For More Than Poetry

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Thursday, December 20, 2012

A Poem About Nothing


That’s what escaped your mouth

So entered all sorts of doubt
You and me
And what we could be
Because you’ve said nothing
Over the past weeks
You just wander past my desk
Without a greeting
Without our eyes meeting
And with my heart bleeding on my new shirt
It’s not that this is creating hurt
It’s not like we’re something yet
But we can’t be nothing
So I end up all upset
Canvasing the room for a glance from you
Knowing that there should be something I could do
But nothing comes
And nothing leaves
Then bushels of questions wreathe
Through my layers
Because although we aren’t holding hands
We’re in the same card game
We’re both players
Ok, well I’m probably not a “player”
But I think I have game
Anyway we need to find something better to talk about
Than our battles with the mundane
Right now the conversation has diminished to a faint heartbeat
When I need questions to knock me off my feet
And you are a questioner
You like to bathe in inquiries
So start asking
Give me material to thrust in my diaries
Don’t leave us up to some bland party chatter
Climb my mind
I’ll hand you the ladder
But nothing could leave me sadder
Than this nothingness
This love limbo
That no one wants to dive beneath
It’s the holidays
And although neither of us would put up a wreath
We both like to speak
 Is nothing simply being meek
Although I feel like an antique
Loving old traditions and courtesy
There has to be more than a nod and curtsy
There has to be language
A dialogue
Now I don’t need it to be complex
I’m already reading Beckett’s Endgame
But I can’t bear our relationship taking on that play’s name
As some popstar declared “Let’s get it started in here!”
Those lyrics are probably wrong
But we can have an argument about how I can’t remember any song
Or whether putting your heart in poetry and sharing it is right or wrong
Or how I’ll slaughter you if you pick up a bong
Because I’m a good girl
My favorite hobby is wandering through rhetoric’s swirls
Don’t buy me a string of pearls, that’s unnecessary
But how about a string of sentences
I know that silences are loud
But I want to scream
I need to travel through your hopes and dreams
And find my place there
This may be over exaggerated
Because I’m a square
But I’d like to be a circle
To connect the dots of my soul
I’d like to understand
Why I dream about true love and rock and roll
Why reality takes such a harsh toll
How to find beauty in my marks
How my universe is filled with chaos
Yet inside things remain stark
How I bite when I don’t know how to bark
Or why I’m so sensitive but appear like a shark
But I don’t know any of these things
I don’t know anything
I know nothing
But do I?
I’m not sure what that means
Now it isn’t just between you and me
It’s about streams
Of consciousness
And unconsciousness
You lingering within my dreams
We weren’t always together
But you see
When we coalesced I felt free
But not liberated
Because in those sentences
I never stated my hope
Of a probability of a possibility
Of emerging from nothingness
You should ask me to prom
But you won’t
You should come meet my mom
But you won’t
You should act like Shakespeare’s Poor Tom
But don’t
Because you’re making me crazy already
And insanity amongst us two
Is too much for the vanity of the world we knew
Or know
Or want to go
Can nothing move
Can it wobble into a groove
Can it decipher, contemplate, and choose
Because sometimes I feel like nothing
And I’ve chosen you
And in lieu of choosing
I’m going to decide
To end this poetic ride
And simply pray you’ll open your eyes
Or rather mouth
And try to find what I’m all about
Because I don’t really like to shout
I want whispers to tiptoe along me
So put your tongue into motion
And emotion
Cause some commotion
Nothing is order
And order is nothing
And boring
It’s time to be touring each other
Come on brother
Or dude
Or man
It’s time to take our nothing
And crush it within your beautiful hands.

Friday, December 14, 2012

Sandy Hook Massacre

Today 28 individuals were murdered at Sandy Hook elementary school in Connecticut. The majority of those people were children.
This may be the most horrifying shooting up to date. It's not about the death count; it's about the babies.
When you are that young, you aren't even capable of hate. You love the world. It's appalling that someone would commit such an unanswerable act. When we are young, we can be defenseless, but we are also so strong. These kids were stronger than the shooter because they had souls that still thought that the universe was a beautiful place.
There are few times I've cried while watching the news, but today I'm beyond devastated.
You don't kill babies. They are some of the most beautiful things we have. They smile like every moment is a dream.
My heart is hurting.
I wish I could come up with some action to take, but I don't know what to do. I don't think anything can mend the hole that has been made in our community.
All I can do is pray for the families destroyed, the teachers who took on the roles of heroes, and the souls of those children who will never get the opportunity to dream of the things I worry about.

Tuesday, December 11, 2012


Color--one of the most overlooked, yet most beautiful things in our universe. This is my testament to you, and encouragement of all other youth to embrace your wonder.

Monday, November 12, 2012


The moment inspiration wanders into my mind
Ecstasy creeps over me
And I become free of these anxieties
And varieties of thoughts and ideas I cannot grasp
I begin to wrap myself
Within a wealth of poetry
And creativity
Glory shifts to close proximity
An affinity for exceptionality
Enters the vicinity of my vision.

The moment inspiration wanders into my mind
It’s like nuclear fission
Producing valued energy
With which I can create something
Something that can impact me
Something that can impact you
Something that will impact many or few
Something will create a stew of celebration
And innovation.

For the moment inspiration wanders into my mind
I happen to find
A piece of me
That is greater than anyone expected
And that is reflected
In poems like these
That spread through me
Like a beneficial disease
That strengthen my knees

Yes the moment inspiration wanders into my mind
So does war
Because I have something worth fighting for
And some secret weapon
That is stored with in the cells of my soul

When I encounter inspiration
I should stop drop and roll
Because I find an internal fire
That refuses to tire until I’ve created something
Until I’ve grown a pair of silver wings
And submerged myself in romantic flings
With poetry.

So I’m going to thank you
For you have stimulated this moment
You have opened the hidden door in my skull
That allowed inspiration to leap into the crevices of my brain
For you are my refrain of romance and hope
You are the soap
That cleanses my worn form
You are the raging storm
That closes school and gives extra hours to do finish my biology assignment
But compels me to write anyway
You are a cold that won’t go away
And I’m fine with that because
Because if I were Dr. Seuss
You’d be the cat for my hat
And for all my life I’ve sat
For that glorious instant to occur
When something will stir inspiration from its sleep
And you’ve exhumed it, regardless of how deep it’s buried itself

And it’s those magical moments
I spend with you
Those instants inject me with life’s greatest wealth:
A subject
A purpose to write about
To fight about
To take some matches and ignite about
And there is no doubt
That these seconds shared with you
Make my moments of inspiration
Less few
And I think that is why I’m beginning to love you
Because when we are together
We don’t simply create moments
We create memories
And what are those?

They are moments sprinkled with magic
The ones that resonate with you
Whether they be elucidating or tragic
When the world seems stagnant
Within a moment
Especially within a moment embellished by your presence
The universe can be effervescent
Things can transform
Things like me
You see
A collection of moments
Have inspired me
To create this poetry
And that is what makes them so fantastic
Powerful and drastic
Moments are the root of all artistry
The conception of all reflection
And introspection
They give us the power to do

Meaningful moments are the planes that flew
All our great pioneers into the realm of discovery
And revision
They are the vision behind all innovation
They are a sensation
Whether they be the first time our lips collided
Or the final wave goodbye
Moments are the things that make me shy
When I’m around you
Because they brew
A rare potion of emotion
That connects us
And erects us from quiescence

 It’s the meek girl’s raised hand
The exuberant strum of the marching band
The first word that escapes the poet’s mouth
The second we evict doubt
The peace declaration
The wedding preparation
The election celebration
The baby shower invitation
The spring of a jump
The silly collapse on your rump
The simplicity of an abandoned stump
Oatmeal’s perfect lumps
The perfect harmony of a symphony and you and me
The innocent prisoner set free
The chorus of ABC

Each define us
Each refine us
Each design us
And we must
Cherish them
Like children
Or jewels
For they are the tools the universe uses
To make this life the only game of risk
Where no player loses.

Friday, November 2, 2012

I'm Trying Not To Write A Poem About You

I'm Trying Not to Write A Poem About You
I’m trying not to write a poem about you
Because if I do
Then that means we’re getting serious
And delirious
Thinking that
Us two can do
Anything but make fate furious
Make life smirk
And jerk us around
Lying that we have found that someone
To surround
Ourselves with
Because a relationship between us
Is a myth
It’s a sinking ship
A disjointed hip
A pancake burning on the stove unable to flip
So I’m going to zip my lips
Propelling these emotions into poetry
Vividly describing my fantasies
Of yous and mes
That will make us itch for each other
Because love is like a pack of fleas
It disturbs your normality and formalities
And replaces them with maladies
And fallacies
But yet when you catch my eye I crave to tumble to my knees
And roll around in the pieces of your soul
Forbidden love always takes a toll
But it keeps replaying on my record
Like the good ol’ rock’n roll
And I’ve witnessed how it stole
The opportunities to make things acceptable
And the unconventional boilable
And I just want to come up with the perfect rhymes
And times
And universes for me and you
But right now the world will clench us and chew
The fragments of beauty that compose us
Degrading us to dust
Oxidizing us into rust
Tossing away our royal flush
And I need to rush away from your arms
Because I’m afraid of the harm they can’t do
Because deep down I know I’m good with you
And like the unwoven laces of a shoe
That causes me to trip
My perception of responsibility to rip
My faith and culture to strip
And be stark naked in the wind
And we aren’t compatible anyway
It doesn’t matter that you like poetry
And me
My political views
And me
My activities
And me
And how you dance along me like the breeze
I’m allergic to you
Watch me sneeze
From these anxieties
And wheeze from the romance you use to infect me
Revise and redirect me
And I’m afraid to address a physician and let him assess me
Because he will send a request to me
To examine my internal rooms
And that’s just terrifying
Because I’ll discover that I’m defying all the values I was supposed to believe in
The “you date Jews” philosophy I was meant to breathe in
And never exhale
And you screwed that up
You gave me rain when I all I was ever to expect was hail
And my doting of you is only going to cause me to derail
From the path of a “nice Jewish boy” I was supposed to forever descend
And you my lovely friend
Have taken my hand
With your charisma and dashing smile
Dragged me on an extra mile to the left
And I can’t stand a world when I don’t have a chance of losing my first kiss to you
So my current universe has begun to unravel and undo
And I’m hoping that by writing these poems
That I can preserve what was I instructed to believe
That I can vent the sensations that my body wreathes
When you stare and me
That I can emerge from this sea
Of forbidden love and such
But I’ve never been a great swimmer
Just ask my sister
But do not list her
The context of the question
Because I’m anchored in this wrong but right direction
No longer ashamed of my reflection
Or agonized introspection
And now I’m baffled with the concept of creating an ending for this poem
Because I can’t even begin to foresee the finality of our reality
So I’m going to let these lines and rhymes close
But I hope our door never does.

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Image Study

It's a marvelous thing, and for us photographers, it can also be useful!
But sometimes our subjects are immobile and we have to be the ones shifting and rotating and get the idea. How?
Introducing the IMAGE STUDY
Take one object, one that cannot move or one that you will not allow move and get in motion! Go after its angles and crevices.
Here is my example:
The Fatal Attraction

Monday, October 8, 2012


I haven’t written
And I know why
All my words have evaporated from my veins
leaving behind merely stains
of what insight i once utilized
to give rise to my art
but lately i don’t know where to start
i’m lost in this maze
drenched in a craze
drained of the thing that is supposed to define me
i don’t know what i can do
if i cannot create poetry
can i be?
or see?
evolve into more than flesh and property?
make myself free
of the anxieties and dearth of variety
that has emerged in my mundane existence?
for everytime i attempt to write
i’m embracing an internal resistance
that is restraining me
from refraining these
thoughts crashing within my skull
ideas escape my memories
but then they diminish
far before i can finish a poem
like this
do you get the gist?
the writer within me is rustling in the mist
so i must grasp these lines in my fist
so the lingering poet within
can spin inside my soul
a few more cycles
so i can sustain or recycle
a bit of inspiration
that has not passed its expiration date
for i cannot wait for some new beauty
to arrive on my doorstep
or the welcome mat of my heart
it takes too long to reboot
so i can’t delay and restart
i must depart from the current obligations
and deprivations of my reality
escape pathetic fallacies
and plain desperation
and write my way to a new destination.

Saturday, September 1, 2012


I am the crimson fire stroking through the thin walls
You are the black and white bricks that topple over as my flames stampede against you
We are the group of people who stand outside the inferno, not bothering to remove our overpriced phones from our jeans stitched with luxury
He is the fireman who tells her that the hoses will not turn on—repeating, not our district, not my job
She is the single mother who knows that after the fire conquers her home, all she will have to give her daughters is the ten dollar bill in her dark blue light sweater
I feel her agony climb up her cherry arteries, freezing within her, petrifying each of her limbs
I see your apathy, your entertainment in doing something other than scooping and shoving spoiled tots into and out of SUVs, meeting the girls at Starbucks, stuffing the cell phone of your porky husband after reading the message that yes he is cheating on you, and yes, it is your 11 year old’s tutor
I smell the billows of dissolved fire and home rippling through the daughter’s school bus, through her mouth and ears as she listens and repeats: it smells like smoke, it smells like smoke, what is burning?
I hear the words of the mother telling her girl “Today our house burned down…” echo through the vanilla walls of the elementary school nurse’s office and the silence, the violent silence, the silence beating down on them, over and over
I experience kindergarten for the second time.

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Freedom Fire

My hands don’t quite look like hands. I first noticed it this morning during Physics when instead of paying attention to the changes of energy depending on work I was looking down at them, planning on what words will soar from them and paint page with meaning. My hands are icy pale, fleshy and wrinkled. But cradling my fingernails are patches of red—not cherry from tenderness, but smoldering rouge. The thoughts of how I shall use them sparked a realization: my hands are matches. They are constantly chilled and dead like fallen pieces of wood until moments like this, moments when they are set ablaze as I write. The instant my hands are ignited with the thoughts of my mind, the cry of my soul, and the palpitations of my heart, a blue fire escapes. This fire sizzles, sears and melts my entire world, and I pray that the words left smoldering on the page my fire is fed upon will melt you. I hope it will sear your fears and insecurities. I hope it will sizzle upon the bitter ice that has enclosed you, the pain that has caused you to build your walls up so high. I hope that my fire, my words, my poems, and prose will make the impassable penetrable. For I know that every moment my matches are lit with this shimmering sapphire light I am free.


Ariel is available and interested in anything creative!
For spoken word performances & workshops, web & graphic design, or other writing/film projects please contact via email at
New York & Los Angeles work preferred!