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why I donÂt write
by Leslie Ann EisenbergBecause the mew of my children calls
me to raise walls of steel chains,
inside which I safely attend to
every bruise and every triumph
But to confess, even as they sleep,
I cannot hear the words as they
gurgle in my throat, I shamefully
let them fester in their acid bath
I rarely make it up north now,
where my muse resides in lavender skies
and I write in giant green journals with my
box of rainbow colored pens that never dry
So sometimes I try to write poems
when Im on the john
(until the kids beg for pancakes),
or I lock the bedroom door
(until their little fists pound mercilessly),
or at 1:00 am while my husband snores
(and I poke his arm so I can concentrate),
And sometimes for 3 minutes
the muse has her way and
I am not a quiet kitten on a bench
by a stream in the woods,
I am a panting dog with a fiery itch
I am an Amazon Goddess with raven hair
I am a blur of fingers that flip on and
off a silvered keyboard ,
a graceful black panther,
flanks rippling as she chases her prey
Some days I am more like the hunted,
a jackrabbit that never stops for breath
except to hide in a hollowed tree trunk,
And so that is why I dont write
Most days there is no such hiding place,
but sometimes the muse peeks out.
While packing school lunches at six a.m.
I found my scribe in the ham sandwich,
carving letters on a silken page of mayonnaise
01/01/2005 Author's Note: I'm waiting for my man
Twenty-six dollars in my hand
Up to lexington, 125
Feel sick and dirty, more dead than alive
I'm waiting for my man
Hey, white boy, what you doin' uptown?
Hey, white boy, you chasin' our women around?
Oh pardon me sir, it's the furthest from my mind
I'm just lookin' for a dear, dear friend of mine
I'm waiting for my man
Here he comes, he's all dressed in black
Pr shoes and a big straw hat
He's never early, he's always late
First thing you learn is you always gotta wait
..Velvet Underground
Posted on 01/01/2005
Copyright © 2024 Leslie Ann Eisenberg
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Michelle Angelini on 01/01/05 at 08:31 PM "Ah but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now..." Wonderful poem & view of married life. Quite an enjoyable read. |
| Posted by Michelle Angelini on 01/01/05 at 08:32 PM ooops, quote from Dylan's "My Back Pages," a favorite of mine. |
| Posted by Mary Ellen Smith on 01/01/05 at 11:45 PM Sounds like you tricked your muse into coming down from the north and really did write something here...love this. |
| Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 01/02/05 at 04:50 PM for one who, by her own admission, don't write, you've written quite the winner and not by a nose but every lenght in the book. |
| Posted by D. Xavier Bari on 01/03/05 at 04:43 AM splintered yet tight n' cool. |
| Posted by Karl Waldbauer on 01/04/05 at 10:22 AM Now that I can think and speak again after reading your poem and author's note, I just gotta say "Wow, Mamma, Wow!"
As VU once wrote "if you shut the door, the night will last forever". |
| Posted by Ashok Sharda on 01/06/05 at 02:42 AM different 'scene's' depicting 'moods', external causing the effect. Or is it the 'effect' causing the 'cause'.Nice? |
| Posted by Max Bouillet on 01/22/05 at 12:35 AM Hiding is an option that works for only moments at a time. You're a lot like me... our muse has to work in stolen moments that everyone else thinks they own. Great read. |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 03/14/05 at 03:14 AM Beautiful...rich...magnificent expression Leslie. Excellent capture of the creative urge vs. life's responsibilities. |
| Posted by Rebecca Lin on 11/30/05 at 01:29 AM I love the title and theme of this poem so much... wonderful... I wish I could think of good words that would do justice to your poetry. |
| Posted by Jared Fladeland on 01/10/09 at 05:52 AM i think life is unfair.
i think life takes all you love and puts a gigantic wall around it, and you spend your whole life trying to claw through that wall to get at what you love |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 05/12/09 at 03:10 PM Your descriptions are genius - totally alive! This is a brilliant portrait of those daily distractions and duties that we live within, even as we have that itch to fulfill part of our inner selves. So many wonderful lines in this - that last one is a fine example! Thank you. |
| Posted by Patricia J Reed on 05/13/09 at 05:33 PM it's funny how at a certain time in your life you have so much to write about and very little time to do it!
(for ex. - i'm currently typing with one hand while holding a baby in the other with wonder pets playing in the background and a 4 yr old who is now worried that eating a dog hair will make him sick!)
this is a great read! i love the part about being a hunted jackrabbit! |
| Posted by Sandy M. Humphrey on 05/14/09 at 08:39 PM Ah the same reasons you don't write will at time be the reasons you do at that is the beauty and the mystery of being a poet and lady you are one of the best for every time your muse does get a hold of you and your pen scratches its itch the words tumble beautifully and say what so many others can relate too. smh |
| Posted by Tony Whitaker on 05/15/09 at 03:34 AM What a vivid poem and reminds of the days when my kids, my job were all I had time for! And my favorite stanza in this classic VU tune:
Up to a Brownstone, up three flights of stairs
Everybody's pinned you, but nobody cares
He's got the works, gives you sweet taste
Ah then you gotta split because you got no time to waste
I'm waiting for my man
Excellent!
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| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 05/17/09 at 01:57 AM Good to see this on the Top 10 Leslie. Further to my first comment, both beautiful and disturbing in its own way. These lines especially lept out at me during the second read: and I write in giant green journals with my
box of rainbow colored pens that never dry
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