"The Act of Sorrowing"

Poulna brone Dolmen: 6000 year-old dolmen in The Burren, County Clare, Ireland     

Lamentations drift across the Burren   

echo through portals of eternity   

marking humanity’s mortality   

In the chamber, portico, and the grykes   

sleep the flesh-less bones of ancient souls who   

give testimony to adversity   

in life, deference and honor in death   

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"The Cottage"

Cottage on Inisheer, one of the Aran Islands, Ireland September 2010   

Whitewashed walls tinged rose by sunrise’s blush   

sashes—a splash of sky   

new thatch mixes with dew’s perfume   

while flowers and ferns embroider the path of home       

Door opens with smiles and cheer       

Enter!       

Enter!       

Peat banked in the hearth       

black pot nestles in amber embers simmering Guinness stew         

Lace daintily drips from the table        

—tatted by Grams’ steady hands       

Oatcakes totter on a platter       

sheep’s cheese, churned butter, honey, cream       

and tea brewed black—a midnight sky swirling with galaxies        

From the loft flows the fiddle’s enchantment        

a boy’s toe tapping, keeping the beat        

drowning out the past’s lament        

tears of yesteryear hidden in another song        

Cottage at Bunratty Castle

Share a pint   

Share a verse   

Share our life     

Welcome home!   

Welcome home.   

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

Cottage at Bunratty Castle

 During our entire trip through

 Ireland, a place I'd never visited before, I felt    as though I was returning home.

Cottage on Inisheer

"Laundry"

one pile expands in the bedroom

a second blocks the hallway’s path

a third’s stuffed into a hamper

another explodes in our bath

mutating exponentially

as every day passes by

an alien infiltration

makes all our clothing multiply

on Saturday mornings I climb

over mountainous stinky stacks

by shifting and swiftly sorting

they yield to my vicious attacks

whites swirl into boiling water

while colors churn in icy cold

then they tumble in fluffy air

once dried, each gets a tidy fold

the end of a tedious day

finds every item in its place

fatigue anchors me to the couch

where I know I’ve won the race

 . . . until next week!

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman 

"The Ride"

http://www.seattlepi.com/ The World's Steepest Roller Coaster

We stand together, our eyes fixated on the ride ahead   

The interminable line snakes before us, but we enter anyway   

Attracted by the lure of excitement and risk   

Waiting with false patience for our future,   

we sing, tell stories, people watch—   

Pushing aside insecurities and fears with jokes   

One step forward, one step forward, one step forward   

until we stand at the gateway   

We feel the ground tremor, hear the hiss of breaks   

Too late to turn back now, too late for second thoughts   

The harness clamps us into space   

bare feet dangle, trying to find purchase in the sky   

We trust technology,   

shove aside panic; focus upon anticipation and thrill   

Velocity throws us headlong     

We twist, turn—upside down, sideways, backwards   

Screams and laughter bend with the momentum   

Our muscles constrict in tension   

Our stomachs slide into our throats   

Our heads explode with pressure   

But there’s no getting off this ride   

We have to see it through   

Eyes clenched tightly closed while fingers grip the bars   

we survive the first onslaught and prepare for the second   

Uncontrollable laughter bubbles out—   

floats on the manufactured winds of speed   

Peaking eyes open, we see the end is near   

Triumph whoops   

Fists punch air   

Teasing each other over our doubts,   

we regain footing on the platform   

where we dance with victory,    

we celebrate our survival   

Overlooking headaches and nausea,   

we look for the entrance of the next ride   

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman