Poet's Dinner

2012-02-14T00:00:00.000-08:00

Remembering

2012-02-04T20:39:00.001-08:00

Sometimes I forget why I'm here.
Dark clouds set in my brain
and purpose floats away.
I get caught in the darkness,
the light in my heart flickers
and I'm afraid that's it.
But then a strangers sends me a smile
as I wait in-line for coffee.
Flame regurgitated, I feel light again
and remember everything.

Copyright © 2012 Chaya Silberstein

Man in Bottle

2012-01-16T20:59:00.001-08:00

He fell into the bottle,
man with greasy ringlets,
overgrown moss in a narrow face;
red Hawaiian shirt stretched over belly,
a can of Bud clasping his grasp
of reality.

Folded pant cuffs,
dirty scuffed
once white sneakers,
he grabbed the bottle in a moment of despair
and never let go.

Here he now moves;
not even a walk
but a floating of sort,
swept along by the crowd.

Copyright © 2012 Chaya Silberstein

Thank You

2011-12-23T12:53:00.000-08:00

Your kindness brings earth to my door
wrapped in moss, rain and gentleness.
Sunshine bear's orchids
where weeds once lay;
sunflower killers are unemployed
as joy fills me heart
and decay falls away.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Possibility

2011-12-21T22:04:00.000-08:00

Oh, you man of a million treasures
afraid of the dark sometimes.
You talk to the man who knows
and he says, "Yes and so the world goes,"
gently walking you out of the haunted house of fears;
unto the rainbow path of your own soul
containing all the good you've ever done
and all the good you have yet to do.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Wandering Hills

2011-12-02T14:24:00.000-08:00

Where have you gone, oh wandering sheep
or perhaps it's the hills that have wandered.

"The Dining-room, they moved the dining-room!"
For a person with alzheimer's, changing tablecloths, changes everything.
Francine wanders the halls searching for time evaporated.
"Will someone please tell me where I can find the dining-room?
There's a new room where the old one use to be.
I don't understand.
How will my son find me?"

Almost as bad as an overtired me walking into Bru Hause,
looking around and wondering when they changed the bar?
It took a full five-seconds to realize that I was at Q's next door,
It took a full five-seconds to realize that I was at the wrong place.

For a person with alzheimer's, it's always the wrong place.

"I bet you never imagined a place like this existed," Francine says.
"And if you try to call your family from this phone, they won't answer."

"Why won't they answer?" I ask.

"I don't know." Bewilderment searches for answers in condensed puddles.

Family, always a puzzle, now becomes impossible to solve.

You can't pop-in on them any longer,
they have to pop-in on you.
Getting around is a difficult chore,
even when you're awarded a third foot.
Possibly because you loose your third foot ALL THE TIME.

Canes, misplaced canes.

Beth: "How did you loose the cane I gave you?!
I've had it for over 15 years and never lost it."

Francine: "This is why you should never accept a gift from anyone.
You'll never hear the end of it."

"Oh Francine, go take a nap!"

Francine walks away dazed, "I can't find the dining-room and I can't find my cane.

Where have you gone, oh wandering sheep
or perhaps it's the hills that have wandered.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Happy Thanksgiving

2011-11-23T22:54:00.000-08:00

Gobble, gobble, gobble
The turkey's alive,
Head-banging drumsticks
Jiving the jive.

Baked for an hour,
He killed the power;
Popped out of the oven
And yelled, "Surprise!"

Scarin' the kitchen,
"Somethin's bewitchen'!"
Gobble, gobble, gobble
The turkey's alive.

All went hazy,
Some said crazy;
Gobble, gobble, gobble
The turkey's alive.

"I'm hungry," He said.
"And so are we,
"Mind if I have a piece
"of you please?"

Gobble, gobble, gobble
The turkey's alive,
Head-banging drumsticks
Jiving the jive.

Circles-in-circles,
We chased each other,
The people chased the turkey,
The turkey chased your mother.

Round and round we sped,
Nobody was fed
But fed-up at the turkey
that wouldn't stay dead!

Gobble, gobble, gobble
The turkey's alive,
Head-banging drumsticks
Jiving the jive.
Jiving the jive,
Jiving the jive,
Don't tell your mother
The turkey's alive.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Escape in a Cityscape

2011-11-23T22:46:00.000-08:00

I thought I saw a frog
but it was just a green meter
poking fun at my thoughts.

Craving a field,
settling for a sidewalk cafe
where sun is the friend of tabletops.

The ocean sleeps in a seashell
on the bottom of my purse;
automobile's wooshing makes music on the street.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

My Aunt Gladys

2011-11-12T22:24:00.000-08:00

Her eyes suffered power failure a month before her wedding
and seeing became a difficult chore.
Paintings were blurry and faces begged to be touched;
She was only twenty-four.

"You don't have to marry me," She told her husband to be.
"I'm marrying you," he said. "It could be worse, it could be me."

Seashore, Winter, March of Time;
her poetry sits in an album of pressed flowers,
delighting ears who hear;
she knows most by heart,
she turns eight-six this year.

Self-made sculptures line her shelves,
the organ plays her hands and feet,
even when life gets her down,
she never ever skips a beat.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Silk Stockings Shortage

2011-11-08T22:27:00.001-08:00

Perched on death's door,
waiting for his kiss
like a lover from the past,
a solider back from war;
we celebrated in Time's Square with painted stockings.
This was the 40's you see and life in New York was no crime;
all killings lay in the battlefield
and focused soldiers came back broken
when sweethearts sat under the apple tree
with another man.

The butcher wouldn't sell me meat,
"A troublemaker," they said
for I rallied the girls to refuse goods sold behind the counter;
black-market, black-market, black-market.
So the girls bought me meat and mixed it
with oatmeal to stretch a few meals
or two.

These were the happiest times of our lives;
we had nothing but we had everything.
Unity defined us;
the enemy was bigger
and song was better
and stockings melted in the rain.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Fragile

2011-11-01T01:37:00.001-07:00

Don't rattle the china doll's cage,
you curmudgeon!
A sledge hammer temper is not sage
when dealing with matters of glass
hosting china's prettiest lass,
fresher than a saucer.

Timeless loveliness,
positioned eternally
in singing stance,
caught mid-dance,
hands reaching towards you.

She hasn't aged an ounce
since you first captured
a pretty pose
in back of a garage's neglect;
you stretched your pocket
and snatched her.

She didn't cry or beg or even stir,
caught up in her dance,
she barely noticed you, sir.

So don't rattle her cage, you curmudgeon
or age will finally take what you took
and no more will you look
upon a face
that stole your soul.

You hunched gatherer of smithereens.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Grandma Hazelnut

2011-10-27T22:16:00.000-07:00

I should've invited Grandma Hazelnut in for tea
but realized too late
as I rushed indoors
to answer a text
and rescue almost burnt toast
that I forgot about anyway
as I wrangled with words
about rug-like bare chests,
"Ewe!"

Moments earlier,
Grandma Hazelnut popped-out of the dark,
right outside the laundry room and said,
"I'm hiding, I can't go inside, they're fighting. SHE's fighting with my son!"

Oh, a mother-in-law's woes.
Three generation's in a house is one generation too many.

"SHE doesn't do anything! Doesn't work, doesn't cook, doesn't clean
and everyday sleeps twenty-two hours."

Twenty-two hours, oh twenty-two hours,
the wrath poured on a daughter-in-law that sleeps twenty-two hours.

"But that's why I'm not listening," Grandma Hazelnut said covering her ears,
"That's why I'm hiding outside."

All pretty in pink, happy Diwali,
not so happy for Grandma Hazelnut.
I should've invited her in for tea,
but instead gave her a hug.
I watched her forlornly walk away
and tap on a neighbor's door.

I should've invited her in for tea
but only thought about it, once I bit into burnt toast.
I opened my door to beacon her in,
but Grandma Hazelnut was gone.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Box Creatures

2011-10-24T21:10:00.000-07:00

He came here with a cardboard box and declared his love for me;
A chance meeting on Venice Beach as sun sank into sea.
"Perhaps we'll meet again," he says as duct-tape seals his box
Containing a bicycle, clothing and socks.
Flying amongst Louis Vuitton carting people,
His box mocks them heartily like the wind mocks a steeple.
Back to his life, he takes to the sky,
Tucked safely in baggage, his box whispers, "Goodbye."
To the girl who once lived in a box and now frequents the sky;
Box creatures meet and then whisper, "Goodbye."

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Do I Dare

2011-10-23T00:39:00.000-07:00

I dare not chance the meeting of hearts;
scattered bullets in a field of lame soldiers
thirsting for the river's touch,
leaning over departed friends
biting back tears.

I dare not chance that thing called happiness
buried under a beggar's staff
on a lonely road without a friend,
somewhere there
you gladden at the things you have.

I dare not chance this thing called life
where effort is as effort does;
a slip of a smile, a bullet, a coin,
holding on when all seems naught.

I dare not, dare not
because I dare
to tip the glass half-empty, they say
I dare not, dare not
because I dare
to replace the half-full glass
on the table of life
and drink heartily.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

A Child's Bunker

2011-10-17T14:18:00.000-07:00

Barricading myself on the top bunk with greeting card friends,
we travel to the country and go swimming.
Beautiful, sleek, rich;
my friends live in two-story homes
with cousins galore.
We bounce-down plush carpeted stairs
and eat candy till belly aches ring
but oh, how happy we are in our own gluttony.

Then, bombs explode:
"You lazy-good-for-nothing, we need help with groceries!"
Real people invade my bunker and usher me out.
My friends hide under the pillow
and I go to face the world;
lugging groceries up four-flights of stairs.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

One Day, One Day

2011-10-16T14:59:00.000-07:00

She said she wanted to change who she was
so she went away
and immersed herself in things
she knew nothing about.
Change welcomed her
and glad was she to climb the hill
of fate paved and cemented and easy to dance upon;
cobblestone, cobblestone,
she skipped along
right off the edge of the world
where pavement ended
and no story yet was told.
"Where are my pencils?" She cried.
"I must draw my future! Do I dare draw my future? How do I even begin?"
So she skipped along into oblivion,
trapped by the "can" and "cannot" of how things work
and declared herself on permanent vacation.

She said she wanted to change the world;
embrace it in her bosom of inner knowledge
and share secrets whispered to her
by trees, ladybugs, deceased beings,
gods, villains, the man begging for change (both kinds);
but she was wary and her throat hurt
and speech rendered her into a frog,
so she sat on her window-ledge
looking-out;
drinking ginger-tea with honey,
convincing passerby's with her eyes:
one day, one day.

One day, one day,
when is this day that she'll grab a pencil by the throat
and force tales into being;
a world into self
a self into world?
When will she say, blindness is okay,
I'll make my way through it, using my own weapons
my own stories, my own self?
A canine can destroy or lead a blind person safely across the street.
Monsters can self-destruct or be used to created worlds never imagined
by anyone else but she.

One day, one day.

She throws her tea to the ground,
stomps on lemongrass and cloves;
digs deep into her purse
and withdraws a worried pencil;
conjuring images and tales from inner landscapes
and outer lands,
she stops looking for the map of answers
and withdraws it from herself.
On the page of time
new roads begin to form.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Life in the Now

2011-10-16T04:34:00.000-07:00

Letting go of yesterday,
today is all you got,
a smile in a paper bag
lest it be forgot,
it doesn't matter who you were or what you did
but who you are and what you do
in situations good or bad,
the reaction's always up to you.

Live for today,
let yesterday fade away;
"Once upon a time" is as good a tale as any.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Burnt by the Sun

2011-10-15T14:53:00.000-07:00

"What do you have in the bag?"
"A pig, I killed it."

Traveling through inner landscapes of sorrow,
the sun pays a visit to melt my worries.
I serve him tea and we drink five cups each.
By the time he leaves, my soul feels better but my face burns.
A deep red hue greets me in the mirror.
To alleviate the pain, I dip my face in mud
and there I meet a pig groveling.
He creeps up to my heart and tries to grab sunshine
but nope, no siree, it's mine.
Claws emerge and snap, snap, snap;
into the bag he goes.
I carry it around with me wherever I go;
a prized trophy,
a feast perhaps later,
a reward for being burnt by the sun.

Poem and Image, Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Word Squabble

2011-10-13T15:36:00.000-07:00

Words sigh on the page,
"We want to go big," they say,
"Big! Big! Big!"

"Have patients," I say.
"Everything starts as a seed, a teeny tiny seed."

"Big." They say, "Big."

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Gotta Keep Going

2011-10-11T18:20:00.000-07:00

Uninspired love
is like instant coffee
after falling out of bed,
the night before.

"We thought you died," they said
when thump, thump, thump
you bumped your head.

Flying on the handlebars of life.

Eventually you find the ocean
and a tiny woman with a dinky pot of coffee
brews a fresh cup.

You sip it on a dolphin rock.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Dangerous Dreaming

2011-10-11T18:09:00.000-07:00

Living the past,
chasing the future;
a dangerous dream
almost as bad as a cigarette.
Stuck in a parking garage
without sight of an exit,
mad love keeps rolling.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Trust

2011-10-11T17:59:00.000-07:00

He stands at the edge of the world and sighs.
How can the prophesy be right when all appears barren and gray?
He dare not move lest emptiness collects his tattered being.

She watches from grey matter of nothingness
and springs into action;
straight into his heart.

Suddenly, without reason, his being fills with joy
boundless colorful joy,
the void now sparkles.
Trusting, he leaps forward,
and surprisingly does not fall.
Mountains rise before him,
previously hidden by what he now sees is fog.
He moves forward with
a giant grin inside his soul;
this is just the beginning.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Fighting Back

2011-10-04T00:13:00.000-07:00

I left with a broken heart
yet spirit intact,
I healed while
demons slept.
But now I'm back
to almost before
and demons have been woken.
They growl and grimace
and catapult slurs.
I shrink from their rage
yet I don't falter,
I don't fall,
though smaller in size
I stand up tall.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Learning Curve

2011-10-02T00:29:00.000-07:00

We all know that eventually things falls apart
but hope it's not now;
at least not this lifetime.

How fragile is the chair
with green foam poking out of cushions.
How fragile is the ego
on a mountainous learning curve.

"Welcome to life,"
the signs say.
You sigh
as you plod along on your donkey,
wishing for a horse.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Disappointment

2011-09-23T01:08:00.000-07:00

You thought you'd walk through the door this time
but drafty winds beat you by a millisecond
and sailed through;
slamming the door,
shutting you out,
rattling minds waiting inside for genius.

Outside, you noticed a structure with burnt out floors and windows
and wondered what was truly inside.

Mad ideas floated through your thoughts as failure
but donkeys pull carts over moonlight
and stars rise faster than they fall.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Sock Monster

2011-09-16T12:32:00.000-07:00

Fate awaits at the bottom of a washer tube
with all the missing socks
and you know the moment is here.

Everything lost and mourned,
collected in a heap of mysterious findings.

What led you to the basement?

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Leaving Town

2011-09-13T13:18:00.000-07:00

As I exit the stage,
flowers are tossed above heads,
hurrahs are issued to wake the dead
and then it's blackout.

In a city across the coast,
promises to call are forgotten
on a darkened stage
where only memories reside;
a silhouette shrinking past the
everyday rhythm of here and now.

Even in a YouTube-Facebook age,
cellphones, e-mail, overnight Fed-Ex;
a blackout's a blackout.

I'd like to exist forever in spaces once shared
but alas,
gone is gone.
Time won't freeze,
catch-up is just catch-up.

Without a hug,
a physical presence,
can a relationship survive?

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

9-11 Remembrance

2011-09-11T13:44:00.000-07:00

Hopping pavement
hoping to arrive on time
but minutes lost between sheets of sleep
counting sheep the night before.

Arriving at Chambers Street/ World Trade Center
a woman scurries into the subway car
and squeaks through holes of air,
"I wasn't gonna stick around to see what happened; a plane hit the towers."
We give her the cockeyed and close our ears to crazy.
But a few stations later truth is concrete as concrete pavement.
Soho employees huddle in bright morning light
watching towers disappear into black smoke.
A city on fire, war in the air, my first thoughts turn to family.
What if fire cuts my access to Brooklyn?
What if fire cuts my access to home?

Like the Berlin Wall
dividing a city in midst of the night,
families separated forever;
this history lessons haunts my mind.

First call Dad, in a 59th street office building. "Look out the window," I say.
Next call mom.
Cellphones dead, waiting in line for the company phone.
All employees dismissed.
Go home they say, home.

Home. Need to get home. Trains dead, need to get home.
Walk, walk with all the people, walk walk across the Williamsburg bridge.
Sun bright, black smoke rising behind us,
an evil serpent eating our island.
Run, run
running in platform flip-flops, walking too slow to process Manhattan burning
burning.
Burning with rage and incomprehension, people in mass exodus
running.
Off the bridge, back in Brooklyn, we pile into busses.
A woman with soot covered legs says the burning building
was her workplace but she was late that day;
late.
Went to bring flowers to her friend in the hospital
and cursed traffic for being slow.
But traffic and a kind deed saved her life that day.
It saved many lives. Late, simply being late.

Home finally home. Family intact. Watching towers burn on TV.
Over and over again.

Finding solitude in the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens.
Sitting with fish; the peaceful fish.
Overlooked by the night-guard. Locked-in.
"Not a bad place to spend the night," A woman remarks
as I climb over the gate.
Free, glad to be alive;
family intact.

A city burning,
fallen heros mourned,
no words of consolation possible
but gratitude to those who gave lives to save lives.

Listening to the stories;
repeating them to fish,
repeating them to strangers,
repeating them to whoever will listen.
Remembering, always remembering.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

"Forget Me Not"

2011-09-11T12:14:00.000-07:00

love
forgotten people
with a
hug

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

GG

2011-09-06T18:33:00.000-07:00

I loved him before he was a ghost that visited every year
and reminded us to share smiles with the less-haves.
I loved him before he kicked the platform and embraced the third rail,
spooking the faces glued to tin box windows;
screeching, halting, dissolving into sparks.

I loved him when I first looked into his pale eyes and saw the Pacific
filled with smarty-pants fish, terrorized by conceited sharks,
controlled by his steady gaze, seeing everything and nothing at all.

I loved him when he gave me his e-mail and wrote about dead bodies
hanging off island trees and the stench being too strong.
How he had to leave but didn't know when; didn't know where he'd go.

I loved that he humored me by begging for poetry.
How he apologized for ignoring me
since he was celebrating his own personal crisis
but didn't mention that he really had no obligation to me at all
for our meeting was in that one glance; one glance; one glance.

I loved the tales that preceded him:
Driving a NYC taxi cab in white flowing robes,
reading manuals on how to talk to girls,
a brother that left too soon.

Ghosts, he was plagued by ghosts;
hated dark places; hated the underground.
Eventually he gave in.
His smarty-pants fish swam away and only the sharks remained;
pushing, compelling, urging him to jump into the tunnel,
the screeching abyss that led back to his trouble,
back to the place he was born.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Musicide

2011-09-05T22:35:00.000-07:00

You play the base on Brooklyn Bridge suspension chords
and music is sweet in June but July comes
and August passes and before we know it,
December arrives and red velvet cupcakes melt
into black velvet rivers and missing you becomes too much.
Like mornings without coffee and deli meat poorly sliced,
you return from The Today Show to an empty bed
and missing you becomes too much.
The goodbye that's never goodbye creates hope
but also forms deep pockets of emptiness that robs hope
and smothers tunes falling vacantly off the bridge
and I contemplate jumping too
and collecting my fate somewhere below.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

The Race

2011-09-02T12:59:00.000-07:00

Divided by a fence,
I race children on a schoolyard track.
They're all faster than I
and giggling pass me by
alone on the street chasing cars.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Missing You

2011-09-02T01:59:00.000-07:00

It started with your smile and wonderful hair,
You gave me your trust and we started there.
You rescued me from midnight, we jumped over the moon,
Yet morning come it was, "See you soon."
I've always known you leaving, do I hope this time you'll stay
For more than an evening, for more than a day?
Can we fathom a time when weeks go by
And still in your arms we haven't said goodbye?
Will we still want each other when each other's what we got
Or is wanting each other what really makes us hot?
I miss you already, I don't want to say goodbye
But I can't keep a bird that belongs in the sky.
Fly away, fly away but please come back soon,
I'll be waiting for you under the moon.
It's just you that I want; in your arms I delight,
Please come back soon and be my moonlight.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Big Sticks

2011-09-02T01:48:00.000-07:00

The shirtless googley eyed man steps out of a wall and begins to spit poetry.
"Sweet hibiscus growing in a shattered vase..."

"Where are you going? What are you doing?" Big sticks interrupt the stream.
His body shakes and he gestures wildly as he tries to defend his recital.
Like soft-black-stick-licorice,
he bends down and picks-up a half smoked cigarette.
He waves it in their faces.
They shake heads no-no-no
and send him sauntering away.

Big sticks walk the lawn.
A man who hasn't showered in weeks, approaches.
He asks, "Do you know Charlie?"
"We'll send our regards," they reply.

Big sticks walk the lawn
killing poetry on Venice Beach.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Highway Divide

2011-08-30T21:36:00.000-07:00

Two highways between us and I'm scared to ride,
sluggishly my clunker climbs the hills but not at night;
elephants must sleep in moonlight.
I'll capture the moon for you and deliver the sky
but sorry can't cross the highway divide.
My monster is afraid of the dark and so am I,
sadly can't cross the highway divide.
Maybe tomorrow, when the sun is bright,
I'll speed through time on the highway divide
but now I must sleep with my elephant ride,
under the hills of a highway divide.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Cartoons' Fiesta

2011-08-29T02:21:00.000-07:00

Tired of being leafed through, stared at, handled, mishandled, manhandled,
cartoons exit the pages and hunker-down in a bowling alley parking lot.
A talent show unfolds: Body contortionists contort bubble gum limbs,
cyclists peddle cheap bicycle tricks like ballerinas on wheels,
a high-five train whistles to the the scent of tacos down the street.

Cartoons crash-out of the parking lot, a single herd stampede,
"Bon appetite!"

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Bar Flirtation

2011-08-27T09:15:00.000-07:00

Sitting on a bar stool sloshing mud;
he smiles, I smile, he smiles, I smile
and secrets dance between us
and words embark a cocktail paper airplane
and fly through fruit-fly puddles.
Feet notice a clumsy landing and pause at folded secrets
but dancers intervene and secrets get crushed
and forgotten.
Only remembered by the broom
at nights end.
Kissed by the dustpan,
embraced by the dumpster,
coddled by empty glasses and broken bottles.
A secret safe in the trash.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Drifters

2011-08-26T00:12:00.000-07:00

Lost between walls
we always just meet;
the next time is always the first,
like flowers greeting the same garden
each spring.

We dance on rafters,
in elevator shafts,
drift through mirrors
and window frames.

Yet we never build,
never draw the curtain,
never enter doorways
or paint chimney smoke.

We go our separate ways
as if we never happened
but we happen again and again and again.

The dream room in the house never built,
that's the only room that's real,
frequented by ghosts doing our dance
as we continue to drift through windows, mirrors,
tunnels under construction
with hopes that one day
maybe maybe
our dream house will become real for real
and out of the shadows we'll emerge
and enter through the doorway.

But for now we just dance and drift
and hang off rafters.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Appreciation

2011-08-23T01:47:00.001-07:00

I am handed gold
once I finally learned
to simply appreciate the rainbow.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Intervention

2011-08-21T02:08:00.000-07:00

Cupid is drunk again.

Dumped by Queen of Hearts,
he's shot too much whiskey
and now he's shooting darts;

shooting darts
shooting darts
shooting
server falls for bartender,
bartender falls for you,
you fall for man of 1,000 tattoos;
that man falls for Jack,
Jack Daniels.

They offer Cupid another shot
and together curse love
and bawl-out the universe.

The Universe answers by tipping Cupid over
till he's flat-faced in his own colored vomit,
a smashed bottle of Jack at his side.

As for the man of 1,000 tattoos,
he's shipped to Coconut Island
where mischievous monkeys tell no tales.

The Queen of Hearts lines-up
all the shattered hearts
and gives them wings.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Starting-Over

2011-08-21T01:42:00.000-07:00

Pride takes a tumble
down tree
wrong tree
new tree
up climb
climb
climb climb
slow climb
climb
castles in sky dreaming.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Bar Love

2011-08-20T12:45:00.000-07:00

You serve me beer
with a side of gummy-bears.
Your eyes capture mine smiling,
I fall in.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

The Sweater

2011-08-18T14:16:00.000-07:00

Forgiveness wears a sweater
donned on chilly days
when words bite harsher than Arctic winds
and you want to turn away
and say goodbye forever
but instead you don the sweater
and face bitterness laughing.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Surfer's Love

2011-08-16T23:03:00.000-07:00

Fish play hooky today
to watch girl turn ocean's pocket inside-out.
Little man with telescope eye
waits with a warm cup of tea
in a castle made of sand.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

See Sea

2011-08-16T22:40:00.000-07:00

It started with fish swimming in your eyes.
Where are we going?
Where are we going?
Why are we moving so slow?

A heart on pause.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Instigator

2011-08-16T22:35:00.001-07:00

Cats follow my tail to the muffin counter
yet I get there first
and eat it all.

Cats forlorn
arrange an alley
for cheering-up.

Screech, yowl, yelp.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Birthday Love

2011-08-12T21:43:00.001-07:00

The happiest moment
was June rain pelting our umbrella
as we kissed on The Brooklyn Bridge
and spun.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

"If Silence is Golden"

2011-08-09T10:27:00.000-07:00

Not gold,
just silent;
I wonder.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Poem #31 The Weight

2011-08-09T10:24:00.000-07:00

Banned from the hilltop of angels,
bowing to gravity,
bricks on her back,
cumbersome protrusion.

She takes off her wings
and hangs them on a tree;
how free she feels,
light as a caterpillar.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Poem #30 Smoke Rings

2011-08-08T18:53:00.000-07:00

And suddenly my world shifted,
I fell to the floor laughing,
the man with the dime bag knew nothing.

He told me:
You're Tuesday's child
born in a puddle;
a reflection shrinking,
you need a pond.

I laughed and said:
Friday is my mom,
wings of a seal,
ocean is my potion.

He blew puzzles in his pipe and said:
Strangeness assails me,
My power must be slippin',
I need another day.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Poem #29 Fairy Dust

2011-08-07T22:47:00.000-07:00

Freedom falls silver petals through fingers.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Poem #28 Narcissus' Rant

2011-08-07T16:05:00.000-07:00

(A girl's projection of a guy's reflection)

Suppose the kiss
was just a kiss
and nothing more?
A thank you miss,
for moment's bliss
you little whore.

Now go away
it's not the day
to be together.
A goodling lay
isn't okay
to judge whether

I'll make some time
for a cheap dime
holding your face.
You did the crime
rolling in grime
while wearing lace.

Yes, it's quite true
I pursued you
around the hill.
My fervor grew
till I was blue;
I had no will.

How hard I fell,
I couldn't tell
'till in my bed
you rang the bell
and gave a yell,
to wake the dead.

The game was won
we had our fun
and lots of play.
I'm sorry hon,
what's done is done
but I can't stay.

It's not just you
but all the new
girls in my bed.
There is a queue
of quite a few
who I could wed.

But I delay
this cabaret
of desired love.
For I portray
Dorian Grey
shadowy love

There is a face
inside a case
for which I care.
I can't erase
my own sweet face
I hold most dear.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Poem #27 New Driver

2011-08-07T15:15:00.000-07:00

Soap suds
Bubble trouble
Sunshine clean

Free riding
No more hiding
This birdie has wings

Adventure awaits
License plates
Taking the street out for a ride.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Poem #26 Moving to Santa Monica

2011-08-07T15:02:00.000-07:00

My life in a suitcase
waiting at the front door
for friends to arrive
and lug me to the ocean.

Anticipation fresh;
back on my feet,
limping slightly,
stepping on shells.

Awaking in a fresh bed tomorrow,
new neighbors to meet,
favorite spots to discover
inside an ocean breeze.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Poem #25 New Wings

2011-08-07T14:56:00.000-07:00

Jumping cloud to cloud
takes time.

Happy with time
I observe the sky around me
but many pass me by.

I notice wings
and decide to buy a pair of my own.

Learning is slow
and takes time
but I'm happy with time.

Able to go everywhere,
where do I go?

I bypass the sky
and create a loop;
my wings are freedom,
with wings I fly.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Poem #24 Sweeping Symphony

2011-08-04T10:06:00.000-07:00

A classical tale
of sailors set set sail,
she turns on radio.

Conductor with broom,
she sails the room
fighting a terrible storm.

Waves rise and fall
as she gathers the hall
sweeping away the mess.

Approaching the calm,
sailors embalm
the theory that maybe they'll live

but swept by notes,
capturing boats,
sailors plead their last

and then the wind dies,
changing their cries
to joy that all will be well.

Dancing in smiles
we clear dirt piles
from the kitchen floor.

Symphony ends
messes amend
we turn off radio.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Poem #23 New York City in August

2011-08-04T09:39:00.000-07:00

Wrapped in a dirty old sock,
on a coast forsaken
by the weather gods.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Poem #22 Balance

2011-08-04T09:36:00.000-07:00

And then she realized that pain and joy were part of the same thing.
Like night and day, both necessary for the spinning of the world on it's axis.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Poem #21 Reflections

2011-08-04T09:30:00.000-07:00

She unwrites a pale face in a sea of black,
sunshine drips yellow nerves;
some dislike the smile
or expect you to smile all the time
but pressure during change
reveals explosive mini yous
and you get blamed;
people get angry
where compassion is requested.

So much about to happen,
jumping over the precipice
so that you don't fall into the darkness
and eternally try to claw your way out.

A flower shrivels if it's not watered,
too much sun can kill you too;
wanting peace
but sometimes war creeps in
and the meaness in you creeps out
and you're sorry
but don't know how to express it
in a way the other person can receive it.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Poem #20 Crossbred

2011-07-28T15:45:00.000-07:00

Hovering on the edge of a safety-pin, joy flirts with pain.
Sky sips night ink; white-out by day.
Creatures emerge with bat-like wings, color of sun.
Barbed cliffs rise as creatures leap-off the moon
but like timid sheep, recoil as creatures soar.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Poem#19 Soaring

2011-07-27T01:12:00.000-07:00

Cliffs leap towards me,
I jump back and take to air.
Butterfly wings color me freedom,
no longer weight
but feathers of moon,
shooting spring wishes
in darkening skies,
pleased to meet you fellow star.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Poem #18 Note to a Bud

2011-07-26T00:49:00.000-07:00

Don't need chains to love,
don't need "I love you" to love,
just need friendship and
honest exchange of words
and time will play the song
it must.

A melody still uncertain,
notes rise and fall,
sweetness falls off your tongue
and honey bee's gather.

Will the flowers awake and blossom?
Will they stand-up to the season?
Only time tells tales
and the mystery grows.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Poem #17 The Real Thing

2011-07-25T00:46:00.003-07:00

I said I wanted a porch that wrapped around the entire house
and L laughed but said,
"I'll build it for you because that's your dream."

Fast-forward to Tuesday
and L laughed again.
"Flowers are stupid," he scoffed
at the stems on our table
as I gushed at their Snowhite beauty.
I wouldn't look at him,
not understanding anyone that didn't
appreciate flowers.

Exiting the restaurant,
a gentle tap on the shoulder
revealed a busboy
with a beaming smile
holding the stems.
"For you!" He said
and blushing ran back inside.

Fast-forward to Thursday,
three weeks following our first date,
I met-up with L on the steps of a grand old house
on Eastern Parkway.
As a big black dog licked his general crotch area,
L handed me a teeni-tiny book
all about flowers.

While I appreciated the gesture,
I really did!
That was the basic misunderstanding
you see,
confusing real beauty for a book of words.

Looking perplexed in red rimmed spectacles,
I handed the book back
and said,
"I can't accept, I'm sorry, it's over."

I was going skiing with neighborhood boys
and in my mind wanted to feel free.

What is the price of freedom?
How far does it stretch?
Where does it actually take you
and where does the road end?

L married a redhead a few months later,
he said I broke his heart.

But was it his heart
or the idea of having mine?
Flowers in books can't mimic flowers in gardens,
ideas of love can never beat the real thing.

Perhaps he really loved me,
perhaps he thought he did
but redhead dreams made babies
and for him
that's the real thing.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Poem #16 Growing-Up Sort Of

2011-07-24T17:08:00.000-07:00

Fading upon arrival,
nothing left but a smile
in a tree.

I try to butterfly grab it
but evasiveness wins stars
for I'm not Alice.

I can't enter mirrors
or spin tales from glass,
I've outgrown stairs
that lead to clouds.

I serve tea at tea-time
upon costar cards;
royal visitors
march infrequently.

I try to grab your smile
but bump a gnarly tree
I try to grab you
but fall.

I sit at a window
and blow fog on the glass,
I draw a rabbit
and Alice runs by.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Poem #15 Vagabond Friday

2011-07-23T23:48:00.000-07:00

Peddling from Hollywood
in search of a ninety-nine cents store,
he clutches a greasy McDonalds bag
to his paunchy stomach
and parks his bike at my feet.

"No! I won't take the bus," he says.
"The bus stop is simply my rest stop."

Man of chemicals
without a home,
street living
keeps him glazed.

Sleepy dreams
shift through pupils,
forever in a daze,
a filmstrip of life
tattered & frayed.

Yet edges glisten
at mention of
a moonlit party
with paper-bag booze
and magical dust.

But first
a mission,
a purpose,
a duty,
to find the place
where gravity functions,
economic kicks in,
and change found between
sidewalk cracks is swapped
for party favors.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Poem #14 Transparent Skin

2011-07-22T01:48:00.000-07:00

Sun peaks
through a window
and flash
decides to crash.

Baking soda
puts out fire
bursting on a couch.

Bodies jump
away from harm,
sky-dive off the sun,
land in rivers hidden deep
squashing
orange fish.

Squish, squish, squish
Splash, splash, splash,
water conquers heat,
skin reflects daffodils
hanging off a cliff.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Poem #13 Zugzwang

2011-07-19T17:07:00.000-07:00

Zugzwang* zing
kingly despair,
trapped in check
zwang in his lair.

“Zug, zug, zug,”
opposition sings,
zigzag zwang
ding-dong dings.

Flip flap flutter,
a king blips a bird;
sky high kingdom
wing wang word.

Opposing opposition,
spittering sputter,
game board empty
flittering flutter.

Soaring silk sky
armies float by
zapping a king
zugzwang high.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

--
* zug·zwang
[tsook-tsvahng]
–noun Chess .
a situation in which a player is limited to moves that cost pieces or have a damaging positional effect.

Origin:
1900–05; < German, equivalent to Zug move + Zwang constraint, obligation

Poem #12 Yes!

2011-07-19T10:40:00.000-07:00

Universe yes,
said to me yes,
yes, yes, yes,
yes.

Wanted that yes,
needed that yes,
conceived that yes,
yes, yes, yes,
yes.

I said yes,
you said yes, yes,
we both said yes,
yes, yes, yes,
yes.

Gathered that yes,
slathered that yes,
embraced that yes,
yes, yes, yes,
yes.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Poem #11 Escape

2011-07-17T23:34:00.000-07:00

She quickly rows
across the river
lest she be caught;
a collection of hearts
at her feet.

Not hers to keep
but desire is strong
and she'll fetch a pretty penny
for those in the wrong.

Unaware that the heartless
misers in the City
owe her a debt,
instead of self-blame
she's their excuse.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Poem #10 Butterflies

2011-07-17T00:57:00.000-07:00

Monarchs dodder
and flutter in my stomach;
the nerves are milkweed.

They feed
and I smile;
flower-winged creatures,
friends of my soul.

So much possibility
glistens like a raindrop
on a stalk of bent grass lingering
in hopes of a cuddle
after the storm.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Poem #9 Illogical Logic

2011-07-17T00:36:00.000-07:00

Poem #8 Saving the Monarchs

2011-07-17T00:16:00.000-07:00

Planned spontaneity
since plans are not for us,
tomorrow at midnight
let's take a bus
to a random station,
where? I do not know,
wherever we wake up,
that's were we'll go.

We'll wander the streets
of a hidden town
where people appear
upside down,
dangling sky
by a paper thread,
in this new town
we'll get ahead.

Flower winged creatures
in search of milkweed,
we'll search for this scarce
and scarcer small seed,
awaken the farmers
to chemicals bad
killing everything we once had.

So let's run away
just me and you
fight for a cause
for the dying few,
we'll tell no one
except for ourselves
and maybe some gnomes
and maybe some elves.

We'll plant a garden
in this new town,
fit for the monarchs,
butterflies' crown
searching for flowers
to feast on and live,
this is what you
and I can give.

So let's run away
but not plan where,
when the hour strikes
we'll disappear;
plant a garden
and save butterflies,
we'll be their Santa
Xmas Surprise.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

*
Inspired by my friend Joe and an article I read on the dying Monarch breed: http://www.nytimes.com/2011/07/12/science/12butterfly.html?_r=1&emc=eta1

Poem #7 Dreams For Real

2011-07-14T12:13:00.000-07:00

There are many thorns
in your dreams
but at least your dreams
are for real,
living what many are fearful to do,
they undream dreams for real.

Pulling out weeds from potato gardens,
roses, they buy at the mart,
dreams are purchased separately
wheeled in a grocery cart
with microwave pizza
popcorn and chips
all with a Saturday deal,
enjoyed with good 'ol telly
and they call this living for real.

You find your own seeds,
plant your own bush,
cut stems with a knife,
sometimes thorns greet you
but you call this part of life.

A dream protected by thorns
that's the deal
for real,
making friends with trouble
this is living for real.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Poem #6 Glitter

2011-07-13T00:03:00.000-07:00

Country girl stuck in city body,
almost married a lighting bolt
the first time I saw the moon rise.
Didn't know the moon rose
over a hill just like the sun.
My knowledge, a skyscraper
scraping off stars.

Somewhere in new Mexico
they sparkle,
Israel too.

Can't be seen on city streets in LA
but instead we have the sea
whispering secrets
late at night
gently brushing my hair.

Besides, we also have a planetarium.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Poem #5 Philosophy of Love

2011-07-12T00:56:00.000-07:00

He said to me,
"Don't marry for love, marry for money.
"Romance doesn't last and then you're left with nothing."

"But money doesn't necessarily last either," I said.

"Yes true," he said, "But money is a safer bet."

Lord Tennyson wrote:
"'Tis better to have loved and lost / Than never to have loved at all."

If you live for the money
not for the honey
What do you have
when you have it all?

When you live for the honey
not for the money,
everything you have
is worth more than all

those Washington heads
sought by cloned women
and men.

Yet fantasy of white horsed Charming
riding you to sunset
is too,
a risky dream.

Questions pile-up
by what he means
when he says,
"I'll love you forever ever-after."

"'Tis better to have loved and lost / Than never to have loved at all."

Love and loss
Loss and love,
what's lost is found
when you find;
no one but you
can set your mind
to joys that cost little.

So go find a honey
but make your own money
and share what you have
with those that you have
in your life.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Poem #4 Old and New

2011-07-10T22:09:00.000-07:00

Anticipation for old visitors,
unsure of the new
holding tea cups upside down;
a floor gets washed
with raspberry scent,
tiles stained a pinkish hue.

The new ones unpredictable
eating too many flies
turning toads at your feet,
you wonder at magic
holding your gaze,
what happens when you look away?

Gazing through a window
where past and present merge
gracefully on a city street
no one's the wiser how they meet
but they do
and you don't know what to choose.

To step back and find a hilltop
stillness embracing your self,
breathing and letting go,
simply acknowledging
life must flow.

A creator can't always create
and even the created must be left alone
to flourish as it's special self
and walk the path it must.

Old and new converge
and mend
a beautiful fractured self.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Poem #3 Making Up Time

2011-07-10T01:11:00.000-07:00

To miss a day is no big deal
Tomorrow you can always steal
Like a horse flying through the night
Time is bought with the proper gait.

Iron your forehead from worry
Your problems, bullocks! Go burry.
Sing to the moon singing to you
And do what you do, simply do.

Embrace the freedom found between
Forgetful moments for the green
Novice beginning a new task
There's always today, simply ask.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Poem #2 Party With the Stars

2011-07-10T01:10:00.000-07:00

Moon in my living-room, up in a tree
Black angel flying, riding night-time free.

Stars chit-chattering, all through a dream
Captured by a man lasering a beam.

James Dean petrified, head above a stone
Self-made telescope from mirrors and chrome.

Cities built on light, neighboring the hills
Displaying Hollywood with sunset frills.

Satellite-alert monitoring space
A universe so vast showing its face.

Pendulum swinging, proving what we know
This great big world always on the go.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Poem #1 Sunny Thing

2011-07-10T01:04:00.000-07:00

99 Poems in 99 Days

2011-07-10T01:02:00.000-07:00

Inspired by my friend Jennifer Faylor who is writing 100 poems in 100 days, I'm starting a similar project minus one day. I figured she gets the extra point for sharing the idea with me. Plus she has a day on me. The goal is to put myself on a poetry schedule and see what the structure and commitment does. It's sort of an experiment. Normally I only write when I'm inspired, this way I'll have to make sure to be inspired everyday.

Jennifer and I are figuring out how to link blogs so that you can read her poetry as well. More info on that coming soon. Also if you're a poet or would like to be a poet, feel free to contact either one of us and join in the fun.

Hearts!
Chaya

Beating Time

2011-07-04T13:09:00.004-07:00

Clink-clink-clank
tin heart lizard
lonely buzzard
free-birds tap
tap
tap
sway to beat
august heat
body stink
dirty dank
metal skulls
clink-clink-clank.

Time gatherers
gather round
curious sound
clink-clink-clank
prisoners plank
walking freedom,
hourglass breaks
startled eyes
wanders skies
cackles thunder
tackles lies.

Soars above
blinding spells
crazed cuckoo birds
yelp at beats
tumbling heaps
clink-clank-clink
precious link
to now and then
historians think
answers found
sounds abound.

Radios crank
clink-clink-clank.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Alcohol Poisoning

2011-05-13T09:53:00.004-07:00

Drunk mosquito on a table
Twitching, turning, all unstable.
Rescued from a glass of wine
By a lady out to dine.
She set him gently near her plate
But I fear it's much too late.
He's standing-up on his head
Awe shucks, look he's dead!

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Awake, Little Flower

2011-04-27T10:59:00.007-07:00

Awake little flower, come out to play,
Today is a singing dancing spring day.
Eat lots of sunshine, climb through the grass,
Spring has come to visit at last.
Shake-out your bedspreads, roll up the shades,
Persephone has arrived from Hades.
Be done with grieving, dry your face,
Ready your wardrobe with satin and lace.
Grow little blossom! Perfume the air
With sweet announcings: spring is here.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Don't Stop

2011-04-15T13:09:00.003-07:00

In a city that doesn't sleep
it's dangerous to stop.
Downward-facing-dog
warrants you trampled by runners.

Breathing in car-fumes,
subway metallic, human and atmospheric gas;
passing-out might be your only salvation.

Don't stop
in a city where electronica beats up the night,
garbage trucks grumble at 4 am,
and your windows draw-in the babbling of neighbors.

A bubble-bath is waiting somewhere
but not here
in a city that whites-out the sky
and florescent lights replace the stars.

Don't stop or you might stop to think:
Why are we building so high?
Talking so loud?
Trying to replace a world that once was perfect?

Don't stop or a pleasant dream might sweep you away
and never ever will you want to come back.

And then where will you go?

Is there a bathtub of bubbles
really waiting somewhere
or is this just the sea;
dead fish in oil grease?

A night spent in the desert once,
a sky of stars like diamonds,
but bombs exploded nearby
and gunshots shattered the quiet.

Is there anything left?
Anything left at all
of this great big world?
Once perfect in itself;
real flowers brought more pleasure than gold.

Don't stop
or you might start crying
and never ever want to stop.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Blueberry Kiss

2011-04-11T21:46:00.009-07:00

You got demoted for unsmiling;
collecting smiles and flipping them
like moon-crests on a grill.

A graveyard greeted you one night
and asked,"What's your sadness?"

Your lips met gravely and mouthed,"Nothing."

Nothing, nothing, nothing.
Worlds whirled around nothing
and then it became clear,
nothing was your sadness indeed.

"I will give you something,"
a frowning ghost said.
But try as it might,
everything the ghost placed into
your cigarette-charred-hands turned to dust.

"I cannot give what you will not take,"
the ghost said and faded away.

You unsmiled wryly and said,
"Nothing is my sadness indeed."

A girl walked by.
You noticed blueberries in place of a mouth.
The desire to kiss was strong.

Unknowledgable to the reality of her being,
you leaned in.
Poof!
Blueberries disappeared,
replaced by lips.

Reality glistened like sweat on a brow
and for the first time you smiled,
really smiled.

Kissing a tart was not so bad.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

The City I Belong

2011-03-07T23:28:00.003-08:00

Effortless beauty while in the sun,
natural light brightens my face,
gentle breeze hugs my curves,
barefoot on the beach I dance.

In the city of vampires
I pay for a face,
shop at Bloomingdale
for creams and lips,
I paint my eyes a weary gray
and grimace through the night.

I tread in the highest heels I find
and forget the pain with drink.
Cool and aloof I face the citizens
in costumes entirely black.

In the city of vampires
I'm merely a shadow
dancing quietly through the night.

In the city of sunlight
my splashes are huge
and I dance with mermaids and fish.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

Dunking Dreams

2011-03-03T21:53:00.004-08:00

Swigging life from a paper bag,
drunken freedom,
I reel.
"Reel me in," I say
like a fish
seized from the pool
of dreams
unreal.

Let me live your dreams,
a puppet to your whims,
whimsical query:
What moves but doesn't?
A coup d'etat is in order.
Ordering dessert
and passing out
before it arrives.

Arriving on the doorstep
of a man who cries for a living,
the town crier indeed.
Sleepy on his own words,
he cries the town's dreams.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

The Magic Road

2011-02-06T09:21:00.001-08:00

I'm following the magic road. Sometimes it glistens gold, other times it sparkles like the sea at mid-day. There are times it appears dark and gloomy or windy like a serpent. Worst is when it disappears completely and I loose faith that it's even there. But it's important to remember it always is. Outwardly it shift-shapes but inwardly it remains the same; a path toward hope and enrichment. It's the path of life itself.

Copyright © 2011 Chaya Silberstein

A Sheepish Question

2011-01-16T22:30:00.001-08:00

Beyond the Helping Hand

2010-11-29T11:10:00.025-08:00

Drowning at sea,
he threw me a life-line
and pulled me in,
but once ashore
I refused to let go.
I held on tight
and that caused great sorrow
for he walked away to finish his day
and I clung to a false morrow.
I clung to a line
with no one at the other end,
for I didn't believe
I was safe.

He came back for his rope
but still I refused to let go,
I implored him to stay
but he couldn't,
he had too much to do that day.

So he walked away without his rope
and still I held tight,
laying on the beach
clinging to the hope
that he'd be back.

Soon tide rose
and because I refused to move,
it swept me up
and out to sea I found myself again,
water up to my neck.

"Save me," I cried, "Save me."
He heard my cries
but to no avail,
I rose and fell like the belly of a whale.

I watched him on shore looking my way
but he simply turned and walked away.

I cried tears to match the ocean deep,
how could he desert me so?
How could he just go?
But as I wept,
I almost drowned,
and my soul yelled,
"Wake-up! Wake-up!"

I knew it was my soul,
it had my voice
and it said,
"You have a choice!
Synchronize hands
synchronize feet
keep the beat
and breathe."

One stroke
then the other,
my body sailed
and slowly reeled itself in.
I didn't need a life-line,
I could now swim!

I landed ashore,
stood up and stretched
and walked in-land.
I felt the glory,
a hero of my own story.

I was so grateful that he didn't save me
but made me learn how to deal with the sea.

So rope still in hand,
I went to find him
and return what was his
but he refused to take it
he refused to look my way.

I hung my head
ashamed
and walked away.

I wanted to say thank you
for helping me find my voice
I wanted to say sorry
for making the wrong choice.

But he didn't want to hear it,
he was done hearing me,
His eyes said, you're a Siren
raised from the sea.

So I walked away
and hung my head
and hung the rope beside my bed
to remind me,
some words can't be said

but released.

Copyright © 2010 Chaya Silberstein

A Tiny Piece of the Universe

2010-11-27T11:26:00.007-08:00

A man walks back in time and meets a lone woman in a rock-strewn desert. It is night-time and the orange moon creeps across the sky like a broken heart.

"You deserted me," she cries.

"I didn't desert you but simply left so that you can follow your own destiny."

"Take me with you," she begs.

He sadly shakes his head, "I can't my dear. As my companion you will see the road through my eyes. You will rely too much on my vision. You will travel on my feet. It's time for you to see the world on your own.

The woman wipes her eyes, "I love you," she says. "Because of this love, I accept your command. I will walk my own path, but do you promise to meet me on the other side?"

He shakes his head again, "This, I cannot promise, for who knows what time will bring? Besides, you might end up somewhere completely different than me."

"Why should I walk then, if there are no guarantees? Besides, I just want you."

"There are never guarantees but you must walk anyway and strive to find your own soul."

"But maybe we share a soul? Maybe we are meant to walk together?"

"Maybe," he says. "But right now I'm distracting you. So easily I blind you, so easily you follow me; you forget your own heart."

"But you are my heart."

"Yes, I'm part of it, but you're looking for the heart of the universe, remember?"

The woman sighs, "Yes, you're right."

The man vanishes. The woman is left alone. Her chest tightens and tears form behind her eyes. Emptiness threatens to consume her.

Suddenly, something hits her center and hovers above her head. She plucks it from the air and looks at it. It is shiny with jagged edges and sparkles like a million diamonds, almost as bright as the sun itself. "Why indeed, I think I got myself a shooting star!" She says. She closes her eyes, makes a wish and lets go.

The star flies away but a great warmth clothes her heart. She understands that whether close or far, love is always with her.

Copyright © 2010 Chaya Silberstein

Rude Awakening

2010-11-02T11:33:00.008-07:00

Falling asleep in a flower,
waking-up in winter,
the petals have fallen away
and you're laying in snow.

A world hidden,
covered by fluff,
life retreated
with onset of frost.

Lest the chill lull you
back to sleep forever,
you uncurl your limbs and limp,
footprints follow you,
inky stains.

II.

"Flowers for freedom,"
the limping girl croaks,
selling daisies on the back of a truck.

Her hands are empty
her heart is full
selling dreams
to weary souls.

Copyright © 2010 Chaya Silberstein

No Smoking Please

2010-09-28T23:04:00.000-07:00

Oh you silly little thing,
how I desire you.
When we kiss,
worries melt away
and we're one.
At peace with the universe,
a nicotine haze floating oblivion.

I love you
but you're so bad for me
though good,
so good.

I've tried to quit you many times
but one drag and I'm yours again.
You own me and I'm your slave
but with you in hand, I own the world.

So, let's make love
you silly little thing,
you, you, you,
you fag.

Copyright © 2010 Chaya Silberstein

City Stars

2010-09-26T20:28:00.004-07:00

Meditating on the edge of a fountain
New York prophet with a splash

Gift of the Sun

2010-09-26T20:23:00.002-07:00

Sail across a sea of gold,
Fly though your soul is hurt,
Try to smile through the rain
Though pain throbs deep
And your heart is broke.

Dance in a puddle up to your knees,
Revel in mud, embrace the goo,
Sing though your voice is dry and sore
A rainbow day is up to you.

Paint the sky inside your mind
Find the gold even when there's none,
Shine a mirror into the sea,
Accept the gift of the sun.

Copyright © 2010 Chaya Silberstein

Black Not Green

2010-05-26T03:31:00.002-07:00

Jealousy is an
ugly snake
that coils round
the heart
and squeezes
the last breath
of friendship out
of your guts.

Camaflogued in self-righteousness,
the snake whispers of other's faults
rather than your own.
Never content,
discontent stirs
at the mention of joy
indirectly received
so you merely perceive
it as someone else's.

Jealousy is not green
but black.

You chase a rainbow
but never see colors
because your own shadow
darkens the way.

Copyright © 2010 Chaya Silberstein

The House She Built

2010-05-15T13:22:00.002-07:00

She wrote a book,
a book
just a book
about her parents,
about the family she didn't have
about the home that exploded
like eggplant in a frying pan.
She flew away
and felt doors shudder and close behind her.
"I have nowhere to go,
"nowhere to go," she cried.
And the world cried with her,
the ocean reflected her sorrow
but still she had no where to go.
She hailed a cab and said, "Take me home."
"Where is home?" The cabbie asked.
"Oh I don't know, I don't know," she replied
"Well then where shall I take you?" The cabbie asked.
"Oh I don't know, I don't know."
The cabbie looked at the young woman in the back seat of his car.
A beautiful china doll. He saw cracks at the seams.
"I will take you home." He said.
"Really?" She said. Hope shining in her eyes like two watermelon seeds.
"Really." He said.
He put the car in gear and began to drive.
It was raining. Mud rose up to the windshield, the streets were black.
The scent of fresh insects assaulted her senses.
The girl dried her eyes. She was on her way home.
They drove and drove for what seemed like hours.
The rain stopped but the sky remained dark.
Suddenly the car halted.
"You are home," the Cabbie said.
The girl saw nothing.
"Where am I?" She asked.
"I can't tell you. You must see for yourself."
"But I can't see." She said.
"That's because you're still in my car. You must step out. I will drive away but trust that I leave you in a good place."
She wanted to protest but instead, she bravely opened the car door and stepped out.
The cabbie quickly drove away.
Slowly her eyes adjusted and all the girl saw was mud. Lots and lots of mud.
Mud, mud, mud.
"What am I supposed to do now?!" She cried.
But the air was silent. Even echos were quiet.
Far, far away, humanity lay.
She collapsed on the ground and cried.
Into the mud she rolled and rolled
and rolled and rolled and rolled.
Muddied and black she looked around.
"I'm cold." she said.
She picked up mud and flung it.
"I hate you!" She yelled. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!"
She pounded the mud and screamed,
"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!"
"Because of you, I have no home, but I won't let you win,
"I will build my own house!"
And she began to build.
She pounded and shaped and smoothed the mud
and soon walls began to form.
Hours and hours and hours passed.
Hours and hours
but soon a house stood.
A mud house stood.
Her mud house.
There was no one to congratulate her
even her own reflection was nowhere in sight,
but the girl stood proud.
"This is my house," she said, "My house.
"Built with my very own hands."
She yawned and said,
"I will now take a nap."
And then the sun appeared and dried her house.
Solid and firm. Safe and firm.
Inside the girl stepped and slept
upon a mud bed.
She dreamt peaceful dreams.
Hate seeped away.
Anger melted into clouds.
She soared.
No longer afraid
No longer caring where her house lay,
she knew she could build wherever she pleased,
she knew she could build with mud.

The girl dreamt peaceful dreams;
even mud could form a house
even mud was home.

Copyright © 2010 Chaya Silberstein

Up the Rabbit Hole

2010-05-03T00:51:00.005-07:00

confronted by my own truth,
I'm the white rabbit
murmering to myself;
I am Alice pondering in a daze,
wondering whether to follow my own tracks.
down the rabbit hole I go.
growing tall,
shrinking small
what do I touch?
what do I dare touch not?
should I fear myself,
my own purple eyes,
or embrace the color
of my own deceit and lies?
covering my beauty
with what is pleasant to the eyes
but gone is Alice
into a bottle of potion;
an old crone following in her stead,
appearing in a mirror,
red lights flashing,
warning to stop
but the brakes are cut
and I'm racing ahead.
can't stop now
unless...
oh there's a tree!
can't stop now,
crash!
"what happened to Alice?"
the flowers ask,
"once she smelled so pretty,
"in our garden she walked and drank some tea."
oh Alice, oh Alice
what happened to me?

"I'm late, I'm late"
the old rabbit chimes,
down the rabbit hole we go,
no questions asked.
seeing the past as pasted cartoons
rapidly running down a stream;
if it is what it seems
questions are to be asked.

Up we go,
up, up
onto the grass.
Wake up Alice
wake up!
Look at the ants
workings so dilligently,
marching marching.
Oh Alice,
Oh Alice
drink your tea,
comb you hair,
run, run,
the train's whistle's calling!
Hop on,
hop hop.
There, there, you made it.
Morning is gone
but you had adventures instead.
Up, up the rabbit hole.
up, up we go.

Copyright © 2010 Chaya Silberstein

Dancing With a Butterfly

2010-04-10T04:16:00.001-07:00

Arms around your waist
you cloak me in your wings
and hold me.

We dance to slow gypsy music
permenating the night
eveloping
the dancers
swaying on the cliffs.

There are many of us
yet we're each lost in the world of our pair,
a hundred little spotlights
white against the night
dancing.

I'm lost in your world,
the world of the butterfly.
I feel your insect body
and you raise me to a higher sense of being;
I follow your lead
and dance.

At one point
I open my eyes
and find myself looking over a cliff edge,
rocks and brambles and the unknown hover below
but I'm not afraid,

I know I will not fall.

I trust that you will hold me
I trust in the warmth of the night
I trust in the light of the other couples
dancing.

The music lights a fire in my soul,
your jeweled wings light a fire in the night,
I see more than I've ever seen before
and we dance.

Copyright © 2010 Chaya Silberstein

The Boy and The Butterfly

2010-03-17T11:48:00.003-07:00

A boy approached his father and said, "Father I want to die."

His father slapped him and asked, "Why?"

"Because life is hard," the boy said. "I don't think I'll be a success and if I can't be the best, why live at all?"

"You don't have to be the best," his father replied. "You just have to be the best you can be."

"But what if my best isn't good enough?"

"Then try something else. Forget about society's standards and concentrate on being the best you. Come with me," the father said, "And I will take you into the cave of light."

They entered the cave; the ceiling and walls were covered by cracked mirrors. A single butterfly fluttered too and fro. It performed a sort of dance. It was one butterfly but because of its reflections it looked like many. Some of the reflections were distorted and in them the butterfly looked crazy. But still it flew and fluttered it's wings; performing a dance of self.

"Be the butterfly," the father said. "Even though you are just one, you effect many and appear to others in such different ways. Some will appreciate you, others won't, some might even think you're crazy. But fly, let yourself be seen and not care which mirror others view you through."

"So you're telling me to be crazy," the boy said.

"No, I'm telling you to be yourself, no matter how you appear. One day you will leave the cave and the way you appear to others won't matter at all but for now since you sense others looking, fly just fly."

"But I'm not a butterfly, I'm a boy." The boy said. "Besides, butterflies are for sissies."

The butterfly spoke, "I'm neither male nor female but a pretty insect. I fly because I love flying. Now go, you silly boy, go live your life, stop thinking about dying but living instead. You focus too much on pain. Focus on joy and life will become joyous, that's simply the way it goes."

The butterfly flew out of the cave and was never seen again.

The boy stared at his reflection and became a butterfly.

Copyright © 2010 Chaya Silberstein