Author Archives: Jonathan Berger

It’s not a very good poem but it tries hard. It starts early and stays late and works diligently with what it has. It’s a poem with spunk is what it is. It’s got heart and shouldn’t we all have … Continue reading →

For your birthday, you got a day at the races a night at the opera an hour at the zoo and an evening of erotic intimations. I gave you a fireworks display an ice cream social six lords a leaping … Continue reading →

Tell it to the midwives. Take it up with your bank teller. Make mention of it to your local rag and bone man. Bring it on with an elevator operator. Have a nice chat with a general practitioner a general … Continue reading →

They didn’t catch the shooter despite all those barricades and the helicopters and a hell of a lot of cops so now the reporters have left the neighborhood and the politicians are gone and police are no longer any kind … Continue reading →

I’ll thank you to keep your profanity to the bare minimum. Loathe as I am to present ultimata, I’m afraid, if I hear you repeating that sort of speech on a future occasion, I may be forced to act in … Continue reading →

My crush on you is reaching that awkward age: spindly, crackling, unsure of itself and its place in the room. It is shy and tries to hide in the background whenever the lights come on. My crush has grown past … Continue reading →

The hearing aid has collected dust this last quarter score, as I have been too young and virile to use such a thing despite my doctor’s insistent prescription. It just hasn’t seemed necessary to hear the mutterings under the breath … Continue reading →

Sam opted to quietly record with additional instruments, testing, teasing, torturing sounds out of new tools until he knew exactly what he wanted. When he released the EP, eight people bought it. Amy introduced her band one song at a … Continue reading →

Yesterday’s rain leaves the grass still moist but we brought a blanket and, as there’s little else to do on this unstormy day, we lay on the lawn, debating clouds. I lift him with my legs, and he flies, balancing, … Continue reading →

Footsteps sound upstairs where lately only ghosts have walked. Are these the noises of closing down of a dead woman’s apartment or the excavation, the process of opening it up for a new generation to thrive in that once well-lived … Continue reading →