Wednesday, April 13, 2011


We didn’t hear you leave
You didn’t see us come
We passed each other
Somewhere in -between.

The fever came
They called
You were gone.

Gone before we had time
To reach you
Before we cried.

Do you know we’re crying still
As least I am.

Poem by LSB (PoetryWings)

Monday, January 3, 2011


I didn’t remember the house.

My memories…as the house is now
Are shuttered and barred.

The winds of the Cape
Beckon and plead
For remembrance

None is available.

The storm that ravages the coast
Returns to beat against my chest.

Trying to beat into submission
Memories that will not submit.

They never will.

Poem by LSB (PoetryWings)

Drowning in Booze

He’d rather drown in booze than rain.
It really doesn’t matter, for his thoughts
Are not quite sane.

For he says, “They’re both a liquid and that makes
Them quite the same.”

He wanders through his muddled mind
And ponders, “When will drinking bring
My gain?”

His body’s decayed, his mind is spent.
He wallows in self-pity and in this he
Is content.

He’d rather drown in booze than rain.
For he overflows with liquor and fills
His glass again.

Poem by LSB (PoetryWings)

Sunday, December 5, 2010


Mother, oh tender matron she.
She held the moth within her hands
then gently set it free.

Oh, how I wish that she would do
the very same with me.

Poem by LSB (PoetryWings)

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

The Two of Us

The foul steam from the subway swirled around me like an invisible ribbon. I stood on the sidewalk staring up at a building I hadn’t seen in over fifty years. Memories stirred as I glanced at the entrance then slowly lifted my eyes, counting to the seventh floor where one summer day a young couple brought a baby girl . . . me.

Living on the seventh floor can be very exciting to a child. I remember the feeling I had of living much closer to the clouds than the ground. There in the clouds, our apartment, with its pale green kitchen tile, lacked the luster of a big city apartment.

As soon as I became old enough to walk (or "toddle" as Mom would say) she and I would take sunny strolls around our neighborhood. The sidewalks, cracked from winters past, allowed dainty flowers to peek up at us as we passed over them.

Mom’s head was always bent to watch my every step as she held tight to my hand. My little arm extended as far up as I could reach.  When it began to drizzle she would cuddle me to her chest, my head pressed against her shoulder as she hurried to find shelter from the coming rain, shielding me although she endured the bullets of water.

This protection continued as I grew older. We moved to another state and making new friends was difficult. In my moments of utter gloom and despair, Mom would take me out for ice cream. For us this was always a special treat. She invariably ordered chocolate while I took advantage of sampling all the favors within my reach. 

It was on these outings that we truly bonded, discussing everything from friends and family to theatre openings and the newest films, all the while knitting situations and ideas into patterns for our future.

As the years rolled by our future became our present and it was my turn to play the part of parent to Mom.  Sunny strolls on the side walks are less now for her steps are slower and often she is confined to her wheelchair. My hands are the ones reaching down to hold her up. Instead of a city apartment she now resides in an assisted-living home.

Although our roles are now reversed, we still have our ice cream outings, still talk about friends and family, review old movies, and embrace dreams for the future.

I smile and remember our life as I gaze up at the old building from seven stories below--on a brand new sidewalk.

(I started writing this piece before my mother passed away.)
This piece by LSB (PoetryWings)


I became bored sitting around during our rainy days so decided to walk with my daughter. Big mistake!  Got injured!  I kept falling off her treadmill.  :)

Sunday, November 28, 2010

The Train

The train's pulled out and here I stand,
a stranger in this lonely land.

Though I have been alone before,
this loneliness is so much more.

Memories juggle within my brain,
trying to keep my conscience sane.

People push and pass by me;
I hide my tear-stained face and flee.

Both spirit and money tend to be low;
what good is direction when there's no place to go.

Poem by LSB (PoetryWings)