"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

"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 

 

"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

"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

"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