"Mind Set"

  

Mind set   

upon happiness   

delighting in summer rain   

a quiet day   

or numbers adding up   

a gooey piece of cheese pizza   

soothing wine   

or a crazy dance of joy   

or following a rainbow   

Mind set   

upon contentment   

a long, lazy nap   

a canopy of green leaves   

or a perfect rose   

starlit nights of lovemaking   

or a song carried on the wind   

the passion of our love   

or a single, simple promise   

Mind set   

Copyright 2012 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Beyond Grumpiness"

 

Caregivers know how easy it is to get exhausted

           Yesterday, I dumped grumpiness in the dirt and spiraled into pure unadulterated bitch. Lack of sleep over the last few nights culminated in fatigue wrought crankiness that spewed out in tone of voice and body language. My attitude, to put it bluntly, sucked—all day. This irritability devoured my usual grin, replacing it with a smirk of derision and intolerance for barking dogs, barfing cats, and demanding mothers.

           Yesterday, I snapped and snarled like a harpy. I rolled my eyes at every request. I slumped, slunk, and dragged my way to and from the laundry room, kitchen, bathroom . . . any room that demanded my attention. I yanked wet clothes out of the washer, wrestled them into the dryer, and then wadded them into the laundry baskets instead of neatly folding each item. I slung dress shirts onto the top of the machine in the hope that they will miraculously hang themselves. I refused to enter the room in fear that the pile would taunt me and tumble my mood into an abyss.

           Yesterday, I grumbled and groaned each time the phone rang with a wrong number or a sales pitch. I bit my tongue when I found out a guitar I ordered hadn’t shipped out as promised. I wrapped myself in a blanket of funk and poured myself a huge cup of pity. I sat alone, gulping down every last drop in petulant perversity.

           But . . . today shines bright and sings true!

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"You're Not What I Want"

You strut into my life, mirrors for your eyes.   

Bragging on your style and worth, all to cover lies.   

          You demand worship, attention thrown your way.   

          Staging life’s events, you’re an actor in a play.   

                    You’re not what I want, so I’m stepping away.   

                     You’re not what I want, so I’m leaving you today.

  

You take and take cruelly, all that I can give.   

Draining all my love from me, just so you can live.   

          You see no one else, feed only your dark needs.   

          Ignoring all the hearts you break with your selfish deeds.   
                     You're not what I want, so I'm stepping away.   
                     You're not what I want, so I'm leaving you today.   

You expect to hold the world’s blind devotion.   

Feigning love and care, your spirit lacks emotion.   

          You think I should thankfully kneel at your feet.   

          Allowing the abusive cycle to repeat.   

                     You’re not what I want, so I’m stepping away.   

                     You’re not what I want, so I’m leaving you today.   

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Tone of Voice”

I’m okay, fine   

she whispers without eye contact   

I’ve got it handled   

Don’t worry   

He misses the hollowness of her words   

overlooks her subtle cues—   

her Woman Speak   

She tucks her feet onto the couch,   

pulls herself into a tight ball under a red throw   

stares at the television without seeing   

sighing deeply    

Oblivious, he flips the channel     

to his station   

assuming—   

all’s right   

content to listen to her words   

instead of her tone of voice   

Her annoyance and sadness battle across her features   

surreptitiously, she wipes her silent tears   

waits for him to notice her heaviness   

His attention rivets on the game   

its motion mesmerizes him   

takes him away and isolates her   

She grabs hold of anger over sorrow   

indignation throws her off the couch   

propels her into their bedroom   

fuels the door slam   

He sits with bewilderment   

lost     

Cautiously, he approaches the closed door   

tentatively tapping   

Can I do something?   

No. I’m okay, fine     

I’ve got it handled   

Don’t worry   

He opens the door anyway   

pulls her into his arms   

In tenderness, he wipes the tears from her face   

We’ll handle it   

he soothes and reassures with understanding   

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman