Tag Archives: poem

Inside the Book, Poetry

Identity

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I always think I’m
not in the right place
at the right time
doing the right thing
whatever right is.
I always feel that I’m
not wearing the right clothes
no matter how many clothes I buy.
Sheila always seems
perfectly groomed,
informal for informality
tailored for such occasions,
wearing stockings while
I go bare-legged to the theater
feeling gross,
not dressed correctly
not in concert
with my age, status, or place in life.
The next time
I wear stockings
and she looks perfect
in jeans
and a red shirt.
Lucy gets a job
selling insurance
and I think that’s the right thing
even though I hate selling
and hate insurance.
But for one long week
I read the business section
of the New York Times
thinking I should
apply for those jobs.
but I never do.

Inside the Book, Poetry

You’re Right, I am Contentious

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I wouldn’t say I feel like this all the time. But there are moments. I wanted to share this poem because I feel it’s something a lot of people can relate to. This poem is from The House Loved Us, available on Amazon.

When you give me a bottle of

bath oil for my birthday after

seeing I only take showers.

Or you say you admire me for all

my close relationships and then

sulk when I visit a needy

friend.

When the son I adore

can’t get a job

in the public sector

because there is no longer

any interest in the

public interest

When my childhood friend,

now sick, divorced

and the mother of

two teenage boys

can’t get enough

food stamps

under Reaganomics.

When my mother asks me

to come for a visit,

and when I do

berates me for never

coming to visit.

When the local policeman

gives me a ticket

on the first day of Spring,

after he hides in the bushes

waiting to make me feel like

a criminal for not making

a complete stop.

And my daughter’s landlord

who reveres Polish solidarity,

reads The Nation

and believes he believes

in the common man

raises her rent illegally.

I bristle when the

local town officer asks

a twenty-five-year resident

to notarize a statement that his

grown daughter really lives

with him since her divorce.

I feel contentious…

When I never have enough money no matter

 how hard I work.

When I feel life has suddenly gone by and I have

 only done one-third the things I wanted to.

When a close friend refers to someone as

 a Jew boy.

When I realize I’m just one person.

Poetry

Ode to Rhoada – a poem by my sister

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This is a poem my dear sister wrote for me. I love that she thought I had so much energy!

Sanibel Island, 2005

by Milly Kapilow

All hail my awesome sister Rhoada

Build for her a sacred pagoda

She flourishes in this tropical setting

This awestruck poem thus begetting.

lighthouse Sanibel Island

Up at dawn before the sun

Already two laundries she has done

Before the clock has chimed at eight

The beach is walked at rapid gait

And though her guest is yet abed

The New York Times is bought and read.

 

By nine the bike is back on rack

Exhausted by her tireless track

Now she’s home to snatch brief rest

While cleaning house and feeding guest.

Next on to sand and comfy chair

To read two books in open air

A spot lunch and on to pool

A mere fifty laps her daily rule.

 

At sunset to library speeding

She needs four books for next day’s reading

She rounds the day by dishing up

Dinner for her guest to sup

Who must obey her sternest wishes

By letting Rho do all the dishes.

 

So goes the day, her vim unfazed

This guest can only watch amazed

Each day an ode to Rho in action

One hour of which puts guest in traction.

 

Two weeks of this without cessation

She pronounces “Perfect Vacation!”

Her thoughts now turn to oh-oh-six

What to do next year to get her kicks.

 

Mt. Everest?  The Amazon?  In wilds canoe?

Who knows what else the kid will do

An Arctic jaunt?  A trek Down Under?

Maybe ALL!  Salute this ageless wonder!

A tribute to my sister, Milly, is Chapter 12 in my book The Myth of the Yellow Kitchen, titled “Memories and Memorabilia.”

Thoughts on Life

I Want

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chocolate-ice-creamI want to eat all the chocolate ice cream I want without getting fat

I want to find an apartment in NewYork that I can afford, with a terrace and wonderful view of the harbor.

I want never to go into therapy again.

I want to be surrounded by gifted people who think grand thoughts, are never petty, and love me no matter what I do.

I want to know I’ll never have cancer or become a cabbage in my old age, that I’ll always be financially independent.

I want my ex-husband to approve of me, tell me how much he thinks I’ve accomplished since the divorce and what a good job I did bringing up the children.

I want to get a really good night’s sleep.

I want to be one of those people who is always coming back from some exotic place having a grand adventure traveling alone on  a shoestring.

I want to ride my bike down long, narrow  country trails again.

I want to live a conventional life but have everyone think I’m adventurous offbeat and exciting.

I want to have a lover who is good in bed. I want to be proud of him. I want him not to be into games or power. I want him to love me and be committed to me, and i want to do my own thing and not be bothered too much.

I want all women to be successful and smart and believe in the right causes, and be wonderful. I want to be proud of them. I want that for men too, but not as much.

I don’t want everybody to like me because that means I don’t stand for anything, but I want the right people to like me.

I want to be able to take a few drags on a cigarette occasionally without becoming a smoker again.

I want to write a really good poem.

 

 

Family, Poetry, Thoughts on Life

Thanksgiving at my Table

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ThanksgivingThanksgiving is a special time to remember all the good things in our lives. Not that we shouldn’t do that all the time, but this is a time to do it together. I wrote this some time ago, but it still applies today.

Whatever you are doing in this season, I hope you are able to enjoy the blessings around you.

Thanksgiving

I feast my eyes on the children
my children
grown, beautiful
building an order to their lives.

My eldest getting married
to a wonderful young man
Another in law school,
not quite together yet about his life,
his vocation, his love,
But together in his head, his vitality
his assessment of things.

And the youngest
when did she get so lovely,
so tall, so slim
so elegant,
getting off the train
hugging her brother.

I feast my eyes on my nieces and nephews
growing up, getting taller
building an order to their lives.
Carrying the chairs, setting the table,
laughing as I torture the turkey

I feast my eyes on the richness of the harvest,
of young people
having birthdays, arguing about politics,
growing older, entering adulthood.
I feast my eyes on the miracle of it all.

This poem was reprinted from The Myth of the Yellow Kitchen, a memoir about resilience in the face of life’s challenges.

 

Uncategorized

I Want

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Thought you might like this poem I wrote awhile ago. Of course I’d have different things on the list now, but the sentiment hasn’t changed!

 I Want

 

I want to eat all the chocolate ice-cream

I want without getting fat.

I want to find an apartment in New York

that I can afford, with a terrace and wonderful

view of the harbor.

I want never to go into therapy again.

I want to be surrounded by

gifted people who

think grand thoughts,

are never petty, and love me

no matter what I do.

I want to know I’ll

never have cancer or become

a cabbage in my old age, that I’ll always

be financially independent.

I want my ex-husband

to approve of me,

tell me how much he thinks I’ve accomplished

since the divorce, and what a good job I did

bringing up the children.

I want to get a really good night’s sleep.

I want to be one of those people who is always

coming back from some exotic place

having a grand adventure

traveling alone on a shoestring.

I want to ride my bike

down long, narrow,

country trails again.

I want to live a conventional life

but have everyone think I’m adventurous

offbeat and exciting.

I want to have a lover who’s good in bed

I want to be proud of him.  I want him not to be

into games or power.  I want him to

love me and be committed to me,

and I want to do my own thing and

not be bothered too much.

I want all women to be successful

and smart and believe in the

right causes, and be wonderful.

I want to be proud of them.  I want

that for men too, but not as much.

I don’t want everybody to like me

because that means I don’t stand

for anything, but I want the right

people to like me.

I want to be able to take a few drags

on a cigarette occasionally without

becoming a smoker again.

I want to write a really good poem.

Rhoada Wald