"Death"

She silently slipped into my room

            bringing night’s enveloping velvet blackness

                        in her sunken eyes and raven hair

Her hands reached out for mine

            coaxing me to dance with her

                        along that icy rim of eternity

My head felt heavy upon my pillow

            My arms and legs merged into my bed

                        immobile and leaden

Her breath poisoned the air

            seeping into my lungs with molten heat

                        chilling my blood into a sluggish, frozen river

I turned my eyes away

            staring fixedly into myself

                        Yet she was there

                        Empty and hollow

                        a void—nothing

            and I moved toward her

            even as I moved away

she whispered words I could not hear

            and yet I did her bidding

sobbing for days

            Until my eyes ached red and dry

            and my heart bled into

                        itself

            wracking my body with unreal pain

                        no one but she understood

I fought to escape

            turning to flee

                        with nowhere to go

She stood before me, beside me, behind me

                        within me

Then I heard

            faint and distant

                        a trill of laughter

                                    bubbling and rippling through the starless night

            an intermingling of voices

                        high and low—calling my name

                                    giving me direction

                                                away, away

I pulled myself away from her deathly dance

            Yanked myself out of her clutching grasp

                        moved toward the golden sounds

                                    of love and light

She followed me

            she stayed with me

                        now and forever

I sense her presence

know the sound of her footfall

            instinctively sniff the air for her scent

                        careful and cautious

She still wants me

            her pull and determination both suck me into her orbit

                        and repel me with horror

            But those voices of laughter

                        with the eyes of sunlight

                                    and smiling mouths of delight

                        carry a stronger current

They always rescue me

Take me where she cannot reach me

            protect me for a little while

                         . . . love me

Copyright 1999 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Haiku Experiment"

The Experiment

distilling daily dreams—thoughts

one drop at a time

July 4

Morning view outside

velvet red upon green stalks

symmetrical rose

July 4

Daily poetry

huge mountains of words to climb

an endless challenge

July 13

Twelve days of poems

forcing creativity

through the sieve of words

July 14

Impatience is gone

vanishing within a smile

the mood shifts again

July 23

Happiness and joy

are acorns planted in fall

and rooted in time

July 27

The poetry helps

by healing my tattered soul

bandaging worries

August 2

Plunge into a book

evade all-consuming thoughts

escape tomorrow

August 3

 Night’s muffled sighs sound

distant humming of autos

gentle songs of sleep

August 5

Today’s words are forced

curbed and restrained emotions

cotton wraps my mind

August 8

Retreat into sleep

play out other worlds and lives

leave yourself behind

August 8

Hold onto sunshine

gently cup it in your hands

optimistic thoughts

August 16

Sleepy Saturday

singing soft lullabies

snoozing silently

September 11

Copyright 1999 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

For a six month period in 1999, I challenged myself to make my journal entries through some form of poetry. Often, the day's events seemed best expressed through haiku. These are just a few entries from my experiment.

"Eight"

8

Eight

            Look at the word

                        How do you say this word anyway?

                                    Look at the number—

                                                8

                                           8

A Mobius strip

            Unending

Two circles stacked

            One

            on

            top

            of

            the

            other

A number of depth

            Purple rooms

            Playing poker

                        Growing

                                    lectures

                                    radishes

                                    corn

                                    up

“Mom, why can’t Paula take me swimming?”

            Life

                        in full color

                                    first fetal photos

                                                explained in one afternoon

Eight

            With Uncle Red

                        and root beer

            And collections

                        of dogs

                        of teapots

                        of memories

Layers of happiness

            enfolded in blood

Dad’s cheerful letters

            from a distant war

                        News flashes

                                    Bombs

                                                Destruction

            Charlie’s lip

                        torn away

a bloody hand print on my thigh

                                                8

                        unending

                        Wrapping back onto itself

                                    joy and fear entwined

Copyright 1994 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Future"

            

            We walk through nightmares of the past,

living an existence of future fears.

            Desperately struggling among the mountainous

crags of pre-fabricated foods and chemically made beer cans,

our test tube babies weep with bitter need,

as automated mothers

rock rhythmically back and forth.

            No one saw today as it was to be.

            We run through our own living hell,

Never feeling, desiring, or loving.

            Mirrors are no longer needed,

nor are youthful photographs taken—

for images of ourselves are seen scrambling

among the barren garbage dumps

searching for rustic vestiges of yesterday—

an identity.

            No one saw today as it was to be.

            We trudge through old decaying minds,

trying to forget our own impotence.

            Whimpering trepidations never cease,

for like howling canines long starved for passion,

the souls of society disintegrated

into a pile of biological residue.

            And no one say today as it was to be.

Copyright 1975 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

Another old poem, but one that seems to apply to today's climate.

“The Rope of Love”

My hands grasp it

            rough and coarse

            prickling against my fingers

I test its strength

            tugging hard

            yanking it this way and that

Tentatively, I test my weight

            Will it bear me?

            Will it hold me up?

            Will it carry me

                        across the chasms

                        over the ridges

                        through thundering rivers?

I examine it carefully

            searching for flaws

            weaknesses in its entwined strands

Winding upon itself

            enwrapping my fingers

            enveloping my hand

I trust it

            swinging over the unknown

            over the pit of my insecurities

It gouges my hands

            rubs me raw and blistered

            as I swing

It bears me

            holds me

                        carries me

            even as it hurts me

I don’t let go

            and the pain lessens

            my feet touch the ground

I unwind it from my hand

            my shaking fingers

            smoothing against its heat

I untie it

            bind it loosely around me

            feel its weight

Its rough and coarse hairs

            tickle my cheek

            and I smile

                        in safety

                        in security

                        in satisfaction

Copyright 1995 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

Many of my poems originated with classroom assignments given to my students. I wrote this poem as "homework" when I instructed my students to create a poem in which rope was used as a metaphor, simile, or symbol. As a teacher of writing, I always completed the homework I assigned. First, it gave me better judgement on the difficulty of the assignment. More importantly, I always participated in the class sharing to model my own writing.

"Play the Melody Again"

Play the melody again,

softly hum the harmony

Reach out to catch the notes

of the song you sang for me.

Catch the flight of youth

gently within your warm hands

Hold together the memory

of our magic Wonderland.

                                                We belong to yesterday’s dreams

                                                of endless flights on moonbeams.

                                                Where love is meant to always be

                                                and life is as it seems.

Try, when the overture ends,

to capture the last refrain.

Tenderly recreate for us

that fragile lover’s strain.

Stroke the strings of sound

and whisper into the wind.

Take us back to that day

when the love did first begin.

                                                We belong to yesterday’s dreams

                                                of endless flights on moonbeams.

                                                Where love is meant to always be

                                                and life is as it seems.

Touch again the quiet fire

that rages within our grasp.

With lyrical wisps of rhythm

feed the embers of our past.

Play the melody again,

sing out the harmony.

Carelessly laugh and smile,

and sing our song for me.

Copyright 1977 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

Many of my poems reside within the pages of my old journals. I'm slowly going through the volumes and creating a compilation of all my poetry. "Play the Melody Again" was set to music by David Chapman and is one of my favorites.

"Thoughtful Day"

I stood alone against the sun,

a shadow of distant warmth,

feeling each  bursting molecule’s

cold flame.

I whispered my name into the wind

and it echoed through my heart;

it rippled across the silent seas

of youth.

I danced across the horizon,

walked slowly down the hill,

and sat at Priam’s palace

of old.

I wept for all lost gods

and watched the fresh spring flow

down into the whispering ocean

of hope.

I climbed the hill again,

gloried in the setting sun—

called goodbye to the day’s

loud silence.

I stood alone, I whispered,

and I danced, I wept and

then I climbed high into

the stars.


Copyright  1978 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"A Galaxy"

Spellbound

Feet rooted on rocky ground

Head tilted back

Eyes skyward 

Dizzy under the velvet

Stars evermore

Released 

Soul suspended in the sky

Spirit swirling away

Body forgotten

Honored within Nature

Stars evermore

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman