Sy Roth comes riding in and then canters out. Oftentimes, the head is bowed by reality; other times, he is proud to have said something noteworthy. Retired after forty-two years as teacher/school administrator, he now resides in Mount Sinai, far from Moses and the tablets. This has led him to find words for solace. He spends his time writing and playing his guitar. One of his poems, “Forsaken Man,” was selected for Best of 2012 poems in Storm Cycle.
another day of brainwork
thoughts enter skippingly slower, however.
think days dwindle in summer heat and time.
they wither like hungry snakes
slithering to the surface seeking food.
difficult to form a think for I opine that cogitation is not
a brew that eliminates thirst,
only creates a hungers for something to slake it.
watched 127 hours and
thought that a body can crave
the unobtainable and ultimately prevail
even if it means removing an arm, but
no way to remove thoughts;
they are bulls rushing headlong at a matador.
I can only make them dwindle
as I cradle my arm, and
sleep-thoughts chase them away temporarily.
perhaps they will emerge as inspirations,
perhaps as nightmares.
enter the discussion: