Tuesday, January 13, 2026
"New Dark Age"
Thursday, March 6, 2025
"Voiceless"
Scorching the world with its acid touch.
I brush it aside and wipe away my fears.
I ignore the destruction; I pretend too much.
Forcing my mind to heave then implode.
I turn away from petty love; jealous hate.
Fighting against my resurgent need to explode.
Eroding our lives, our will to live.
“Preserve Wall Street, Big Business, and the Nation!”
Forgetting we need Mother Earth to survive.
Why did I passively shrug and sigh?
The future is now, and it’s melting away.
Our precious planet, once so vibrant, now dies.
Thursday, June 27, 2024
"Under Construction"
An engineering feat
Endless miles of concrete
Tower in expectation
Growth, growth, growth, growth, growth
Tons of debris dumped behind screens of decency
Profit and progress mangled and molded into prophecy
More is only more
Underneath everything rises the desperate stench of fear
Too much, too little, too late to matter
Under night’s protection push onward and upward
Pretending sustainability is wrapped into the core
Change is good
Until it isn’t
Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
Saturday, May 25, 2024
“Too Hot”
For the last couple
of years, we’ve headed to our cabin in Leakey during the longer Memorial Day
weekend as a way to celebrate our anniversary a week late. Our plans to go this
weekend stopped dead with the weather report for an entire hunk of Texas—HEAT ADVISORY!
Heading into the
hills with the goal of hiking, weed-eating the overgrown grassy areas
surrounding the small building, and collecting rocks and shoveling gravel to
bring back home for landscaping doesn’t appeal to me at all with temperatures
sweltering between 108°-111°.
In 2022, a severe
hail storm battered our cabin during this same weekend! We “saved” our Bronco
with every cushion and quilt in the building. We’d never experienced such a
severe storm in Leakey in May.
So for today, we’ll spend inside on Arrakis, binging on both parts of Dune.
Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
Tuesday, May 2, 2023
"Voiceless"
![]() |
Rain burning on my cheeks like hot angry tears,
Scorching the world with its acid touch.
I brush it aside and wipe away my fears.
I ignore the destruction; I pretend too much.
Forcing my mind to heave then implode.
I turn away from petty love; jealous hate.
Fighting against my resurgent need to explode.
Eroding our lives, our will to live.
“Preserve Wall Street, Big Business, and the Nation!”
Forgetting we need Mother Earth to survive.
Why did I passively shrug and sigh?
The future is now, and it’s melting away.
Our precious planet, once so vibrant, now dies.
Friday, March 10, 2023
"Progress"
Copyright 1975 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
Saturday, February 25, 2023
"Future"
Tuesday, January 31, 2023
“Frozen in Place”
Today’s freezing
forecast for San Antonio reminds me of other January mornings when the city stopped
because of ice or snow. Conditions that northerners barely register grind those
of us in Central Texas to a standstill. The equipment to clear bridges and
roads of ice or snow can hit many overpasses, but not enough to make driving
safe.
The current promise
of flurries and ice makes me appreciate my retirement. The local news station
reports ice on overpasses with freezing rain and drizzle on the highways right
outside my door. My husband appreciates that instead of trekking across town for
his drive pre-pandemic drive, he rolls from his warm bed to his computer.
Remote work doesn’t stop for bad weather.
A few miles north of
me, the bridges and roads slick with a wintry mix. Being frozen in place hasn’t
become a January tradition yet, but the once rare event comes more frequently with
the impact of climate change to our area.
Copyright 2023 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
![]() |
| January 13, 1985 |
Monday, April 8, 2019
"New Dark Age"
Thursday, March 28, 2019
"Reproduction Rant"
Friday, September 20, 2013
"My Obsession"
nor fists of lightning pounding the heavens.
To nurture.
Scarce and valuable,
this liqueur makes me giddy.
Sheltering my lens,
I dodge under the trees.
My determined heart longing,
longing to capture
to record
to preserve this memory.
Copyright 2013 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman








