No Man’s Land


This one, inspired by my son’s birthday today.

Creepy spiders, badger’s nest, perhaps dinner for two
A wizard and a warlock and of course a witch’s brew
An amulet, a cigarette, those keys you never found
Spare coins, the remote control, the pet you thought had drowned
The wallet years gone missing though you never knew to where
Amazing the things you will find while combing Jesse’s hair.

Happy Birthday Jesse!

P.S. Thank you to everyone who voted for my son’s band in the Metal Devastation Band of the Month poll. They actually won! They got a blog spot featured here and will be in heavy rotation on the station all month as well as being featured on their Facebook page. I’m sure my son would be overjoyed if, as a birthday gift, you would give his band a like on Facebook or follow them on Instagram.

To The Young, Dark Lord On His 14th Birthday

The fire’s burning bright
And the air is blowing cold
The robed one speaks in tongues
A vision to behold

He holds the knife above
And still the flames do smolder
And taps it on each side
Of the young one’s shoulder

The blood begins to pour
And so awash with sins
For midnight strikes the hour,
The ritual begins

The music beckons low
The chanting starts once more
For the young dark lord
Who now reaches ten and four

And so the door flies open,
And so the music ceases
For the dramatic entrance
Of she on high, the priestess

Mother of all evil
And of the chosen one
In haste she breaks the chalice
And kneels before her son

But he just rolls his eyes
Says “Don’t know why you make
Such a big freakin’ deal
Let’s just cut the stupid cake!”



Happy Birthday to my son Jesse Bergen!


And sorry for the shameless self promotion, but I see no better media attachment than that of our family band’s video for Mommy and Daddy Worship Satan. For those who didn’t see it yet, enjoy!

To My Husband on His 46th

It’s been years and we’re still together
Outlasted doubters and bad weather
But with these handcuffs I’m still tethered
Though many said I should know better

I say to hell with their opinions
And laugh about their lack of vision
And stand firm ‘hind my decision
Marrying a devil’s minion

Our house may smell of rotting flesh
Hints of decay and mold and death
But babe I still think you’re the best
Well beyond my dying breath

Forever in the bowels of hell
A blissful life in which we dwell
The flames of burning bodies swell
I’ve gotten quite used to the smell

Dismembered heads, our home’s decor
We dine with sinners, ghouls and whores
And I could hardly love you more
Here’s to 6 hundred twenty more

Every year I pass the torch to my husband at midnight on Sept. 14. It’s his birthday now. Happy Birthday darling. I love you!


It’s My Birthday Bitches!

It’s my birthday bitches
And you all just best stand down
I ain’t takin no tiara cause
I wear a full on crown

You can wish me well on Facebook
But what would be even better
Is some shiny leather hot pants
And a pink angora sweater

A sterling silver bracelet that
Snakes so around my wrist
Now let me just be patient while
You go write down your list

Don’t look at me all guilty and
Tell me you never knew
I’m accepting gifts tomorrow
And the day after that too

You can call me egotistical
Or say I’m immature
But I think I’m doing pretty good
For just turned 24

And tell my boss it’s likely I
Won’t be in till next Monday
It’s officially a holiday
In many foreign countries

So roll out the red carpet
And a highway to devote
To the annual procession
In my purple satin float

Take your mop and broom, and don’t you even
Think about those dishes
Leave the laundry for tomorrow
Cause it’s my birthday bitches.


A Bagel for Her Birthday

Twas Anjelica’s 6th birthday as
She woke up from her sleep
Rushed to the breakfast nook so sure
That she would find a treat

A cupcake or a brownie waiting
At the breakfast table
An early morning treat but sadly
‘Stead she found a bagel

Her mother tried to make it cool
A breakfast like no other
And smothered with Nutella even
Added peanut butter

And stuck a candle in the top
As a sweet after thought
But as she saw her daughter’s glare
She knew it was for nought

The mother never lived it down
For still the girl’d persist
“Oh come on mom, a bagel served
For my birthday breakfast?”

Each year that followed the mom went
To sort through cakes and pies
Muffins pastries all the best
That her money could buy

Hoping that that gaping wound
This would somehow salvage
And save her daughter irreparable
Psychological damage

A downward spiral she’d reverse
Here on these shopping trips
Lest the girl bear unfulfilling jobs
And bad relationships

Her daughter’d scarf the treats with glee
As quick as she was able
But nothing stopped her lament of
The birthday breakfast bagel

Then many birthdays came and went
And soon the girl was grown
Considerably well adjusted with
A family of her own

Eve of her daughter’s birthday twas
About to go to sleep
It dawned on her that she’d forgot
To buy a breakfast treat

She scoured pantries cabinets and
Still came up with nothing
When in the freezer she did spy
One single English muffin….

For Anjelica on her 9th birthday! Happy Birthday my little Jeli Bean!


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.

The Post Birthday World

My birthday was early this week
And I did sit engrossed
With all the love and friendship that
Came via Facebook post

And to all those who wished me well
I’d really like to say
How wonderful you made me feel
Upon my special day

But then reality set in
And with it came depression
And time for me to now fixate
Upon my new obsession

For though I should be thankful for
The nice wishes I got
I can not help but think of who
Conveniently forgot

And with a cut so sweet and quick
They’ll never see it comin’
Hell hath no fury quite like that
Of the delete button.


A Narcissist’s Birthday List

An pink angora kitty cat
A pair of platform heels
A designer leather coat
A sporty set wheels

A chocolate sundae miles high
To overstuff my tummy
A butler and a trip to Spain
And money money money

Tickets to the Rolling Stones
Where ‘tween songs two and three
Mick and Keith break down to sing
Happy Birthday to me

A giant cake which Johnny Depp
Will pop from in the buff
Because you know your presence
Isn’t quite presents enough

A private plane, a motorboat
A brand new five string bass
A round trip all expenses paid
Ticket to outer space

A private island just for me
Off the shores of Belize
A penthouse over NYC
And of course world peace.

Yeah, that’s right, it’s my birthday. Hope you didn’t come empty handed.

Also, thank you for the image, Inchcock!



Marissa’s Baby

I come home to find him singing,
Heavy metal which assails,
The building with a raucous din,
That sounds like a banshee wail.

Then he plays his video games,
As if in some sort of trance,
Brimstone comes forth from his ears ,
He does a demonic dance.

As a mother I love him so,
But so I have been warned,
As often he sticks out his tongue,
And throws up the devil horns.

I try to make him a nice birthday,
Roller skating with his friends,
He cackles evilly and asks,
When the ritual begins.

Only does he get excited,
When candles light with fire,
His eyes go wide as he exclaims,
Cool, a funeral pyre!

So I decide to ask his dad,
What from it he can discern,
Do the other boys act like this?
Do we need to be concerned?

But my husband just assures me,
That all of this is normal,
After all he’s a preteen boy,
Perhaps it’s just hormonal.

And laughs it off as he goes down,
To that overheated den,
And mutters he must have misplaced,
His darn pitchfork again.

Happy 12th Birthday To My Sweet Boy!


Celluloid Heroes

(A Poem For My Husband On His Birthday)

If I were to make a movie of my life,
For lack of anything better to do,
I’d probably cast me as me,
And I’d cast you as you.

And it just might be our luck,
To make it to the silver screen,
Where everyone would walk out except a brave few,
Who would hang out for the nude scenes.

They’d say the character development was thin,
They’d say the plot line was bleak,
They say the ending was unsatisfying,
They’d say the dialogue was weak.

And if a critic were to give it one to five stars,
It probably wouldn’t even rate,
But me and you would watch it every night,
And think that it was great.