Jeremy Yanofsky
The Name of the Game

"The sky's the limit," I've often heard
Inspiration of the sort regurgitated word for word
Young eyes peer skyward, the heart rendering vision blurred
A mind racing wilder than a lightning hummingbird
Cheerily so, the dreams scamper 'round, who cared how absurd
Astronaut, scientist, doctor - other peers concurred
Director, entertainer, innovator - sweet dreams preferred
Or what other ambitions - true hopes, are to what I referred

Soon, one's calendar, some of time's torment endured
Reflects those sparkling fantasies somewhat deterred,
Submitting to reality's craving to be financially insured
Was it all lies, of no truth at all, I oft wondered
Led along plains of promise, like some wild cow herd?
Imagination, a child's fool's gold, would you mean to assert?
Alas, 'tis the case for many, their felicity a chandelier shattered
Glass smiles of false content struggling to shield a heart like rags
                tattered

In spite, gazing to the past and to what's ahead,
ignoring the emotion splattered
By the wounds of once brilliant dreams that have been battered
I, and surely others, will refuse to go on with this sick ploy,
rest assured

Why bother play the game
When years later it's yourself you have to blame?

A Breather

The fleeting folly of a glimpse in the windy willow tree
A moment paused at a red light in my mind's eye traffic
Not a gollywomper in sight... crystal clear skies ahead
Yet a brutal breeze continues to shave my face
From the layers of warmth growing upon me,
                    scraggly as they are
Itching me so, dandruff like so

Cackling mischievously as it
     cascades
          down
               my silly brown hair

From which nonchalantly it must go
as I brush it
hither          and          thither

Withering away as it falls to the

               ground


But enough about that, screams the Wind
Breathing on me ever still
Those around me cowering silently
in walking bundles of cocoa hot cocoons
Bouncing fro          and          tru',
in their cozy Thinsulate coats and their candy-cane scarves
Huddled together alongside myself,
creeping this          and          that way
          up
          and
          down
          sidewalks
Planning and planning for weeks, days, hours, minutes to come
Ideas, itineraries, aspirations, requirements
All bubbling feverishly in our cranial jacuzzis
like there's no tomorrow
Or was it yesterday?          I thought it was Tuesday
Irrelevant as it is, though everyone knows for sure
          When it's Friday
The time to snoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooze what we lose and collect our dues
For what was sacrificed during the tumultuous week
Moments whisking away by the snickering Wind

Coffee? No.

<< Back to Issue 5, 2003