"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.
 
The dank humid air burns me under its weight,
Forcing my mind to heave then implode.
I turn away from petty love; jealous hate.
Fighting against my resurgent need to explode.
 
The Conservative move against conservation
Eroding our lives, our will to live.
“Preserve Wall Street, Big Business, and the Nation!”
Forgetting we need Mother Earth to survive.

Where was my voice when those decisions were made?
Why did I passively shrug and sigh?
The future is now, and it’s melting away.
Our precious planet, once so vibrant, now dies.
 
Copyright 1995 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
 

"Butterflies and Hummingbirds"

 

 

 

Camera

weighing heavily in hand

 longing for the perfect shot

yearning to capture a butterfly

floating delicately on a flower

holding breath to capture the hummingbird’s faerie flight

balancing luck and patience

focusing life’s lens  

Copyright 2023 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

 

 

 

"Something to Prove"

  

unnatural competition
sibling rivalries created and nurtured
by narcissistic manipulations
the alcoholic mother and enabling father
doling out love to the winners
the challenge evolves
 to plastic wives and drunken children
awards for misogyny and adultery
applause for cheats
 and deceits
victory gained
by zealous clannish unity
that punishes the different drummer
with ostracism and disdain
darkness shadows each generation
with something to prove

 

Copyright 2022 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman  

"Plans and More Plans"

  

overthinking
list making
best case scenarios
worst possible tragedies imagined
journaling predictions for infinite tomorrows
fluctuating daily between certainty and self-doubt
juggling multiple dependent  lives with limited reserves
 
nurturing
visions dreamt
viewpoints expanded outward
selflessly sheltering the weakest
returning to ritual’s comforting grace
strengthening spirit by dancing with fire
embracing obligations with the tenacity of hope

 

Copyright 2022 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

 

 

 

"Isolation Response"

 

            I woke up in the middle of the night with a slight headache and a matching echo of discomfort in my throat. Nothing bad–something I would’ve ignored in the past. With mental sirens sounding loudly, my new response went into hyper speed. Opening the medicine cabinet, I grabbed Mucinex DM and quickly downed a tablet. Scooping up a new box of Vicks and my thermometer I headed to the family room to set up a sleeping area that removed me from the rest of our household. I returned to the bathroom long enough to spray surfaces with Lysol. With my warmest robe and pillows snuck from the bed, I shifted quietly into the other room. In the darkness, I snuck into the kitchen to add to my disinfectant arsenal: more Lysol spray and hand sanitizer. I grabbed a new mask and added two bottles of water, placing everything on the table next to the couch.

            I fell back asleep easily, but upon waking I realized that our household, like many others, no longer can ignore a nighttime onset of a stuffed nose or slight fever. With both the flu and COVID on the rise, symptoms I ignored in the past become warnings to medicate and isolate as soon as possible. I woke up before dawn and found that a normal temperature raised my spirits. The slight headache and sore throat remained as a shadow of the night before. I drank a bottle of water and settled back into sleep.

            For the rest of the day, I wore a mask around my family when they came in to the room. I stayed snoozing on the couch watching disaster movies. I took a second dose of medication even though my symptoms were gone. Waking up this morning with my usual energy level, I’m thankful that whatever ailed me passed within a few hours once a tablet hit my system.

 

Copyright 2025 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman