Carpe Diem Give me a flit, a flop, or a fly, Give me a song before I die. I’ll work for wages, or beans or bread But give me a verse before I’m dead. I’ll sing for a bully or serve as a slave I’ll pretend to be the lowliest knave. Aye. give me the tune that sends me to sleep where my sister can sew and my mother can weep. Release to me seems all that life’s for while heaven’s not here and not in store. So eat and dance and celebrate Before you know what, and what’s too late.
Short How small can you be? How petite, how wee? Does your nose scrape the ground like a thinker profound stooped by earth’s woes till you’re sniffing your toes? You’re the envy of worms in wormified terms. You won’t drown in rain just swim where you’ve lain. Gored or punched not while you’re hunched. Your head will get kisses from motherly misses. The faucets and fountains will perch on high mountains; you’ll imagine Nepal when they’re not that tall, and a fall’s a fall and not so far when you drop from a stool instead of a star.
Gene Goldfarb now lives in New York City, a deep well of inspiration. Besides writing, his favorite activities are reading, movies, international cuisine and travel. His poetry has appeared in Black Fox, Sheila-Na-Gig, Green Briar, Twenty-Two Twenty-Eight and elsewhere.