
                                            purifying me with the holiest of waters   

I stand        
            with arms outstretched        
                        conducting lightning like a symphony        
                                    waves and waves roll over me        
                                               cleansing me of life’s dust and debris  

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman   

Friday, April 17, 2015

"Rain Dance"

rain dancing on a hot July evening       
just before sunset the sky opened       
tinsel streaks sparkling       
we dashed outside with devilish grins        
heads thrown back in supplication       
arms akimbo       
knees bent like chickens’ legs      
an ancient dance of guffaws and belly laughs        
twirling in the rain with mouths open     
hearts wide       

Copyright 1999 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

Thursday, April 16, 2015

"You're Not the Boss of Me!"

eyes flashing   
heart pounding   
little foot stamping firmly on the ground   
a whirlwind     
a furious tornado destroying her small world   
fingers gripping and yanking  
popping and catapulting the doll’s head   
clutching the decapitated body to her chest   
a ruined toy    
bottom lip quivering   
eyes brimming and overflowing   
words sobbing   
“You aren’t the boss of me!”   
a bundle of frustration against boundaries    
two-year-old temper tantrums     
expected and accepted   
at twenty-one  
a ruined life     
pouting lips twist with disdain      
defiant words ring with desperation  
a demand of attention and love  
from a soul contemptuous of compassion 
from a heart spoiled and rotting   

 Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

Wednesday, April 15, 2015

"Middle Child"

Middle child
between curly hair with doe brown eyes
and an only son
one five years ahead, the other five behind
imitating the elder while
lingering in childhood with the younger
envying her poised elegance and
longing for his sweet innocence

Middle child   
between worldliness and naiveté   
flanked by her play for independence 
and his everlasting childhood    
expecting more from myself  
learning by her mistakes 
benefiting when parents learn  
it’s something kids just do  

Middle child   
between reserved solitude
and gentle attachment 
becoming reliable and resilient  
out of necessity and then habit  
passing white glove inspections    
knitting and purling the blanket of family 
needing its comforting warmth   

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

Tuesday, April 14, 2015


If they hurt you by their thoughtlessness
            Don’t forgive
If they forget to say, “We care”
            Don’t excuse
If they break all of their promises
            Don’t condone
If they make you feel guilty
            Don’t endure
If they place the blame on you
            Don’t accept
If they make demands upon you
            Don’t embrace
If they break your heart
            Walk away

Copyright 1995 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman


Monday, April 13, 2015

"Funhouse Mirrors"

Look into the eyes     
vacant sockets   
hollowed by decadence      
and despair   
distortions of reality   
rippled and waved by experiences   
your view, my view     
righteous and indignant   
warped by conspiracy   

Look at the smile  
deceitful daggers  
grotesque with innuendo   
and disbelief    
twists of faith   
buckled and bent by interpretations   
your view, my view   
dishonorable and  corrupt   
perverted by unknowns  

Look for the Truth   
barren words  
spoken through slanders     
and mystique  
sleight of hand   
molded and modified by consequences  
your view, my view  
devout and extreme   
destroyed by secrecy   

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman