Somewhere in the world, enclosed in a decorated silvery metal case, and packed in a cardboard box with all of my other memories is a video tape of my 13th birthday.
This was the day I became a man in the eyes of the Jewish faith. This was also the day I stood before the Continue reading
Author Archives: bennyk1972
stream of consciousness poetry
Spillage
It is too late for me to change anything with words.
So if I am to change, then I can only change by action.
Otherwise, I will remain still,
and everything around me will stay the same
or unchallenged.
By definition, freedom is the exemption from outside control.
However, my freedom is limited so long as I hold myself captive. Continue reading
Remembering
What I remember most are the days afterward. I remember the worry and prayers for those who went missing, and the hopes that they would turn up alive instead of found in the rubble.
On September 12, I returned to the Continue reading
wish list
Rain falls and the small town of East Meadow is quiet. The view from my living room window is peaceful and the gray sky has given me the prefect reason to be lazy.
My friend The Old Tree stands across the street from my home and I celebrate another year of its endurance. Looking though my front window, I can see a distant water tower poking the belly of the sky above the rooftops.
This has been my view for close to eight years; a view which I thought I would lose on a few occasions. But much like my friend The Old Tree from across the street; I have roots here. I belong exactly where I am. I am a part of this town’s history, and with hope, I plan to be a part of its future. Continue reading
working man’s ramble
The Old Man was not always easy to relate to. He grew up in a much different time than I did. He grew up in a different household, in a different town, and in a different world.
He was older than the usual dad with children my age. He was hard-handed and stuck in his own ways. The Old Man was born out of The Great Depression, so his views on money, discipline, and waste were very strict.
The Old Man hated waste. He used to tell stories about Continue reading
why I stay sober
I was under the influence of something more than just a mild chemical reaction. Someone, and I was never sure who, suggested I try a bag.
“It will help you come down,” they said. “It’ll stop the fiend [or urge] from getting to you.” But what no one explained was the trade of one evil for another.
The weather was warm and the sweat beaded down the bridge of my nose. The long strands of my hair were clumped together with sweat and blood sped throughout my Continue reading
Just to write: the path of least resistance
It was Saturday morning and the bright yellow sun gleamed down across the snow-covered field without an ounce of warmth to spare. The sky was perfectly blue and the sunlight’s glare was too bright. It was as though I had been indoors for way too long and my eyes could not adjust to sun’s glare.
“Better get down to the barn,” I was told. “Better move it too.”
I turned around to face the Continue reading
Sunday Morning’s Thought: Then and Now
After the last few days of intensity, I figured I could use something to break the tension, and what better way is there than to watch the sunrise with a cup of coffee?
I love these moments when the sky changes color and the birds begin to chirp. Most of the world is sleeping and the streets are quiet. I see this as a perfect time to enjoy my small town and share some words with God the Father to restore a semblance of peace.
This morning was cooler than the last few. Yesterday’s humidity broke with its Continue reading
Love for Jake
(Note: I seldom use names in any of my pieces out of respect for anonymity. But those who I write about know exactly who they are, and my silence of their names is not a question of love. It is respect for it.)
I have always admired wedding photographs. I like the frozen moments in time and the smiles from the bride and groom, which define the happiness and love in their hearts. And whether their version of Continue reading
School and the Fred Flintstone Incident
My daughter went back to school yesterday . . .
She went willingly and with a smile, so that’s always a good thing. Her mother was sure to take a photograph before our little girl walked across the street to her bus stop. And I admit to a quick tear in the corner of my eye when I saw the photograph. My daughter is beautiful, and I know I had something to do with that.
Other than my first day in first grade, I have no detailed memories of any first day back to school. I only remember not wanting to go. I didn’t want to walk through the double doors that opened into the corridors and smell the Continue reading
