Poems
Inspiration
I feel it welling up inside me
sometimes bursting into song:
joy, pain and Herculean strength.
It feels like the power of creation,
like a woman with child
as the new life moves within her.
I want to capture all the beauty,
all the pain and all the love,
all the despair and the elation.
As in spring the melting snow
trickles down the mountain,
then streams towards the sea
sweeping all before its stress:
tender plants and sturdy trees,
thus I sense the motivation.
A concept glimmers, a spark of fire,
inspiration ignites the intellect
and flames illuminate the sky.
I Missed the Spring
I missed the spring this year.
While others rejoiced in rebirth
wondering at each green shoot,
I turned inwards autumnally
with thoughts of untimely death,
my soul a frozen winter wasteland.
Summer came late this year.
As the earth cries out for moisture,
I drink deep of life-giving water
and turning towards the sun
whose heat others now shun
in the summer of my life
I blossom into womanhood.
The Design
I believe that the world rotates
to the tune of the written word
that verses are conceived on high
and each pearl is meant to be.
I believe the key to the universe
is entrusted to my care
that I was born to a unique destiny.
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Justification
I want to win the right
to sit and dream,
to walk and contemplate
the daily scene.
I want to watch
and not take part,
to feel and not to do.
I need to follow my heart.
I want to create
and not acquire;
I long to have the time
to sit back and admire.
And when I reach the point
where peace replaces pain,
I want to leave just one poem
to my name.
Awe
Reverence for the miracle
of conception and birth,
for my ageing body
that staunchly serves me.
Wonder at the variety in nature,
at diverse inventions of man’s mind:
the computer, link to the world,
that corrects my syntax and spelling
and accepts the title of a poem.
Marvel at the twin flames reflected
in millions of Jewish homes on earth,
at anemones on the festive table
and beyond the bay window,
at trees in the garden, gesturing,
their leaves like shadowy fingers
in the deepening dusk.
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The Pendulum
Like the people of Israel
on Remembrance Day
I'm in deep mourning
for the ‘me’ I have lost
but sorrow won't turn to joy
with the coming of eve.
I don't know when
the stars will emerge
when the pain will cease.
For me there'll be no ceremony
to mark the start
of celebrations.
What will herald
Independence Day, for me?
Shifting chemicals
or a friend’s concern,
loving arms around me
or a song to touch the soul?
Incognito
A balcony seat overlooking
The mystery of Creation.
Anticipation, high drama, Glory.
Riveted to the pinkness
Prior to dawning day;
Expecting, at any moment,
The golden rim of the sun
To appear on the far shore
Of rippling Kinneret, above Golan,
I recite the Prayer upon Rising.
Puzzled, I enquire of the Lord:
“Who is the righteous man
You have set at my side
To guide me on Life’s journey?
In the rustling of eucalyptus leaves,
I hear His Answer:
Instantaneous and unequivocal,
“God is concealed in everyone.”
I Mourn the Wasted Years
I Mourn the wasted years.
I have plodded the path of decades,
depressed, in the depths of despair,
watching my feet pace a death march
as I looked inwards at a dead soul.
I Praise the present moment.
In the rubble of a troubled psyche,
a muffled shout of joy;
amid debris of disturbed emotions,
energy untold.
I Exalt the coming era.
The deadness I will use
to erect an edifice to life,
the anger to express love;
narcissism in pursuit of perfection
and childhood's deprivation
in the constant quest for acclaim.
Aspiration
I have a dream;
it floats on the air
like a bubble
fragile, rainbow- coloured
made of air and water.
Gently, I place the dream
on the palm of my hand
and when I let it go
it continues to float on the air
and I continue to run after it,
wondering at the colour
and fragility of it..
This dream occupies
my every waking moment.
If I were to tell you my dream
It would no longer be a dream,
it might take substance,
become reality, and might
fly away.
Carefree
I would be carefree
if I could let go and welcome
each moment as it comes;
connect to the vast Universe.
of infinite possibilities.
I would be carefree
if I could stop checking my watch
for what I should be doing
and where I am meant to be,
and simply flow on life’s journey.
I would be carefree
if I ate to enhance my health
and not to assuage my appetite;
if an extra hour under the covers,
was replaced by a morning swim.
I would be carefree
if the weight of the world
were lifted from my shoulders
and if I could discern a glimmer
of hope on the horizon..
If I were carefree
I would sing and dance for joy,
run in the fields amid wild flowers,
wear an exquisite long gown
and invite my friends to a party.
The Seventh Day
Lord, lead me into the Sabbath
with a glad heart and songs of praise
Let me not phrase for an assembly
but for You alone.
Show me Your intention, my Maker:
am I to laud You in verse
on this the seventh day?
For to pen is my pleasure
but also my trade.
Please, Lord, in this new era,
accept the diverse ways
we express our thankfulness
on the seventh day.
On the day of rest,
devout people stay home
in contemplation and prayer,
observing age-old rituals,
adhering strictly to tradition.
Others travel the land
to wonder at Your Bounty
in mountains and forests
and by the sea-shore,
partaking of feasts You prepare
in charming cafes everywhere.
Please, Lord, in this new era,
accept the diverse ways
we express our thankfulness
on the seventh day.
Portrait of a Survivor
Her face is wrinkled, her back bent,
though toothless and half-blind
age has not dimmed
the dazzle of her mind.
She recalls early years
in the shtetl of her birth:
her doting family,and a first love.
Her blue eyes becloud
as she relives once more
unspeakable horror
and cuddles the white cat
as if it were the baby girl
torn from her arms in Vilna.
After years with the partisans:
deprivation, hunger and fear,
a fresh start in a young state.
As always she complains:
“I have one foot in the grave
I am neither here nor there.
Why doesn’t He take me?
I no longer care,”
then avidly devours
a handful of bonbons
and shows off the photos
of her great-grandchildren.