Monday, March 20, 2017

Feels terrible getting fired! Poem: We Love Ya, But We Don't Want Ya! - Poem: Silence

 Oh darn! I got fired from one of my favorite jobs I ever had. To be fair, tho, my boss, Josh Mason, said I may be called back in a month or so.

Frankly, my dear, I don't believe it.

Image result for symphony manor trevose

Read this poem I wrote about it. The room above is where I ran my last group - The Now and Then Group.


Stayed up till two
typing up lyrics to
"Johhny B Goode" and
"The Way You Do the
Things You Do."

How they love to sing!
Open mouths like Christmas
choralers standing outside
the castle, breath ascending
to the Heavens.

My people! John in his
wheelchair saying Trump
is our last hope, white-
haired Mary waking from
her ocean-deep sleep
to belt out the songs,
Elaine the delightful
curmudgeon in warm sweater
and pearls, saying "I know
that song!" at 92.

During Johnny B Goode
we put each woman's
name in... Hattie, then
Ethel, then Patti,never
learned to read or
write too well, but
she could play the
guitar like ringing
a bell

My job for one whole hour
is to bring people joy
in their final home.
Wrenched they were
from moving into
their tiny bedrooms
with family photos
reminding them
of what life used
to be!

Scott drove me to
whole Foods to
comfort me when
Josh told me it
was my last day.

Budget cuts demanded
Fire all the entertainers.

I bought a leg of lamb
which is roasting overnight
in the slo-cooker and
two Hamantaschen, one
poppy, one apricot.

When I fall asleep
tonight their faces
will float past me,
Elaine, most of all,
every time I take
a breath from reading
Whistleblowers in
the Age of Edward


Mad Swirl, an online lit mag, had written me a note saying they missed my work. I stopped submitting to them b/c they rejected me and also b/c they take forever to respond.

Was quite surprised they published this poem that I totally forgot about


Be silent
Be silent when you wake up
in the morning light drizzling
thru your lavender drapes

Listen to the sounds of the world
whether the cars splashing up the
street – oh, so it rained last night! – or
the mournful whistle of the passenger train

Are you afraid to hear the
whispers in your own mind?
Give them room
Give them space
They have a right to be heard!

There’s that squirrel again
outside on the back porch
the same one I saw last week
Peering at me as he nibbles
an acorn – or is it a dreidl? –
as the world enfolds us both, unconcerned.


I see, reading the last line, my existential view of the world, shows the very neutral nature of the world.

  Jean-Paul Sartre, author of the play No Exit - what a despairing name -and Being and Nothingness, his chef-d'oevre.

  He and Simone de Beauvoir had an open relationship. Here they are in Beijing. Photo from Wiki. What? You think I was there with my Polaroid?

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