I Should

I Should

I should be planting trees in the desert
filing the bellies of bloated babies
starving myself just to truly understand
I should be finding that way that each
side in every conflict could see that
at the end -no one ever wins but all
eventually simply devolves to an end
I should be saving every specie that walks
this grand earth so that children who are
not even gleams in the eye of their parents
will know such as the grandeur of a lifted
trunk trumpeting – a group of matriarchal
pachyderms softening the stumble of a
soonest newest born – the monarchs lifting
in forever green field – the icecaps hard and
glittering – I should be working so that the air
is clean the water pure – everywhere and so
somehow in some mystic magic scientific
solution our spinning blue marble will heal
the raw scores of damage wrought and right
herself on a safe non stormy course – I should
be securing the birth-right of all children born
to live disease of mind and discrimination and fear
free and if I am not flying off from port that calls me
to port that calls me again – to work until my back is
bent, my fingers raw, and my eyes gleaming with hope,
to mitigate to soothe to smooth the jagged edges of
pain and suffering – If I am not flying off to do each
and all and more or even some –
and I am not –
then at the very least
I should write
I should write it all in words that sting and sing and
fly off the page and into the eyes of those who will
not see and have them do something….
I should
I should
but that I could

Running On Empty

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Running On Empty

she hit the ground running – a full tank

of gas and wine thrumming - taking the

curves of the lane as though a simple

element–a proven theory of Invincible-

Ability – she hit the ground running –

gear screaming into fourth-as trees

sailed with demon silence - through

the windshield and she flew buddy

she flew fast as a soft sell candy to

a kid with cash and a craving tooth…

she hit the ground running on empty

The Sunday Whirl

The Legacy Blossoms - A Birthday Offering...

For Dear Nurit –

A true noble woman far more precious than rubies.....

Happy Birthday, today, tomorrow and all the year through ….

Rose Plants | 

The Legacy Blossoms

Emerged as a blossom from ash

Sparkling from one sea to another

Spreading her wings to create and

Shelter-celebrate her children and

theirs – passionate recipient and

giver of love in all its many forms

Emerged as a blossom from ash

Witness bearer, swimming from

aquamarine seas to wherever
voices call –listening with

an orchestral heart to the music
of the Universe - tears of pain –
tears of strength–tears of joyful
laughtered-light

Emerged as a blossom from ash

to stand - mighty as the oak

delicate willow weeping with

the beauty of simple being –
loosing each rustled leaf of
perfect poetry

drifting in the wind of time
well- spent – floating
new blossoms into

loamy lushness –
vanquishing ash in
light and legacy –
because of 

in spite of

it all – it all 
gleaming

glorious 

rubied
Nurit 







"What is to give light must endure burning."
--Viktor Frankl 

the thrum of new-born mum

annieppearson | Mom, Incorporated

the thrum of new-born mum 

There it was that thrum - like traffic clanging 

each cell - blood running hot - feet slipping on

the chill floor taking the risk of a trip-fall on the

steps down the hall to get to that screaming baby - 

They said it was only a matter of time-a short time

until the letters of her fractured-formerly-lyrical life

fell together again link by link - until her milk came 

in - let down - arrived.  But there it was - that thrum - 

paired with that minute relentless, relentless evil urge 

to hold the squirming thing to her bleeding breast until -

Source-of -All-save-her-she suffocated its screaming for-
ever -  In the watery predawn dim she sat in the rocker - 

off her rocker -untappable tears streaming rivulets down

her sagging-unshowered sallow cheeks and waited, alone 

for the courage to continue - to somehow finally-

find that sweet spot of maternal rhythym-singing

beneath that thrum - that thrum - that thrum …. 


~


The Sunday Whirl
gentle end-note here : my personal experience with motherhood was quite the opposite - however I have come to know many young mothers who suffer challenging beginnings as well as the experience of disappointment - hope and reaching for courage as metaphoric in a world that is not always as kind and flowing with mothers' milk as we might all wish. 

Still

Still 

Still in watery predawn light spilling

into the shudder-shimmer of silence - 

All gone home - carrying surreptitious 

gifts stuffed under coats improvising 

condolences from planned-canned-

canceled-congratulations - stumbling

smiles slipping from mouth corners -

All gone now - all silent in this watery 

undawned light - and you - stillborn -

somewhere - still 

In the dead of night

Tobias Dahlberg

In the dead of night …

tiny child of two or three

stood there at my father’s

bedside late at night face

pressed close breathing

his breath - waiting for

a fluttered lash – until as

sudden as sprung shades

in that black night his eyes

opened into mine shining

me back to myself sunlit 

~~

Up Close & Personal ~ Micro Poetry

Just past three am ....

Lynn Greyling

Just past three am 

Just past three am 

at the time of heart-

attacks and passion

Just past three am

staring in the mirror

just past three am

stroking shiver-lip

just past three am

waiting for a thud-

ding heart to quiet


~



Up Close & Personal ~ Micro Poetry

One call

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One Call 

one call was all it took

to run through the wind

crash into your chest –

share our nexus of lips

press-in clavicled crook 

one call to toss threats

of punishment – a list-ing

willow tangled in summer

wind – my fifteen-year-old

face flush with the tender

new born ache of wanting –

that swear to never forget

left in a blazing chamber of

my young heart even now -

ready to run

again –