To My Son On His Bar Mitzvah

Son today does mark the day
According to God’s plan
That a babe you are no more
You have become a man

So words of wisdom are your gift
And take it from none other
Because who would know better than
Your dear old Jewish mother

Go ahead eat pork and ham
Look at me, I’m plotzing
But never pick your nose in shul
Cause you know God is watching

And celebrate the joys in life
Like schmears and matzoh balls
And getting a good parking spot
On Sundays at the mall

(Cousin Sherry always thought
It was a mitzvah omen
If she got found an open space
Somewhere near the Loehmann’s)

And travel far and travel wide
And travel the world over
(And be sure to drop by at your
Aunt Minnie’s down in Boca)

But one word in all languages
You must know without fail
More so than bathroom, water, money
Son, that word is ‘sale’.

I know you’ll meet some ladies when
You’re traveling the world
But when you fin’lly settle down
With a nice Jewish girl

I’lll have to just accept the fact
I’m not the only one
And who could blame her if she loves
My handsome doctor son

So maybe one day you’ll stop by
Probably when you feel
Like you really need to eat
A home cooked decent meal

And when I’m sure that your won’t starve
You’ll come sit on the couch
Take off the plastic cov’ring, wipe
The schmootz off of your mouth

And then after a bit you’ll say
You should get back to her
But you know you’ll always be
My little bubbeleh.

Happy Birthday Jesse!

Here’s a video of my son performing Slayer’s South of Heaven. Something tells me the doctor thing just ain’t gonna happen.

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An Alternate Universe

“There’s a monster neath my bed
Just go and have a look
There’s a monster neath my bed
Reading my favorite book

He’s creepy and he’s ugly and
He’s got a million eyes
He waits for me to fall asleep
Then he’ll eat me alive

There’s a monster neath my bed
Believe me when I say
So just please go and have a look
And make it go away”

And so I went and had a look
Though I did not suspect
It seemed as if that boy of mine
Was very near correct

For though a monster sitting there
Was just what did appear
He was kind of pathetic as
His body shook with fear

I said “You are a scary thing
A horrid evil sight
Shouldn’t it be me not you
Who shakes with dread and fright?”

His million eyes did look at me
And he let out a yelp
And then he sidled up to me
And said “I need your help

They said no harm would come to me
I’ve clearly been misled
Cause don’t look now but there’s a boy
On top of my bed.”

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The Hellish Halloween

The bedroom’s dark and I lay flat
Dare not so much as flinch
Afraid to blink afraid to breath
Or move even an inch

My mind scans the front entrance that’s
Equipped with many locks
But still I doubt it holding up
To their ferocious knocks

But not a move I’ll try to make
I’ll have to trust the door
And will my body to become
Yet flatter to the floor

But despite my best attempts
The knocking is persistent
And as the minutes creep on by
It becomes more insistent

And I can only pray my body
Will remain in limbo
Till horrified I hear them tapping
At my bedroom window

Zombies, monsters, werewolves all
Emit collective groans
And eerily they do beseech
“Is anybody home?”

I want to scream, I want to run
Yet it takes all my will
I will not give myself away
I’ll remain lying still

My head lifts not to see the clock
But silently I pray
The hand will reach the hour soon
And they will go away

But as I wait a frenzy hits
The noise begins to swell
I wonder what I could have done
To save me from this hell

Something to avoid this mess
On Halloween’s next date
And so it does occur to me
Sorry to say too late

But in the future to become
My modus operandi
A sign that says ‘I’m sorry but
We have run out of candy’.

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Monsters Wanted

I’m looking for a monster and
I’m really in a bind
Who’d think that a good monster was
Just so hard to find

Someone who’s reliable
Someone who is true
Unlike the formerly employed
Of my motley crew

The unhygienic werewolf who
Would never wash his hair
The ghoul who never was on time
For his midnight scare

The mummy who quite frankly was
Just kind of a dick
The zombie always calling in
Saying he was sick

The witch who was on her iPhone
IM’ing with the goblin
And then there was the vampire
Who had a drinking problem

The ghost who never worked, he was
Snap chatting with his friends
The diva ogre who refused
To work on the weekends

The headless horseman who I thought
Would just be legendary
Till he took off for greener pastures
Of the cemetery

So if you are a faithful ghoul
I beg you to take heed
And listen to the details of
Exactly what we need

Someone who’s reliable and
Someone we can trust
At least 3 years of under bed
Experience a must

Someone who can eerily
From out of coffins climb
And stay inside a closet sometimes
Hours at a time

Capable of acting like
You’re totally demented
And most important you should be
Detail oriented

For tis the time when witches, warlocks
Spirits, demons rouse
And I’m awash in joys of staffing
This year’s haunted house.

Mother

She always hated that picture
It wasn’t very good
I kept it by the bedside lamp
And that was where it stood

I told her it’s cause it was one
Our dear old dog was in
Sentimental reasons all
And much to her chagrin

But when she nagged and she called me
A stupid worthless cow
I saw revenge was mine to take
I knew not when but how

And when she asked me why it was
I never did get married
It was that picture that kept me
From getting tense and harried

I looked into the face that showed
The signs of her exhaust
The eyes were out of focus so
They seemed just a bit crossed

The way the camera angle was
So it seemed to distort
Her figure so her hips were wide
And legs were way too short

I noted roots that showed through gray
Before I went down for
The lovely ritual that was
Our nightly pedicure

Now she’s dead and gone you see
I’m blissfully alone
By complications of a toenail
Fatally ingrown

And now it seems there’s just so many
Duties to fulfill
Notifying relatives The
reading of the will

Whether it’s cremation or
Perhaps she will be buried
And a picture to submit
For her obituary

obituaries

Grammatically Yours: A Guest Post by Marissa Bergen

I am so thrilled to be featured on Mama Mick Terry’s blog Lipstick and Laundry today. I am always in awe of her writing style and to have her posting me here today is truly an honor.

Michelle R. Terry

Welcome to the inaugural entry in MamaMick’s newest series highlighting talented writers. Today’s guest is the beautiful and talented, Marissa Bergen. She shares her interpretation of the love letter category below.

More to come about Marissa at the end of the post, but first a reminder of the subject:

Lil Mama’s Love LettersDo you have a love letter penned in your heart? To a child? A parent? Your adoring spouse? The one who got away? Whether it’s to someone in your life now, or someone who used to be – write to them and seal it with a kiss in this space. They never have to know…unless you want them to.

~~~~~

Grammatically Yours

~~By Marissa Bergen

What is this paper that I see
That is marked with my name
It’s folded up in my book bag
Like a paper airplane

Closer I inspect to find
It’s a…

View original post 350 more words

Chopstick Killer

Some people use a gun, an axe
A rope or an ice pick
I swear this mutha does it with
A super sharp chopstick
So you best just watch your back
When you’re in place remote
Because it’s sharpened like a pencil
And it’s coming for your throat
And he’ll jab you and he’ll stab you
Like you’re moo goo gai pan
Cause he’s the chopstick killer
And he’s on the lam

We’re not sure of his sex and
We don’t know his persuasion
We’re not even real sure
If the Mutha f**kers Asian
He don’t need no stiletto and
He ain’t totin’ no uzi
But he marks his territory with
A tell tale piece of sushi
And he’ll jab you and he’ll stab you
Like you’re moo goo gai pan
Cause he’s the chopstick killer
And he’s on the lam

And he’ll put it in your eyeball
And he’ll put it in your brain
And he’ll fry you in a wok
Like some beef chow mein
And he’s illin’ and he’s killin and he’s
Meetin’ his quota
And he makes his getaway
In a souped up Toyota
And he’ll jab you and he’ll stab you
Like you’re moo goo gai pan
Cause he’s the chopstick killer
And he’s on the lam

A bit of ridiculousness for your Monday brought on by a conversation with my son about what kind of serial killers we would be.

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