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
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 




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




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 ....




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 –