distance

Covid-distanced from friends and community,

I find friendships on YouTube and Amazon Prime,

following strangers into their homes

for coffee and conversation.

Even if one-sided,

it’s an interesting journey

into a world

I’d previously ignored,

and of which I was quite unaware.

Surprisingly, I find it delightful -

although a little unilateral

in this monotony.

My patterns of speech

meanwhile

seem to get rusty in the process

as they mostly remain within

While reflexes from mind to tongue

seem to slow just a bit.

I notice this

in my phone calls

to real friends of mine,

and family members,

who remain at bay

during this diseased pause

of living.

(c) 2021 by Iris. B Struller

breakdown

A phone call - an update, reassurance - we both feel uneasy.

He comes home from the psych ward today.

The docs will pack him into an Uber

and send him ‘home’.

A home that’s emptied of wife and child

Who have fled to safety of their own

Leaving Dad and sister to fend with

this other him.

Uneasy after changing the locks.

Uneasy after calls for protective order

Uneasy after screwdriver sunk into the electrical fuse box in the basement

to keep the carbon monoxide out of his head

and electricity off.

Uneasy after the shattered doorway opened by force

and physical threats to both father and sister

and tenant above.

Uneasy.

Ten days away and their world has changed

Into open wounds of adversity and uncertainty and no reassurance.

He’s fine, they say.

On meds and understanding his state of mind, they say.

“He’s playing you,” his wife contends.

Too late for reason; he’s out the door.

Seventy-eight years old and waiting

for furious storm to hit this afternoon.

He’s hoping his son moves out as promised.

Heartbroken.

“Observe his eyes and movements,” I say

Drumming into him what he already knows.

There’s no way to reach him.

Either one.

“You’re not as strong as you once were,

Now he’s got you outweighed.”

“I know,” he says, and silence falls.

I hope 911 won’t be too late.

Uneasy, he and me on the phone.

There’s nothing more I can say.

In the end, each walks alone.

For better or worse, we’ll wait out the day.

Uneasy.

(c) 2021 by Iris B. Struller

on a downtown train

As soon as I sit down on the empty patch of bench in the front of the train, I notice her. Her sweet smile sweeps innocuously from one side to the other: at me sitting down, at the baby in the stroller in the middle of the car, fussed over by mom and grandpa. Grandpa tells the young child they’ll soon be getting off the train, and succeeds in unsettling the babe, while mom searches for something under the stroller seat.

My eyes again find the young woman sitting across from me, her child-like smile still puffing her cheeks. I take in her cut-off sweatshirt that somehow holds all of her arms and hands inside it for warmth, while exposing part of her thin belly under the broken coat partially wrapping her atop the piece of cardboard she’s sitting on. She can’t be much more than 20. Her smooth, velvet skin frames soft, innocent, doe-like eyes with long lashes that look around the car in sweet smile. She tugs her canvas bag on the seat closer to her with slender fingers, her hand having magically appeared from underneath the remnants of her shirt. Her smile never leaves her face.

I’m digging in my bag for cash, trying to do so without incurring attention. She stirs as we pull into 33rd, and stands, takes hold of her bag. I get up too, hand her a folded $20 bill before sitting back down. She smiles at me, nodding her eyes while holding me with her gaze, and I return her smile. She gathers her bag, some of the crumpled paper surrounding it, and her cardboard as quickly as she can, then shuffles through the doors.

A left-behind crumpled paper ball rolls where the baby’s stroller was a moment ago. A few newspaper pages have stayed where she sat; the 3 french fries she didn’t eat atop the pile. The grandfather hovers for a moment, staring at the remains of her life instead of following his daughter onto the platform. Decision made, he snatches the paper ball off the floor, then gathers the scraps from the bench and hurries out before the doors close. Through the window, I watch him find a garbage can and catch up with his family.

A few stops later, as the train clears out again, the young woman sitting further back in the car picks up a small backpack purse by her feet, and follows the crowd to the door with her hands stretching onto the platfomr. “Is this yours?” I hear her say. Movement outside my vision makes her smile. She tries to pull her arm back inside through the just-closing doors, is stopped short for a moment until those release her. She returns to her seat as we move towards W4th Street, and the young man next to her whispers something in her ear.

I smile.

Just a bunch of us New Yorkers on the Coney Island-Stillwell Ave-bound local F train heading downtown in the middle of the day.

Just another rainy Monday

Happy New Year.

the life of thoughts

Elusive strings, ever present,

of images or feelings or desires,

ride my inside reality without pause.

Some in the background,

some loudly out front

forming and convulsing

pulsating right above my eyes

inside my mind

appearing unannounced

from seemingly nowhere.

It occurs to me then

that it’s ME who creates them

and forms my reality from their essence:

The building blocks of my life

spark by spark

brick by brick

soft ribbon by soft ribbon

prodding me to take note:

What beliefs are reflected in their expression?

What beliefs of mine?

I sort through what birthed the ideas

I have held since forever,

unraveling those that swept alongside me

without notice.

Do I like what I see?

Swirls inside my mind

build a framework vast and open.

I command it at my will!

As they wait for more input

They submit fully to just me.

What is it I aim to create?

I am the master

of

joy or misery

love or anger

wisdom or waste

by thought alone -

I must tread carefully!

While our ideas:

all of ours together,

paint

the entirety of the universe

as it expands

into eternity.

(c) 2019 Iris B. Struller

creative spark

Thoughts,

Impulses from deep within,

Spark subtle motion

I can actually feel!

Creating this moment

and the life I lead.

Impressions

dot new colors to my eyes,

Bounce within my mind

To split wide open

old walls taken for granted,

Reveal framework yet unseen.

Freed joy from deep within

guides paintbrush in my hand

sparks powerful moods

into the expanse before my eyes

On just a whim.

Hot flame churning,

soft lights from the comfort of my core

warming heart, spread outward quickly

into ecstasy

that stretches moment to lifetime

Where crisp waves crest infinity.

And pave roads with my soul’s sweet reactions

Etched upon its library.

(c) 2019 Iris B. Struller

when quiet comes over me

When quiet comes over me

I notice the burn

In the rim of my eyes

And my heart grows heavy with sorrow.

For me?

For them?

For my life's emptiness?

That creeps up my limbs

Into that cave within?

Where it settles to leave a trail

Of undropped tears.

Or is the sorrow for myself

For having borrowed against my life on end

Living others' hopes and dreams and expectations?

While my dreams,

Unformed as yet

In the belly of my womb,

Never made it to even the rim of the plate

I'm  holding in my hands.

Crowded out

By what I was

Supposed to do

Supposed to dream

Supposed to hope.

Crowded out

By all those

I was supposed to take care of

Ahead of me.

A low man on the totem pole,

I somehow still carry that position

As the adult I am today,

Now,

With those I love.

And I look back and realize

I'm still playing the game

Of the good child.

That cursed good child curse

That I hold

Within my heart

To this day.

Unknowingly

Fulfilling the promises,

Unspoken as they might be,

Of yesteryear.

Time for a glass of wine

To ponder

Change.

(C) 2018 Iris B. Struller

a mother's love

Looking through the windshield,

I gaze my mother's hands

resting atop the steering wheel,

attached to me.

And mournful bliss straddles me

in this instance of recognition.

What feelings seeped her being when cancer clung to her breast,

leading to more extreme treatments

than saddled me?

Did fear stun her into subservience to nurses and doctors and technology buzzing around ears

as it did me?

Did doubts of decisions affecting her children bathe her spirit in cold sweat of guilt

as they did me?

Did reconsideration evaporate her mind and shackle her to silent screams within moments of indecision

as it did me?

Did the possibility of re-occurrence stalk her presence in weightless embrace?

Or was she convinced of its defeat before its center-stage performance blew out the pit of her heart?

To this day, I battle the truth of its defeat

in repeated reminders

that I've confronted my guilt over blasted inability to nourish my children

during attacks on the home front.

To this day, their forgiveness has eased my mind,

wrapped in tender disbelief,

as soul-baring sorrow seeped the ground of my heart.

And yet, I wonder, is it enough?

The instant I see my hands as hers

I comprehend

the anguish that caused her illness

within the silence that kept her secret.

And I console my heart with love for her,

acknowledging her love for me

knowing

without a doubt

that her steps paved my way

onto another ground,

onto a different outcome

for my children and me.

And I smile into the darkness

as I blow her a kiss.

(c) 2018 Iris B. Struller

2018

New Year's door is about to open, bringing promise of new. This moment always reminds me of dew's freshness crisping a morning or the hush of an unexpected breeze kissing my cheek in the expanse of a lush meadow.

May you understand that you are exactly where you need to be right now.
May your heart be filled with joy.
May you know that you have created a path that is exactly right for you.
May you know you are cherished.
May you understand within your soul how valuable you truly are.
May you trust your senses at all times.
May your health be good.
May all challenges bring you the blessing of understanding and greater insight and a new perspective.
May you find love in unexpected places.
May disappointments be filled with hope and the strength for a new path.
May your courage guide you.
May your dreams come to pass.
May any darkness be brightened.
May you find the love within yourself that's always been there and know it is a gift for you.
May you find kindness beyond your dreams for yourself and others.
May you find peace in the stillness of your heart.
May you know with absolute certainty that you are good enough just the way you are.
May your spirit soar from sunup to sundown and all times in between.

That is my wish for you.

Happy 2018.

supermoon

By the time I've ventured outside, the moon is already halfway up the sky, this dazzling orb the size of a very large golf ball -- well, from where I'm sitting -- brighter than anything except my phone screen.  It is beautiful as it illuminates the canal, casting the houses and lights in soft glow.  And it travels further upward still, large and round and perfect.

It's the big pizza pie moon, Cosmo's moon eternalized in Moonstruck: the enormous celestial sphere stalking Brooklyn's backyards.

A soundtrack of chirping crickets accompanies its journey while I'm nestled in the hammock, gazing into the universe.  Bands of clouds span like safety net below the trapeze upon which it balances high above.

What glorious life to be here to witness its simple beauty!

It rises higher still, this balloon let go of and floating across the night sky, seemingly brightening as it gains altitude.

And I smile into the stillness, squinting as I follow its path.

(c) 2017 Iris B. Struller

the kiss of the sun

The waves push in stronger now, following the first timid ones up the canal into the bright orange that is the reflection of the rising sun.  It leaves the outlines of boats, docks and boat lifts, scraggly tops of palm trees in shadow, dark silhouettes rising from Mother Earth.   I watch the glistening christening unfold, this daily blessing of wondrous miracle that transforms our dark world into a moment of beauty , mesmerizing for just this instant.  I listen to the cooing of the morning dove, the cackle of another in flight, the whispered lure of a woodpecker, the lament of the osprey above, all while bathed in this warm light that paints my knees a welcome gold.  And I brush a biting gnat off my arm, my face, in this wind still moment, as though the world were holding its breath to watch the golden ball ascent high above our existence, certain it won’t fall.

I feel the heat kissing my face in ever blooming brightness, and squint through the light in my sunglasses.

Good morning world, you glorious breath of God!  Good morning to you.

(c) 2017Iris B. Struller

And today we wait

And today, we wait. 

The wind gusts are rocking the moored sailboats side to side, a sway in tandem with dancing palm fronds.  The water has shimmied up to just underneath docks that usually have greater breathing room, continuous ripples gliding north along the canal.  And the drizzle imprints fast-paced crescent moons and circles on the pool's surface, distorting the calm that was there for a whisper a moment ago.  Soon it will careen again, this water fall, accompanied by orchestral howling, the roar its sumptuous companion. 

I look up and notice at last the uniform gray of the sky.  No, it has slight variations of blended clouds sweeping northward unceremoniously, this barely monotone canvas setting the mood against lush green spectators, struggling to bow their crowns while rooted along the storm's path.

Queen Irma!  Your impending arrival has your subjects quivering before you.

And still we wait.

(c) 2017 Iris B. Struller

the drum

The drum within my chest

beats its tune in singular voice

amongst a crowd of many.

It slows and speeds in step with my mood

before that is even known to me.

My timekeeper,

my emotional witness,

this pulsing heart in sacred dance,

matches my step

moment by moment,

thought by thought,

action by action.

My timeless companion,

most loyal to me

though I pay it no heed

most of the time.

Unseen,

Unnoticed,

I count on its steady cadence

not to hiccup,

but to fill my being

with its magnificent beat.

(c) 2017   Iris B. Struller

fire escape morning

My feet on the fire escape, I sit on the windowsill and watch the world wake up. 

Pink clouds illuminate the baby blue sky for just a moment in magical transformation, while a beacon lights up in the distance over the rooftops, a flashlight pointing at me, and I know it's another flight into LaGuardia.  The hum of the highway sings with chopper blades' song.

Lazily drifting above, the pink cloud now dons the bright spot of the awakening sun, the streak from the airplane running right through it like cupid's arrow.

What a glorious day this promises to be!  Birds' chirping greets its arrival as another air conditioner buzzes alive.

With a sip of coffee, perched against my top floor window, I take in the show, the music, and the smells of the new day.

(c) 2017   Iris B. Struller

rain drops

Rain drops

patter against the skylight,

tap dancing their way across the surface in buzzing tremble:

high to low, soft and loud,

fading to silence

down the eaves of the canyon

made of brick and mortar

just outside my window.

Thick flicker of light preambles

clap of thunder,

rumbles front to back,

then sideways

and yet, Again!

Muted roar follows jittery flash,

illuminating that empty space

between curtains and glass,

where my eyes slide to bright beads

stuck on the pane,

within the sliver of transparency I can actually see

that has trapped the brightest light

within tiny pearls reflecting the universe.

Another crescendo!

and the world turns quiet

in twilight's unmoving breath.

While the orb in the distance,

large and round and flaming orange,

slides beyond the crowns of the trees

and slips just past where I can see.

And I sense its grand disappearance

within the glow of the fading light.

(c) 2017 Iris B. Struller

i blink

I blink

and for a moment's pause

my mind goes still

and explores the crevasse

of memory past,

far, far back

to different circumstances

and different life,

carrying magical ellipses

of angel's breath and fairy dust

and colorful dreams

containing rainbows

of purple unicorns

floating

within clouds

of silver fish

scooping and gliding

under water

within airbubbles

made of mercury silver,

bubbles

gliding upward

in various sizes

resembling

jellyfish

and umbrellas

without Mary Poppins.

(c) 2017 Iris B. Struller

golden rays

As the day draws to a close, I listen to its whisper of golden rays along the rooftops from my tree house window.  The breeze kisses leaves trembling in amber hue, jotting color in shivers across expansive breath.  And I feel the space exhale, causing me to crumble into joy for life, this pure splash of freedom coveting my heart and rendering it speechless.

You are alive, you are loved, you are beautiful.

And I watch the sun go down.

(c)  2017 Iris B. Struller

a child

A child

Of innocence

Sent into the world

To sway the tide

And move mountains.

It carries within

Doubts unanswered

Doubts confirmed

By unloving gesture

And harsh silence

Or wooden spoon

Left in the corner

In timeout less grating

Than slaps on the rump

were meant to be.

But the cruelty of silence

Damage the psyche

And births doubts and anger and rage

Poisedly repressed

As the good child learned,

Forgotten completely

To slumber there

For years of old.

They sprout just in time

To seed your own child,

stepped out of line.

And old hurts forgotten

Spur on fury

Alongside

Doaled out punishment

Just and kind

Just as was done

Decades before you

To come to rest

on you when small

and helpless.

And you learned well

Because without thinking

you repeat all you absorbed.

Word for word

Action for action

And haunt your child

in just the way

as burdens you.

(c) 2017Iris B. Struller

the day draws to a close

The day draws to a close

blinks lights on, off, and steady

across a vast and billowed tent

that spans horizon's circle.

Black canvas spurs grand disco ball,

puffs mirrors with sun's rays:

each light a dot of memory

of by-gone glitt'ring day.

While thoughts reflect unbounded,

light streaks from star to star,

and silence seeps the voices

from all but roaring cars.

To faded cloth.

A morning's ode of light and life

renews undaunted breath,

blows out the candle of the night

across entire breadth.

Dark to pale gray, a frosting sprayed

on land and sky and trees

and darkness fades in morning glee

as birds, in hymn, greet thee.

This dawn's new light beams pure-gold sun

across the clouds aflame

full force at last united with

this beacon's wondrous gain.

It roars in silenced, steadfast trek

crosses the sky each day

unwavering, till glory gone

and day draws closed again.

(c) 2017Iris B. Struller

Yesterdays

Yesterdays

Slipped through my fingers

Glimpsing toffee stuck on child's hands, glued to me.

Memory:

It stalks my peace,

companions quickened breath in time with jagged heartbeat:

a soulful tune.

And loss of fathom fills space close behind.

I scratch my head.

Old naivete carried

like a bonnet upon my head

sweeping ribbons tied my eyes to bows

distorting my vision

to only now show me ghastly truth within colorful loops.

I hiccup

And turn the page

of yesteryear.

They've grown

They've forgiven me.

Redemption

At what price?

Who paid?

I turn in silence to more pleasant conversation.

(c) 2017Iris B. Struller

a slice of time

A slice of time

unencumbered by hope or expectation

A dash of color

A memory untold.

And yet,

I hold you in my hand

Like precious jewel

not to be lost

Amongst the other affairs

Until tomorrow

or beyond

left in the attic of my mind

the trunk that holds the others

within cobwebs and silver fish

in silent slumber between the eaves.

And wake I might

Or not.

Keeping you close to my heart alone.

(c) 2017Iris B. Struller