Tom Berman

Tom Berman Poems

Herewith
a phrase or two
exploding you
o bladder of pomposity,
...

at dusk
a stork speckled sky

storks are flying
...

I am the imposter
within the poet
imposing on your innermost
tweaking at your heartstrings
...

The wind is whirling the gulls
over a white-capped sea
here, where Pacific ends
...

I am celebrating
by being sick
...

Barchash are little Levantine bugs
Flies most unlovable
Nobody can think of any good
ever coming from a
...

Shall my words
stretched thin across the page
ever shimmer
with living opalescence
...

Time sits on my shoulder
implacable

Time looks at me in the mirror
...

Am I
that figure
at the wrong end
of a telescope
...

Storks circling
rising with the thermals
on a blue sky
...

Tom Berman Biography

Tom Berman: I have been a member of Kibbutz Amiad in the Upper Galilee, Israel for over 50 years. I am a scientist (aquatic microbiology) and most of my research has been focused on the Sea of Galilee (known here as Lake Kinneret) . I grew up and attended school in Glasgow, Scotland having arrived there aged 5 from Czechoslovakia with the Kindertransport in 1939. Further education was in the U.S. at Rutgers University and at M.I.T. I am married with one wife, three daughters, six granddaughters and a grandson. Most of my publications to date have been scientific but now and again I have had a poem appear in press or on the Web (Ariel, Voices Israel Anthology, Full Circle, Voices from Israel, Travelling (Tom Howard Antology): Poetry Webring Review, Ariga, Poeticdiversity, Poetry Super Highway, SubtleTea, The Coffee Press Journal, The Poetry Victims and elsewhere) . Amazon.com are still trying to dispose of my first book of poems (Shards, a Handful of Verse) . Presently, I am Editor in Chief of the annual Voices Israel Anthology.)

The Best Poem Of Tom Berman

To An Unnamed Colleague

Herewith
a phrase or two
exploding you
o bladder of pomposity,
filled with fatuity
swollen, smirking sack
balloon of bloated bombast,
caricature of self-esteem

May my words be
as sharp shears
clipping off the wool
you’ve spun
over the eyes
of your bemused beholders.

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