Featured

DETENTE

I’m done with this fiction

Formatting

The quest for 

Heartbeat

Success

From the keyboard

Through the screen

Words pressed – compressed

Into hope – legitimacy?

Until then – I won’t run

I’ll push ‘send’ instead

I’ll swim

Slapping the water

Ending battles with the alphabet

Each lap increasing détente 

Approval 

Rejection  

Featured

MAYBE

It has occurred to me

That 

I may not live long enough

To love my neighbor

Indeed

We may all perish if we don’t learn (quickly)

To love one another

And maybe this is the deficiency – like the dinosaurs

That will bring about our extinction

Featured

ADULTING

Aristotle says;

Education is the best survival tool for old age

What Ari doesn’t know is that the 

Truth found in education at night

Is now the lie used against you 

Circling the continent twice by the

Time you awake

    But you carry on as if it hasn’t

There’s frustration in being adult

When grown men fight in high-rise sandboxes 

In suits bullet-proofed with dollar signs

   But you carry on as if they don’t

There’s frustration in behaving grown up

When the agony of the human condition

Can be rationalized  

   And we carry on as if it isn’t

There’s frustration in being grown up

When the door to respond-in-kind

 Remains locked by decency

   Yet you pull on it anyway – as if it isn’t

There’s frustration in being grown-up

Knowing that civilizations have been lost to dreams of retribution

Ungovernable desires

For the “blood-dimmed tide”

To drown the babble

AND the rabble

   But you desire it anyway

There’s frustration in being grown-up

Knowing the constancy of war

Feeling the subliminal connections between 

Truth and chaos. 

   And we carry on anyway

Holding our truth in hands folded in supplication

As we kneel, unreasonable, at the edge of age 

Amid the *signs that tell us to behave like adults

   *Invisible ink 

We drag our middle-class, care-worn hearts

Across years of capitalist tyranny

Through periods of relative decorum

Retreating waves allowing enemies 

Time to deep-fake truth

And we must behave as if they aren’t?

Featured

QUARANTINE: Week Two

    cropped-sunset3651.jpg

Like our electronic toys

The world has a reset button

When we ignore her overheating

She admonishes with flames

When we foul our nests

She sends the oceans in retort

And when we ignore the world’s health,

Its inhabitants’ well-being,

Choosing to chase vicious luxuries

Because – we can

She sends the enemy invisible

The virus incurable,

Barely namable

Scoffing dreams and schemes

Our world has reset

An algorithm for stimulus

Six-degrees of separation

Leaves room for empathy

We leave food for the hungry

We drive the immobile

We care for the sick

We handsomely tip the daring

Souls who venture into the

Empty streets of commerce

Bringing food to those of us with money – to eat

But, the natural world wants us

To open our eyes

She wants us apart enough

To see those lives

That will never change – even with

A conquered virus

She wants us to see the fallacy of

Putting profit before people

She wants us to see those

Who have always been

Quarantined by poverty

In spirit and in purse

Yes, the world has reset.

Sadly, the culling

Won’t be equitable

 

Reset people

Reset!

 

Featured

DEAR WHITE PEOPLE

march on wash. monu

I don’t want your                                                                     liberal guilt

Your shocked alarm                                                                   at blood long spilt

I truly don’t want                                                                  your dismay

To matter more                                                                           than a racist display

What I want                                                                                  when you’re alone

Standing among                                                                           those blood and bone

Not a defense of my                                                                    right to BE

But a defense of my right                                                          to take a knee

Scour your own heart                                                                of stereotype

It sieves through all                                                                 the “tolerant” hype

I know when you think                                                                I’m not enough

When my vocabulary tends                                                    to call your bluff

I will know when the                                                           racist BS ends

When in absence I am                                                            just your “friend”

You’ll understand my anger                                                    at a human race

Those who won’t rise                                                             above limited base

 And you’ll feel easy                                                                   in the skin you own

Knowing we are ALL                                                        simply blood and bone

All working toward                                                                     a peace un-shattered

Where there is no offense                                                    that our lives matter

                                                                       G.  Davis-Feldman  ©2019

OPEN CARRY

I’LL BE A WOMAN MODIFIED

CARRYING MY WOMB 

STRAPPED OUTSIDE  

THAT FAMOUS CANAL

MY MOIST BANDOLIER

EXOSKELETON WEAPON

YEAH – YOU FEAR 

I’LL TAKE IT INTO DONUT SHOPS

ICE CREAM & PIZZA MOM & POPS

I’LL MARCH WITH WOMEN

IN MODIFIED LIGHT

AND FIGHT MEN VOTING

TO RECANT MY RIGHTS

ALL WOMEN WANT

IN LIFE SO MEAN

TO SIMPLY HAVE

MORE RIGHTS

THAN AN AR-15

                                                                                                                        G.D. FELDMAN 6/2022  

DETENTE

I’m done with this fiction
Formatting
The quest for
Heartbeat
Success
From the keyboard
Through the screen
Words pressed – compressed
Into hope – legitimacy?
Until then – I won’t run
I’ll push ‘send’ then
I’ll swim
Slapping the water
Ending battles with the alphabet
Each lap increasing détente
Approval
Rejection

REINCARNATION

I’LL BE A WOMAN MODIFIED

CARRYING MY WOMB 

STRAPPED OUTSIDE  

OPEN CARRY

MY MOIST BENDOLIER

EXOSKELETON WEAPON

STRIKING FEAR 

I’LL TAKE IT INTO

DONUT SHOPS

ICE CREAM

and PIZZA MOM & POPS

LET LITTLE MEN KNOW

THE FEAR HAS STOPPED

I’LL FLICK THEIR HEADS

OFF MY SHOULDER WITH EASE

COMFORT-SEEKING VERMIN

I’LL NOT APPEASE

THEY’LL PROFESS TO ME

THEIR LOVE AND LIGHT

BEFORE VOTING AND

RECANTING MY RIGHTS

WHEN I RETURN

NO REGRESSION 

TO THE MEAN

I’LL HAVE A LIFE WITH MORE RIGHTS

THAN AN AR-15

                                                                                                                        G.D. FELDMAN 6/2022  

THINKING PAST AND PRESENT

The concept of the drive-thru is beautiful in its simplicity. First for burgers, then donuts, carwash, and now in our clean cars, we sit for precious (monetized) minutes waiting for a macchiato – extra sweet.

~~~

I was a mad-hungry freshman, rubbing last night’s party from my irritated eyes. The fall of 1969: Saturday morning, leaving McDonald’s with my breakfast, I stood on the paper-strewn corner kicking aside shredded protestations for peace. I waited for the light to change, barely noticing the air until I opened my mouth and stuck out my greedy tongue for a salty-sweet hit of those fries. I didn’t get it. Just a bitter sampling of leftover mace, telling me that this was the intersection that ended a peace march the day before. Mace had been successful in dispersing the peace-mongers.

 It would be years before I would connect our drive-thru lives to the forces behind the mace – that clung to the air that angered me for not tasting like fries.  

Converting my guilt to shame.

~~~

Six months into Covid – it is a Saturday morning and I’m driving mad and unmasked to the store. According to county health officials, this epidemic was going to be a long haul. I live in a blue state but in a red county where obedient people listen to a president (who likely failed chemistry) wax poetic and pathetic about science. I turn into the shopping center parking lot, halted by the line of cars patiently waiting for a turn at the Dunkin-Donuts window. Not me! I pull out of line, opting to circumnavigate the deserted K-Mart building, creating a lateral line of attack on my destination. I wait for a few shoppers to withdraw, increasing my chances of surviving what I’m sure will be a pandemic—four people exit. The coast is clear – I don my mask and make a beeline to the front door, where I grab a cart. I breathe shallow dizzying breaths – as I study the store’s arrangement. I am cautious as I approach the domestics on the left, where, after a brief reconnaissance, I make my way out of the Finger Lakes, grabbing a few bottles of good whites. I stand for a moment in the archway leading to the reds. I know the need for urgency but linger anyway at the mercy of ratings. I am deaf to the sounds of my bacchanalian brain stuttering at the sight of French, Italian, Portugal, South African, Spain, and Venezuelan reds– mesmerizing blood-shot pinwheels in a firefight – hand-to-hand combat for space in my cart.

In my obedience to Doctor Fauci’s biblical warning that this plague will be a long haul, I fill my cart – my private Arc – two bottles of each.

~~~

My Spectrum service is broken – I mean down, not working, caput, fin, nothing. For almost ten days, I’ve watched a platoon of Spectrum trucks trace and retrace the road in front of my house to no effect. My hope for a temporary outage had sprung eternal. But now I see the drive-bys as a ploy –like a Russian May-Day parade – a show of strength offering hope where, only a few know, there is none. The outage has been long enough for me to finish Johnathan Foer’s beautiful five-hundred-page tome on love and Judaism. And long enough for me to fear my unread emails growing to legion; so many requests for my dollars to save dogs, cats, goats, donkeys, and sometimes people. Should I worry?

Spectrum seems not to worry. The billing department is sanguine, telling me I will be reimbursed ten dollars for every four hours I’ve been without service. For the first week, Spectrum outage was never, like it is now, continuous. It was more like three-hours of outage interrupted by twenty minutes of service. Even if I had the internet’s stupefying privilege of a misinformed populace right now, I could see the hand of capitalism slapping me in the face with “free enterprise.” I am free, I’ve surmised, to go without or pay dearly. I know where I, the consumer, stand. I even know where I’ll fall if I tumble down my stairs. I may or may not survive Spectrum or my fall – who knows? My cellphone won’t – having been rendered useless in an emergency because of this Spectrum outage. 

HAPPY NEW YEAR – 2022

January 3rd and the Sharp Shinned Hawk has returned to the feeder 

Dropping into the cedar bush waiting for an old, slow dove

But it’s the red squirrel who drives my husband crazy 

Rick and his wife Judy have taken a winter

Residence in our walls. Their bedroom quarrels

Legendary in the ceiling above my husband’s office.

I know the nights have been rough when I lay abed

Long into the morning stirred from slumber at the loud mutterings

Of my beloved below

“Fuck you, Rick!”

Yes, from the man who marched under his

banner of long hair 

Fighting for a hopeful harvest for the world

Fighting against ugly forces intrinsic in warring hearts

My peace man

The silhouette against all those night fires

Set to capitalism

Arms always raised in righteous revolutionary anger

Never in surrender 

Now sits at his desk perusing

The hopelessness in today’s headlines

Wishing the Sharp Shinned Hawk

Took prey larger than the dove.

G.D.F. 1/3/22