"Defense Mechanisms"

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

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

“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

 

             

 

 

“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

           

 

 

"Ghost"

Time pauses   

            when I dream of you   

                        Reversing—   

                                    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   

                       again   

                                    looking up into your deep brown eyes   

            You swing me up   

                        high onto your shoulders   

            I pat your chin—rough, unshaven   

                        Suddenly   

                                    We stand in my front yard   

                                                hugging goodbyes   

                                                promising another visit   

            Plans cancelled by death   

Time pauses   

            when I dream of you   

                        Reversing—   

                                    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   

                        again  

                                    looking into your deep brown eyes    

            You vanish   

                        leaving me sorrowful   

            Regretting silly squabbles   

                        Suddenly   

                                    I stand alone   

                                                searching for you     

                                                listening for your essence   

            Knowing you are gone forever  

May 1999