"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

"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

"Defense Mechanisms"

David Chapman-artist

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

"Our Red Oak"

Spring 2013

When we bought our house, an annoying Chinaberry Tree arched over the driveway, dripping its sap and dropping toxic berries every year over anything under its branches. The original homeowner didn’t realize the tree rested right above the house’s plumbing, and it didn’t take long for the roots to invade our pipes. The budget hit convinced us that whatever tree we planted in the front yard, it would reside a safe distance from causing damage to anything buried beneath the ground. 

Two families in our neighborhood planted rows of matching trees one spring with the idea that eventually the branches would form a arc over the separating road. The second year, once the leaves turned a brilliant red, we knew they planted Red Oaks. A year of two later, the neighbor on the corner of our street also planted two Red Oaks. We appreciated their bright leaves every fall and winter. 

When it came time to plant a new tree in our front yard, we didn’t think twice about adding another Red Oak to our street. Our tree, once small and unassuming, now umbrellas over the entire yard. I haven’t taken time to study why some years the trees leaves turn deep, blood red while other years a brown undertone dominate the color. I do know that I watch carefully for the first sign of red. Over the last couple of years, I’ve first caught the change with my iPhone camera as it’s alway nearby. I also make certain to bring out my better camera and lenses to capture the beauty as it flames. 

I thought it would be fun to look at all of those photographs, from that first year the small tree cast only a little shade over the yard to this year’s splendor. Searching through old photo-files brought contentment to me. Documenting such a simple treasure each year lets me appreciate the roots we’ve planted in this spot. 

Spring 2014

First "really red" 2014

Spring 2015

Brown fall 2015

Brilliant red Dec. 2019

January 2023

Dec. 2023

Fall 2024

Dec. 2025

December 2025

Copyright Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Afraid to Sleep”

My new nighttime routine shifted a few months ago into finding something on television that lulls my worried brain into falling asleep with ease. Old childhood shows, familiar in their characters and simple themes, settled into background sounds. Most nights, I drift off before the opening titles play across the screen. Some nights, an episode had me laughing right as I’d drift off. 

This determination to find something innocuous at bedtime wove into my life as the anxiety of waking up torments me. When the alarm sounds now, I think “What nightmare happened while I slept.” 

I could sit and write endlessly of the abuses occurring at this moment by this regime, but I posted the Project 2025 document daily for weeks and warned about the brutality of its goals. I heard rationalizations from the people I warned that I just didn’t like Trump. To be frank, a narcissistic sociopath in charge of any country should disturb any reasonable and intelligent person. The cult of Trump, though, embraces his corruption and destruction.

For me, waking up each morning reveals another level of the cult’s inhumanity. I shot out a post on Facebook recently, asking for people who voted for this man to PM me if they now regret their vote. I also stated that if they still believe in this administration to leave me out of their lives.   

Not a single person contacted me to say they regret their vote. Silence. 

It took me until this week to realize that some of the cult members didn’t bother to send their usual holiday greetings via mail, email, or text. I think they feel righteous in cutting me out of their lives as I gave them my permission to leave me alone. 

As we enter this year, we hit the anniversary of the Insurrection of January 6th. At least I won’t have to hear these disciples sing his praise. My faith in so many people, both friends and family, has been battered and broken since that day. 

If the world “rights itself” after this interlude with hell, will I still be afraid to go to sleep in dread of what mornings will bring? The main lesson I’ve learned over the last few years is that many people hide their cruelty and hatred under patriotism and religion. They won’t change. This is who they’ve always been. It is who they will alway be. They are the Bogeyman.

Copyright 2026 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman