Thursday, October 29, 2015

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

Saturday, October 24, 2015

Running On Empty

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

Sunday, October 11, 2015

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
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 

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

Saturday, October 10, 2015

the thrum of new-born mum

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 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 ....

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

Friday, October 2, 2015

One call

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 –