Copyright 2019, David Rosenheim | contact

Hello, thanks for visiting my writing pages. I love to connect with readers and other writers, so please drop me a line.

Poetry

I see poetry as an interface between the subconscious and conscious minds; a go-between what we know and the vast unknown. Poetry has been an essential, yet quiet practice of mine for many years. I draw inspiration from many poets, including Wallace Stevens, W.H. Auden, Audre Lorde, Arthur Rimbaud, Dylan Thomas, Allen Ginsberg, James Baldwin, Elizabeth Bishop, Emily Dickenson, Maya Stein, Terrence Hayes, Bob Dylan, Wendell Berry, Ray CArver,, and Leonard Cohen.

 

Some of my poems have been published along the way, here is a partial list:

Sitting in San Antonio Review

After Auden in Adirondack Review

Sonoma in Broadkill Review

Milos in Broadkill Review

Pan's Folley in Frigg Magazine

Bloody Knuckles in Frigg Magazine

Edna Larson in Frigg Magazine

Going in Frigg Magazine

Why I Cry on Airplanes in Frigg Magazine

I occasionally post new poems in my poetry blog. Here's one that was published in Common Ground:

THE SOUND OF A FOUNTAIN IN MEXICO CITY

Pigeons flap

through the chemical haze struggling

for elevation

 

a girl’s shriek, horn blast or

Bedlam at the Gate of Lions   

sparked the exodus

 

Chapultepec.

Concrete ensconces the soft ground like a corset

the alien form of the mushroom fountain

drips and seethes

 

I sit at the transom

cleaved open by the sound of running water

 

Tizoc’s legions once streamed

across this red earth

soft padding of a thousand feet

insects buzzing like wood saws in the

green gold air

 

I sit in a hanging chair

drinking coffee as ever

air plants cling to branches

 

“And all times are one time”

the old pulse still quickens

blood still iron and salt

 

 

(c) 2016 David Rosenheim

Fiction

After roughly seven years of work, I completed the manuscript for "1990 Now" in late 2018. I hope that it will be published in the coming year or two. Here is the short synopsis:

 

On the brink of adulthood in 1990, Teddy is disgusted by his father’s company-man, country-club life in the Midwest. He sees only one way out: Teddy and his songwriting partner, Jules, load up their van and move to San Francisco to try to make it as rock stars. There, Teddy thrives in a counterculture of Gulf War protests and punk rock. But it isn’t long before he and Jules find themselves vying for the attention of their fascinating roommate, Nola, which ultimately ends in Jules taking off.

 

Though he misses his friend, Teddy harbors hope that his romantic relationship with Nola might turn into something lasting. But as troops prepare to invade distant lands despite the anti-war protests, and his relationship with Nola takes a turn for the worse, Teddy learns hard lessons about what he can and can’t control—including other people’s actions and emotions. Disillusioned by the failure of both his relationship and the anti-war movement he has been so swept up in, Teddy decides to shift his focus back to school and music. But then a close friend dies, and Teddy begins a drug-fueled spiral. Even reconnecting with Jules on a road trip to the Mayan ruins of Mexico only drags Teddy deeper into despair. Back at his parents’ home, Teddy begins to see suicide as his only solution. Will Teddy gain the clarity he needs in his life, or will he effectively write himself out of his own story with a plunge into the icy waters of Lake Michigan?

 

Songs

The vast majority of my writing has been in the form of songs written for the bands Hugh, The Weather Band, and Winchester Revival. Song lyrics don't generally read well, especially without the music. Here's one that reads a bit more like a poem. You can listen to a demo of it here .

 

TWENTY

 

last birds of day

frogs, crickets, katydids

owls relay

down valley

  

sacrosanct

rolling orchards

riding today

apple and cherry

 

rolling orchards

prayer at 20mph

prayer at 20mph

 

brown skinned

the boy

myself the priest

 

brown skinned

the boy

invocation to teach

 

myself the priest

old enough

 

last birds of day