Roz Levine

I Do Not Like The Men You Are 
I do not like the men you are
Your work on healthcare is quite sub par
With years to think how to make it right
You toss us a plan of national fright
With millions about to lose any care
While tax cuts for the rich is what you cheer
By the actions you take you shall be known
From Atlantic waters to Pacific foam
In history books you’ll one day be shamed
For the millions who will perish by this act in your name
Roz Levine is a Los Angeles poet. The results of the last election has rekindled her political activism both in the words and peaceful actions of her life. She cannot accept the abnormal as the new normal, sit back and do nothing as draconian changes shift our country to a nation becoming unrecognizable to millions of us.  

Kira Bey Wallace – Age 8

Artichoke photo: artichoke artichoke-fairy.jpg


“The Artichoke Man”


When I was eating dinner last night, I got served an artichoke.

I don’t like artichokes so I started playing with it.

I had other vegetables that I did like

and I started playing with them, too.

My mommy said, “Don’t play with your vegetables, sweetie.”

but I didn’t listen so I used my artichoke as a man,

my peas as eyes, my carrots as arms and legs,

my corn was off the cob so I used it as a mouth,

 seeds from my tomatoes as nostrils,

 finally I used a red pepper as a scarf,

a green pepper as a hat

 and a piece of tomato as a feather in the hat.


Kira Bey Wallace

Age 8  

“What’s To Come” by Roz Levine

A few miles from the Pacific
Signs of vestigial vibrations of fear and flight
Permeate my brain now on snap and crackle
A brain primed to pop, pop, pop to dam burst
By DNA and media masters at CNN
Because the world’s on big rupture spin
With no place a refuge for safe keeping.
On this turf, once so safe and cozy
I phone pharmacies, family, friends
Ring up health food stores
On the plead and quest
For potassium iodide
With a passion to make a deal
Protect the lives of my family
With radiation rampage on wild
With waters on crazy turmoil
And the breach
And the winds
And the currents
And the yowls from Japan
Rise across Pacific clouds
Head towards our home shores
Where we no longer dance
Or big smile good morning
Or relax with French roast coffee
Seated round kitchen counters.
We talk, worry, spin nightmares
Over radiation effects in Japan
And what could happen here
Right here, ladies and gentlemen
Right here in our city of angels.
Here we prepare for the not known
Store candles, batteries, gallons of water
Buy boxes of cereal, crackers, milk
Cans of tuna, soup and peanut butter
A case of dog food and kibble
Order a month’s supply of heart pills
Diabetes drugs and thyroid medication
Remind every family member
To fill gas tanks to overflow.
Each day we watch for signs
Each night we watch for signs
We study the air
Search the skies
Watch for signs
Of right or wrong
Examine the earth
We watch for signs
Wait for what’s to come.

Roz Levine

Foto “inner turmoil”

by L. K. Thayer

© 2011

“Gemstones” by Roz Levine

he didn’t bring me precious jewels
to sparkle bright at birthday celebrations
nor did he bring me singular art treasures
for fifty-one years as his only daughter
he didn’t bring me clothes of high fashion
nor did he bring me music of the masters
my daddy brought me books and words
he brought me visits to the Tremont Library
every two weeks, hand in hand on a walk
despite a pile of bills waiting to be paid
despite job losses and back breakdowns
despite his delivery truck in the fix-it shop
every two weeks, we did the library stroll
he brought books stacked Eiffel Tower high
books which grew a life in my bloodstream
books which grew me to a wordsmith, a college grad
grew me to a poet from the Bronx and Queens
grew me to this Los Angeles writer woman
grew me to gratitude for daddy’s  gemstones

Roz Levine

(books from Beyond Baroque in Venice, CA)

Foto by L. K. Thayer

© 2011

“Don’t Ship Me Off Far From Light” by Roz Levine

When I’m old and wrinkled with hair so white
Will you ship me off to live far from light
Will I lose my friends and all that I love
With getting old, is that the rub
Will joy never more come my way
With life a great bore each and every day
So daughters, please don’t imprison me
Let me live where I can breathe free
Where I can write words deep in the dark
Where I can enjoy life, listen to the lark
Don’t imprison me in an old person’s home
Let me have freedom for my mind to roam
Let me feel the earth under these feet
Let me chat with any new people I meet
When I’m old and wrinkled with hair so white
Daughters, don’t ship me off to live far from light

Roz Levine

L. K. Thayer’s Foto Fetish

© 2011

“Gratitude Haikus” by Roz Levine



Rain splatters my brain
Scattering fresh breath upon
All new thoughts today

Born from rich red blood
We wend a way to deep breath
In and out each day

And the sun rises
And the moon hovers above
And this life is good

Thank you I tell them
The mailman, the trash man
They big smile to me

I give you my smile
I give you a big thank you
You give it all back

A smile, a tear, life
It is all things everywhere
It is each new breath

A good morning smile
Sends love into all my pores
Makes me sparkle now

This body aging
Savors such delightful words
Grandma, I love you

Roz Levine

Photo by L. K. Thayer

© 2011

“Resilient Breed” by Roz Levine

Like bamboo thriving
With roots ensnared
Among backyard perfections
And leafy greens morphing
To jungle turf takeover
I flit from branch to branch
Of life’s swirl and twirl
Swing from tree to tree
With blood curdling howls
Me Tarzan
Me Jane
Me Wonder Woman
Spray me with pesticide
Beam me up to alien gates
Envelop me in gravitas
Buckle me to five jobs
For the board and food
Of my little chickadees
Cause I’ve hoed the road
Read the riot act
Defeated death at sixteen
When a ruptured appendix
Burst me to heaven’s gate
I yodel lay me down
Do it again
See me rise and shine
Growl over cancer clovers
Claw over spouse’s heart disease
Diabetes and peripheral neuropathy
See me fly sky high
Over chronic pain
Sciatica burn and shout
With frizz on deep fry
Watch me jump through hoops
Meditate over treetops
Hang from trapeze wires
No rot and roll
No do me in
No net between
Sky and earth land
See me, a bamboo thriver
Taking over this life
See me, a wonder woman
Of female homo sapien

Roz Levine

L. K. Thayer’s Foto Fetish

© 2011

“On A New Year” by Roz Levine


In the dark of morning
On this final day
Of the year 2010
She sat before her computer
Huddled in a winter robe
Heard the call
To sprinkle wisdom
From her salt shaker
She had to shout out
To one and all
To everyone she loved
Her family
Her friends
Her writing buddies
To keep their eyes
On open wide
To look and look and look
For the rose
Poking through
Cold cement
For the hummingbird
Racing across a blink
For the butterfly
Kissing sweet petunias
For the giggle and wiggle
Of the sugar toddler
Flying high and mighty
At the corner playground
She wrote over and over
Look and look and look
Again and again
Find every crumb of joy
Suck it in
Suck it up
Suck it to overflow
Chew it
Chomp it
Cherish it
Roll out the red carpet
On this first morning
Of the second decade
Of the 21st century
For this gift of your life

Roz Levine

Image by Craig Stevens

© 2010

“The Finish Line” by Roz Levine



Our 46th wedding anniversary
And we’re sick in bed
Sick in the head
Sick of being sick
The two of us tied
To matrimonial vows
Till death do us part
Affixed to Darwinian thought
It’s called survival of the fittest
Those born to




To hoops and flares
On the rock and roll shores
Of the Galapagos Islands
With red footed boobies
Blue footed boobies
With my boobies on the sag down
But in our bed on heart to heart
We jump through hoops
Walk the trapeze line
Flame through fire
With our hands curled
Under electric blankets
My small fingers tucked tight
To the rough and tough of your hands
Because what can you say
When it’s all said and done
We made those vows
Forty-six years ago
To hang in there
In sickness and in health
To the final finish line

Roz Levine

L. K. Thayer’s Foto Fetish

© 2010