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Gabriel Liebermann

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Hiawassee, GA, US

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.c.my nose

by

Gabriel Liebermann

I never chose my nose to be,
a statement of longevity.
its grandeur lies within its size,
and the way it looms between my eyes;
and the way it leads me from meal to meal.
Some wonder if the bulbous thing
is mine. And is it really real?

From my childhood days I wore it,
like a crown-my mom adored it.
My father who had a big one too,
said son, its something to get used to;
and if children taunt you, don't forget,
there are bigger things you will regret,
and your nose will grow much bigger yet.

So big in fact that when I sneeze,
the trees around me loose their leaves.
It precedes me into any room,
but it has always made the ladies swoon.
People often say to I,
smaller noses we have seen,
on elephants and rhinoceri!

Me and my nose are stuck together,
weather for worse or maybe better.
It gives my face a regal look;
and helps turn pages in this book.
And when they put me in a basket,
tell the one that builds my casket:
to cut a hole on top so I,
can smell the flowers when I die...


Illusions, delusion and confusions

by

Gabriel Liebermann

This poem contains some of the longest run on sentences in the English languages. Ripley¹s Believe it or Not is considering one of them for inclusion in their World¹s Longest Pronounceable Run on Sentence Category. It should be read aloud with similar inflections as The Night Before Christmas for maximum effect and to bring out the parody of the piece.

I thought I was in love,
but it was just an illusion;
in fact, I was in love with confusion.
a haunting fantasy that was created,
by the illusion that you perpetrated...

with perfumes, make up, and dreamy eyes;
with subtle nuances cloaked in smiles,
with things you said, and words unspoken,
while I feared that it would soon be broken.
that the grand illusion we created
would, suddenly be dissipated;
and we would both discover: fusion,
is just a victim of delusion.

as I trade places with my reflection,
I now perceive my own deception,
the illusion I created,
without intending to deceive,
is that in fact I was elated,
with everything you had to give.

I was certain that all I wanted
was standing right before my eyes.
packaged, tied with bows and ribbons,
and a card that said you¹re mine;
that you were specifically created
strictly for my heart to swallow,
and the path was straight and clear
made especially for us to follow.

it was sad, when I discovered
that you already were taken;
that you were trapped within a prison;
and my confidence was shaken
when I realized that my conviction,
together with this great affliction,
was erroneously nurtured
by the nectar of your smile.

a smile that was freely given,
I thought it was only for me,
when I realized that others:
that same coy smile did receive.

I wondered if they also thought,
that every gift that each day brought,
was a blessing that was intended-
by destiny it was demanded,
and was so ordered from above,
that these two fools shall fall in love

in spite of obstacles that loom
filled with fear, dread and gloom,
and barriers by laws erected,
in the prison you selected:
one where you full well expected
to be trapped within forever
and that you would never ever ever
consider the possibility:
that you could actually be free;
free to choose your destiny.

and I must confess, that was a fact,
that I also had never considered,
because I believed that on the day
that the package was delivered,
wrapped in lovely silk and satin,
with the note written in Latin,
was another confirmation
of the great abomination:
that the path was already cleared
and the future pre determined,
by a plan that was constructed
by the great spirit instructed,
on the eighth day was created
by forces often over rated,
that at the time the die was cast
and the plan was formulated,
at that very moment in the past
the steps had been enumerated.
as immutable as planets
written down in ancient sonnets,
by hands that fashioned from pure clay,
the actors trapped within this play.

so I wondered if just maybe,
at the time I was a baby,
I was possibly abducted
and in new ways of life instructed,
by a band of roaming vandals,
wearing nothing except sandals,
who chanted hymns of every sort
while hanging around the airport.

where I was abandoned in a manger
and picked up by a perfect stranger,
who took me home and thought me well:
the way to heaven and to hell.

that¹ s how I came to believe
that every moment we receive,
was already predisposed
and in fact had been disclosed,
in a book that was written
before the apple had been bitten,
on that now so famous day,
the day that mankind lost its way.

so I sat down to write these verses,
amid the blessings and the curses,
living inside the grand illusion
suffering from the delusion
and the words they came
with such profusion:
like a great flood of confusion,
and forced their way
upon these pages,
as if dictated by sages,
who took control
of my writing hand,
and led me to
the promised land.{|:->)>={


JUST ENOUGH GAS to get home

by

Gabriel Liebermann

it¹s dark outside
daylight savings dark
only saves others
for it robs my eyes
of so much light
while my sleep
is being slept by
someone else
who needs it less
but this someone does not
have my dreams

insomnia makes me
dream while I¹m awake
people stare at me
at the inconvenience store
they think I am having
an epileptic fit
or flashbacks
or seizures
as they watch my REM
and turn off the microwave
whispering to each other
as I stand in line
waiting
in a trans
while you embrace me
and entwine with my soul
perched on a rock in the
midst of a flaming
prairie at dawn
and the orange sky
melts into the towering wall
of flame on the horizon
and your arms become wings
and we are lifted
by the raging currents
of your dream
and swept into the flames
but they turn to liquid
and we are suddenly immersed
into a glowing pool
that spins like a
whirlpool inward
into the center of the soul
that walks sleeplessly
in the infinite sansara
while standing in line
at the inconvenience store
blinking 30 times a second
and paying
for a bad
cup of coffee
and just enough gas
to get home


your mouth

by

Gabriel Liebermann

I love your mouth
it is delicious
sweet
succulent
playful
inquisitive
surrounded
by your smile
inviting
enveloping
an orange slice
slowly
and sucking
the juice and pulp
with loud
slurping sounds

things disappear
near your mouth
most of them are eaten
some are regurgitated

I may be swallowed,
someday,
by your mouth;
so soft
and wet
as you urge
my tongue
to probe deeper
farther than anyone
has gone before
Gulp...

but then
with a gentle nudge
of your tongue
your mouth closes
and I am pushed out
feeling rejected

but then the corners
start to twitch
and a coy smirk
breaks the silence
and you laugh
and I laugh
and your lips dance
around your teeth
in a playful ballet

I love your mouth
because it says
more to me
before even speaking
than a thousand words...


Mate

by

Gabriel Liebermann

I am thinking
about the next move.
I am considering
sacrificing my queen.
taking a risk
on a one point advantage.
my pawn
is protecting
the white bishop
who prays
for my salvation
watching the rook
behind his back
ready to give up his life
for everyone knows
it is worth two points less.
without my queen
I may not be as limber
and will have to summon
all my resources
to avert all out destruction.
my attack will have to be relentless,
my retreat defenseless,
my finale glorious,
and sudden.

distract to the left
side of the board
by attacking the rook
nestled in its corner.
sacrifice the queen for a knight.
let the black king gloat
upon his good fortune,
then take the pawn
with the knight.
check-black king to c8.
white rook to f8.
checkmate.

yes, I can make it.
without you...


love in your head/the cyberverse virus

by

Gabriel Liebermann

i got a once in a lifetime
phone call last night
from a woman i barely knew,
had not seen in a year
and when i did see her
she was the girlfriend
of a friend
that was staying with me
and she was here for one week
during which we spoke twice
and i led her around on my horse

she said she knew
of a brief love affair
i had with her next door neighbor
and that she had given me
a massage
once while chanting
some strange primordial chant-
it was charming
in its own twisted sort of a way.

she seemed to be
a pleasant enough person
at the time
but this call was
from a space in her head
filled with a poem (see :your mouth)
i whimsically told her
to her face

she had allowed it to take on
a life of its own
and she had fallen in love
with the words
and the performance.
with a fantasy that was void
and bad breath in the morning
and bowel movements
and insecurities and bad habits
and as she described me in her fantasy
i thought: who is this guy?
i could be like him; he could be me
if i shaved and put on deodorant
cut my hair
a few less years
a few more heartbreaks.
yes, i could become this guy
but that would take a lot of work
and a very long time
so this guy was not me
and i told her:
forget it, it¹s an illusion¹
a fantasy
I'm not this guy
i am the other guy
and i am already in love
with my own illusions and fantasies
and ready to project them
and believe them
and ready to do anything to make them real
and besides poets are far less than their poems
and i have performed that poem before
and made other women cry
but none have called me
years later to tell me
that they have fallen in love with me.
(maybe i should include my number in all my poems)
she insisted that what she felt was real
and that she would cling to the illusion
until she finds another to take its place

i told her that i supported her quest
but that any similarity between me
and the illusions in her mind play
are purely coincidental

in fact i wrote the poem about,
and to every woman
that i have kissed or will kiss.
making out was my generation¹s
quest for relationships.
going all the way was like getting married
but making out was a playful exploration
of lips and tongues
and ways to communicate
with your mouth full
of clumsy movements
and a shy and passionate ballet
that is longing and is coy
teasing and taunting
and overwhelming and devouring
while hands may be roaming
within the intricate boundaries
of lacy undergarments and
complex latches
on belt buckles and bras
where the brain is perfectly centered
on the tip of the tongue
that probes for subtle reactions
expecting total fulfillment
as far as tongues or lips can be totally fulfilled
and retreating to the safety of a smile
that curls at the corners of a mouth
while eyes play haunting games
of promises, and ways to break them
in the back seat of a 67 Plymouth
on an August night when you¹re 15
and there are endless probabilities left to explore
and you¹re worried about the pimple on your forehead
or the size of your nose
or whether the size of your breast
is inversely proportional to the size of your brain

you told me that, when a woman calls
late at night she is probably serious
poems are bullets that ricochet
long after they are fired
like heat seeking missals
that are launched and forgotten
full of defects
in their navigational systems

a missal and a vulnerable heart
are a fatal attraction
but she is not in love with me
i know this because
the person she described
is someone i may choose
to resemble in some heroic dream,
like Jack Nicholson
or Connan the Magnificent
but i was flattered that un known to me
over a period of one year
this brain virus that invades foreign bodies
festers and replicates while cloaked inside
the operating system of a poem i created,
this cyberverse made mostly of zeroes
with a few ones trown in for good measure
eventually overtakes the host
and comes back to devour the creator
with a phone call at 1:30 AM
while i am wrapped up in my own illusions
without drawing boundaries or dwelling on past events
or on what is yet to be
just savoring the most powerful
aphrodisiac known
more powerful than a poem:
you...
and i wondered
what fantasy you have created about me
in your mind
and if i could ever live up to it at 1:30 AM
from a thousand miles away, ten years from now
when you have discovered the secrets
that i did not know i kept
and know my every weakness and strength
know my fears
and expectations and hopes and dreams
and all my bad habits and my changes
just as i will know you
and love you in spite of what i know

what words will erupt like a volcano
and flow like hot lava around your heart
what long dormant poem or spontaneous song
will spring from the depths of my soul
and enrcirle your being with its soft melody
and seduce you with words that waltz with you ear
and rise and fallwith the ebb and flow
of the moonbeams in your eyes.
how will i sing you
how will i hold you
through miles of wires and satellites
beaming your voice across the aether
how will i kiss your eyes
and touch you
through the maze of circuitry


Transylvania-where I was born

by

Gabriel Liebermann

a day
a time
a moment
and a thought
A face evokes expression
then comes total darkness
in the muddled recess of a lingering notion
the aged crags of stone faced edifices
nestled in an ancient land where all dreams have expired
where those who came before are all forgotten
three generations and the memory is vanished
diaries fade and crumble into dust
and fatherless children ask where did we come from
why do we live on graves on top of graves on top of graves on top of graves?…how can we know that the future will existthat fleeting moment referred to as the present
and memories from snippets haphazardly remembered
construct the past from wisps of smoke and mirrors
cattle cars topped by razor sharp barbed wire
with hundreds of bodies crammed together
some dead some alive
and some who wish they were dead
 
a day
a time
a moment
and a thought
a train waiting at the station
locomotives fuming clouds
of acrid smoke and steam into the icy November air
on cold steel tracks with long chains of red cars
jolting, jostling and swaying in the wind
on their way to chambers of gas
and craters in the marketplaces
barbed and choking on daily bread
taken from frozen fingers of those who will need it less
and here I sit on the back porch
looking over the valley behind where I have ended up
one generation after the children that got off the train
came within a hair’s breadth of deathand managed to survive what other could not
to live again in another age
another stream of events, customs and tribulations
to forget the past
to build the present reality
bit by bit, brick by brick, thought by thought
so whatever the new reality may bring
it will not resemble the one better forgotten except for the fear
of it’s re-occurrence in comfortable suburbs, 
a day
a time
a moment
and a thought
a planned community,
inner city neighborhoods,
high rises and tenements,
where trespassers will be persecuted
oppressors should be executed
children search the rubble within for clues
and cannot find their parents,
their homework, their dreams
or forgiveness where no one is left to forgive
except the aliens who landed on earth 13,000 years ago
that the burned out churches still pray to
or the need to have a designer to venerate
they dream of fearsome vengeance
filled with fantasies of ghastly tortures
of all the perpetrators are long dead
and every stranger seems oddly familiar
faces look like lost relatives, friends but different
but they show no signs of recognition
 
a day
a time
a moment
and a few thoughts
are the only reminders of all I have forgotten
and in them I remember what I never learned
and the place where I was born that has unraveled
everything that is not replaced has been displaced
except for a few graves that persist as reminders
and here and there an unexploded mine
waiting for the threshold to be exceeded
and none of the atoms of that era are where they were then
except for a few buildings replaced by monuments
some guns rusting in the public parks
a few relics that were passed around from parting refugees
and those that were on that fateful train that night in 1943
that did not make it past the gates of hell
when they were finally opened to let the remnants
of a few survivors
without whom I could not have written this text
in a day, a time, a moment, and a thought


Untitled

by

Gabriel Liebermann

by Babette la Dish (My Dog)
 
My master when he sees me
Exclaims with gleeful joy
And sends me looking all around
For his favorite toy
 
Sometimes he wants to play with balls
And watch me run around
He likes to hear me bark real loud
And make other whinnying sounds
 
And when we go for walks
My master is easily pleased
Whenever I make a poop
Or decide to pee
 
These curious humans creatures
Are such a comic lot
They find such great amusement
In things that matter not
 
Sometimes I wish my master
Would discuss with me
The meaning of the universe
Or relativity
 
But I guess I have to wait
A very long, long time
For humans to evolve
To a level such as mine
 
So until then I will pretend
To like such simple things
As hamburgers and biscuits
And fries and onion rings
 


Burn Headlights When Raining

by

Gabriel Liebermann

In the darkness
Rain cuts through the wind
Fog cracks like whiplash
On slippery slopes
A Twist
A Turn
Headlights burn
When raining-  Yellow signs
Children are present
when flashing
Dark shadows
Long shadows
On the crumpled guard rail
Bending around the bend
Where wooden crosses
Signify sudden losses
Wreaths of flowers
and question marks
Mingle with the mangled
Metal and the bloody dents
 
Memories of rain-flame-sparks
Mixed with broken glass in shards
Framed by broken branches
Trampled flowers
Along the skid marks
In the wet grass embankment
And flowers, so many flowers,
as far as the eye could see
Native wildflowers
Painting the median
With streaks of yellow
And red and purple bluebonnets
And crosses and more wreaths
Children
Headlights
Burning
While raining
Burning
While
Raining
Burning
While raining


Raibow Blues

by

Gabriel Liebermann

The rainbow; the mystery of light unraveled,
Where reason and awe seek understanding,
Constructing waves, atoms and photons to explain its colors,
While Iris, who slides along it, delivers messages from the gods,
For eyes, a hands breadth apart in wonder,
Each with its own heavenly bow to ponder.

Behind me the sun,
Before me my shadow
Centered in the Ark of the Covenant,
That portends the end of ‘godsend’ floods
I watch the sky inhale the whispering hues,
And exhale the breath of life into the blues.


My Master

by

Gabriel Liebermann

In the next life
By Babette la dish (my dog)

Someday in another life
My master will be my dog,
And I’ll tell him where to sit,
And I’ll teach him right from wrong.

I’ll show him where to poop, outside;
I’ll give him crunchy treats,
And put him in his little cage,
Before he goes to sleep.


Untitled

by

Gabriel Liebermann

"What I Learned in Life"
What does not kill you only makes you stronger.
Never forget that your conclusion is at least partially incorrect.
Don't let them see you coming.
Never show strength...just use it. 
Reality is what it is not what we may wish it to be.
Knowledge is almost free...wisdom costs a lot.
Life is short, big is better and the Internet is almost free.
Tell me and I hear, show me and I understand, involve me and I can contribute.
Irrevocable decisions lead to irrevocable decisions. 
Talent is the ability to acquire one or more skill(s). Creativity is the ability to apply the acquired skill(s). Art is the precession of the two.
Eat more bandwidth.
Relentless Pursuit.
Irrational exuberance.
Make it Happen.
Ready, Set, Focus...
Hands on, Feet on, Brain on...
Interdisciplinary Conflict.
Channel Conflict.
Military Intelligence.
Informed Decisions.
Malformed Conclusions.
Deformed Reforms.
Self Evident.
Feed your Head.
Make Love not War.
Peace.
Be fruit flies and Multiply.
God does not play dice, but if he did he would surely win.
Reality abhors a vacuum.
Light created the eye.
E=mc2 
p
0


The Theory

by

Gabriel Liebermann

‘Simple is not always safe

And beautiful is not necessarily true’

It was a beautiful theory

Substantiated with eloquent arguments

It’s awesome simplicity

It’s tediously elegant equations

Named after their perpetrators

Reeking of genius

Shone like a bright beacon

Against the dark sky of ignorance.

There were sets within sets within sets,

There were proofs upon proofs upon proofs,

There were idioms and axioms,

All the experiments suggested by it

Further substantiated claim after claim,

In spite of fervent challenges

By those disturbed by it’s surprising implications.

It rose heads and shoulders above all other theories

Eclipsing prior claims

Shattering deeply held convictions

Spawning research institutes and chairs

Allowing adherents and proponents to gain tenure,

To receive prizes, awards and accolades;

Honored by bronze plaques, statues in parks,

And at rest stops along the turnpike.

It was the raging subject of countless documentaries

And articles praising the brilliant insight

Of those that were pursuing it’s application

To solving the grandest mystery ever.

Too bad it turned out to be patently false.