Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for the ‘poems’ Category

 

I will be wide-flung in the next

 

uncollared

                                   

                                     lingering.  

 

           

there will be no need for signing in

 

I just want to grace it.  I want to swing heads blind. I want to de-clutter the expectation. I want to objectify the past. I want to cast the plunge.  I want to sun the hours. I want to courage the empty and then, scat away.        

 

 

 

Love slips

 

This would cause an end, or broaden waters, but the moment                    passes.

 

 

I am not seen in what turns.

 

 

I am one of yours

 

                                    and yours

                         

            and yours.

 

           

 

We can share the filth.

 

 

I’ll lift              

You’ll lift,        

                        till, we lift off.

 

 

The stone of a moment  is a foot beneath    

 

© Umansky 2014

 

Read Full Post »

Don has the authority and Peggy has the emotion, but that’s in the past. She wears the pants and Don is crying alone in his apartment. Peggy lives in the not-knowing, each breath a gasp. Don lives “in the now” and “the know.”

His failures are a ladder, and she climbs it wrung by wrung.  Her hands reach up but her feet hesitate to follow.

They are two parts of a stumbling whole. Their pasts, a splintered truth.

One small tear at an ankle, could bring them to their knees.

 

When Peggy needs Don, he is glad to be needed, but it is the needing that desires, not the work.  The needing is a haunt

Peggy asks, “what do I know about motherhood” and Don takes a moment.  He simmers in their intellects.  He lets her stew.

She looks at him:  “you love this,” and he does, but not in that way.

He loves what she is capable of.  She is Manhattan. She is growing and growing. Her arms are pulsing with the blood of the next century.

When they dance to Sinatra, it is like every childhood memory  they wish they had, except she is not a child and Don is not her father. 

There is a tenderness there, in their package of equals. 

Their sale is not dependent on their cleverness.

Their sale is not dependent on their skill.

Their sale is dependent on their love.

 

And when Peggy puts her head on Don’s shoulder, and the moon outside is wide-brimmed, their love is pinned in the stars of the city.  Their love is based on their independence.  They both only know one way, my way.

 

© Umansky 2014

Read Full Post »

 

small girls dream awhile

the most are slipped graces

and many graces are slipped,

Yes. There would come a rope

 

or a lady who takes heartbreaks

or a lady who saddles ill-lucks

 

all storms since you, have given in

 

I have been operating from nothing,

without no thing in hand, but these.

 

As a shelving of moving moss,

I am ever on the lookout for

a gorgeous sentence gone

 

any gorgeous thing

 

no glancing

 

mine is not one common.

 

©Umansky 2014

Read Full Post »

TYRION SAYS

Tyrion Says   ( inspired by Game of Thrones)

 

I wish I was the monster you all thought I was,

Tyrion says,

and I think, how we all return to our places.

you can see the gods clutch,  as he waits for a low sky,

for a cornered hope

            ….I’ve been on trial my whole life, he says…

and nails the iron tip on the tooth

 

I think: Jury,  is a slug more slant for its slurp?

The earthworm, less for having more?

 

A sleeping evil, though dumb on night, is still an evil,

but Tyrion is no heathen, though he is slight.

 

He says, I wish I had killed him

but even the dark has its blossoms,

and his are green-tipped and tart

 

This is the law of the land, my friend,

of fathers,

of men

of words

 

The saw cuts right though an ugly thing

blood is ugly but pure

blood lets

blood congeals

blood reveals

[doesn’t it?]

 

I saved you all from a monster, he says,

 

[and he did, but that’s another matter]

 

Tyrion is another kind of monster,

a kinder monster.

 

This one is sore-footed;

this one is lion-hearted;

this one is high-watered in good.

 

I want to say, this will soon be a time long ago,

so, play on,

dwarf,

liege,

Lannister

 

© Umansky2014

Read Full Post »

Read them, here.

Read Full Post »

My copy of the January issue of Poetry Magazine came featuring three of my #GoT poems.

image

Read Full Post »

image

Read Full Post »

 

Let us count that you regard

            and I regard

 

the changing of the tides

the sea of the last

            We are tenaciously taking the tides

            in favored abandons.

 

We are contempting the contemporary

            or co-tempting the contemporary

            into a kind of sin.

 

We are doing more than channeling

When we laugh

When we strategize

In-my-day, I was a believer

            In-my-day        in my day

            In-my-day        in my day

 

The dial-up had a certain purr

That ruffled my roost.

That’s lost, now.

*

Now, you, you, let alone with the golden.

Let the golden wilt and wild.

We can construct the past

Potshot the pristine

 

Here, coordinate my sprawlings

Together, this could  be  nostalgia

© Umansky 2013

 

Read Full Post »

It All Translates to Prowl

 

[1]

 

There will be fat years and lean years,

but either way it’s going to rain.

 

[2]

 

There are men’s voices in our heads,

but every so often a woman goes to the top

every so often a woman takes two

stairs at a time                          two

 

Here’s an imperative: a reason to be.

This isn’t a slumber party.

I am not others.

I resend. I rescind. I recall.     I remind

 

                                    [what? I don’t

                                                …. recall]

 

[3]

 

Rounded. I am well-rounded.

Will I wear this box?

Will you?

Will you, with me?

Wear it with me.

 

 

© Umansky 2013

Read Full Post »

 

 

“Love is just an advertisement that men made to sell advertising”

 

I want this. I must do thus to obtain this. I will hence do this. Ergo, I shall get what I want. Stupid girl. You will never win anyone through pity. You must create the right kind of dream, the sober, adult kind of magic: Illusion born from disillusion.

                                             The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

 

It’s a madmadmadmad world.

Everything can be manufactured, sold and bought, but love, love is the mold.

You sure could have a lot of fun with this.

In the material world, objects are marked up from face value.

The confusion of client services is merely based on articles, like he and she.

You can find anything on the internet:  even beauty.

Advertising is based on happiness. Be happy.

 

 

© Umansky 2013

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 1,778 other followers