It moves

It moves 

 

I never planned to live here

Dragged an unwilling hostage

By a hostile hard partner -

Carried from my  paradise of heart, visage and soul

To this soul-lesss suburb – 

Only temporarily – I promised myself but

Knew that I lied as my feet were 

Shackled to the treadmill that would 

Move – 

Move –

Move –

Move me along to an unrecognizable me

I loosed myself from the partner – but stayed 

In that empty house – with a small child - 
I danced on bare wooden floors and hung

Flower baskets in macrame and taught school 

And schooled myself and wrote and passed the

Time – and somewhere along the way found love

As life moved -moved – moved

Through children and passion, family dinners – 

Laughter, love, and loss, disappointments and 

Unexpected pleasures – all held in the patina 

Of this wood floor shining under my feet 

The click of the dice against one another brought these

Unforeseen pleasures, the drive to return, to move, to go 

Melted in the years flying as a murmuration swirling in the

Memory of all that came to be in this temporary house

That grew into a home – this lifetime lived together ….

I stare at the tree in the back garden – planted as a stick

Carried from the marsh by a new husband and a young son

Stare at its trunk wider that even the largest arms could never span

And look up through the skylights and vaulted ceilings at the leaves

Crisp and falling as Autumn snow and somehow – dragged from the

Sanctuary of frangipani and Caribbean blue – unshackled I stare back

In amazement and forward with fear of the inevitable move – hugging

My home – hearing the voices of all that transpired and willing it to stay as

It moves

It moves

It moves 

 

Ode to the Banana

 

Oh Banana - 

presenting yourself in your own sunshined

wrapper – hanging in a comraderied bunch

or torn to single-hood on granite countertop or 

a ragged hungry hand – throughout the world -

Oh Banana - centerpiece of countless simple 

humor through ages –illustration of all that is 

sweet and softly velvet when revealed… 

Oh complicated, under-rated - majestic Banana - 

from infant mash –to icy daquiri- to show-girl 

headpiece - sexual aid or assist – on and on 

and on whirling in use and taste and wonder

whirling your way even into a last gummed meal –

You Underated - Complicated - Simple - Sensuous - Delight-

Full - Grand Banana  perfume the spectrum of life – echoing

the wildness of verdant wet jungle palms watching us with 

a slick wink –

as we slip and slide

along with you 

Secret Harbor

Secret Harbor

 

 

I begin to write of turquoise waters

and frangipani air – hammocks cradling

in air honeyed on the tongue – a lulling

born of gentle lapping waters on white

sand … the laughter of a child far away

in the distance … 

I begin to write -

Seeing the white washed stucco – the

dripping arbors of bougainvillea and the

flaming crimson of bowing flamboyant

trees – a banana daiquiri cold in my relaxed 

hand – I begin to write and it is obliterated

by the Hotel Hamas … and I yearn to gather

the mystic magic of years of peace felt in 

this getaway … gather it into mortar and

brick and build a hotel for Hamas and all

terrorists – where through the enchanted

illumed sacred something or other hatred

will melt in the heat of the Caribbean sun

and terror will turn on the tongue to sweet

mango and papaya and pineapple and

faces soften as all sway sleepy in hammocks 

hatred washed away in the crystal waters of

love…

I begin to write of Secret Harbor,  my sanctuary -

for so many years and finish with this fervent 

dream that all nightmares of the soul end … 

that the secret of peace shall no longer be held 

and harbored but 

freed at last…

for all…  

What's Going On? Indeed! - Neshama / Clinging to Gratitude

Horror        

Clinging to Gratitude 

 

This poem was written as the horror in Ukraine unfolded and now today

another day, and new unimaginable horrors …and I cling to the gratitude

of neshama, which as I understand it, in Judaism, is the concept of the 

beginning and essence of life and the soul itself and therefore somewhat

appropriate for the current nightmare in Israel as I….

Cling with gratitude and great gulping breaths, calming my horrified eyes

Trying to slow my anxious heart, and trembling fingers -

Grateful

I breathe fill my lungs, fill my stunned self with self-serving

Gratitude  

for  my supreme, unguaranteed privilege of safety

as with deep quavering breaths – I type in a quiet

room where faint bird song drifts through the window. 

 

 

 

 

NESHAMA - UKRAINE 

 

Neshama - Neshama - breath of life -  sacred soul ... 

sit in my bed at night - in the dawn of early morning

this helpless cheer-leader - pounding sunflower 

pom poms - poems and pretty pictures -illuming my 

unadulterated incompetence to truly assist - with each

breath - my shame - inhaled - my safe existence exhaled 

as I sit - watching, watching, the soul of freedom furl

manifested in streets - one particled part of this entire 

watching world who gather and cheer - some as simple

spectators at a novel televised event -this watching world 

that sends a bit of support here and there as men learn 

weapons and kiss loved ones off – 

as mothers craft molotovs - babes at breast – 

take arms or flight away - in the cold, cold -

smiling for children, tears flicked off tired eyes- 

as a singular voice calm and measured rises above –

rises in a clarion call to all to come and join in protecting freedom sacrosanct - 

calls in unwavering passion –

 Neshama manifested – 

in a leader in a people – 

as the world watches - and watches and watches –

 Neshama - Neshama -soul of breath - of life - 

We are one - We are one breath - 

I cringe in my privilege far far 

away - push the button on my 

coffee maker -return to 

the couch along with millions

of others to watch - to watch - 

Nesahama - Neshama 

soul of humanity -

my breath held 

witness to 

Glory -

unstoppable 

Neshama –

Breath

Soul 

Life 

 

 

Once

 

Once 

 

Once my world was dotted

with endless hills,

and I climbed, or skipped, or ran, confident

barefoot, or booted, flip-flopped sure-footed

and if I slipped, the worst was a grazed knee

or a bit of a bruised heart – if an obstacle

appeared – a jagged rock or loosening purchase

the earth was my friend – digging in hand-holds

or toe-touches – or walk abouts – I climbed on - safely

surely, always – onward – convinced in my clear

anticipation of the always achieved acme – 

daisies under blue skies - a flat place to sit for a while –

and when rested –refreshed -revitalized – renewed –

I’d stretch, stand, limbs loose and long, atop that hill –

breathe fresh air and survey the view –

the endless panorama of hill after verdant hill

awaiting me….

 

Now, in surreality I walk a flat landscape – 

 slopeless spreading toward an ever approaching horizon

yearning to believe that beyond lay fields of daisied dominion

searching

for

one

more

hill

to 

be

Last Ride on the Merry-Go-Round

MY MOTHER IRENE KETOVER 7/23/31-11/9/19  (eulogy 11/14/19)



My mother was a realist undoubtedly a force of nature – the perfect 
counterbalance to the dreaminess of my father – between them they balanced my world.  My mother was the center of any gathering and frankly it seems ridiculous surreal downright silly that she is not here nodding her head as I speak. – Then again who amongst us knows for sure. She was certainly the loudest, clearest voice against any injustice personal, political or even in the case of her pond - duck related ..  Others have paid fitting tribute to her sass her strength her joy - her fierce loyalty to family, to the values which she felt in her unshakable moral core was the right thing -  All such tributes are absolutely true .. I stand by them as well .. and yet as children from time immemorial we all see different aspects of our parents.  I wrote something for my mother’s 85^th birthday,  a sense of my mother who always had me feeling protective of this woman most viewed correctly as a warrior. I know she wouldn’t mind my sharing this personal take on my teenage mom, as I always thought of her, since she surprised me by reading it at her 85^th party – and so with her tacit approval and just a few edits here goes… 

WITH A SMILE   … My teenage warrior mom

I watched as you proudly stood my stiff starched dresses to stand like soldiers in the kitchen - 

and you smiled

I felt your long fingers fumble through my hair twisting white clean strips of rags into wet curls as I stood watching out the window and you smiled

You smiled on your hands and knees scrubbing a floor, tush waggling long toes bare behind you, singing Que Sera Sera

You smiled patting endless perfect balls of chopped meat into magic fricasse

On Friday nights, dishtowel on your head, you struck a match with a shaky finger and lit candles, I watched your arms circling the flame three times, covering hands over your eyes, whispering something I knew had something to do with all of us, and then flung the towel onto the counter, called out Gut Shabbas, with what else – a smile.   

You smiled wiping out kumitz - cleaning heavy cut crystal dishes –until they shone with rainbow prisms, cooking, setting table with good silver, serving, clearing, washing, drying – still you smiled

You smiled singing Frank, and Nat, with my father, sang in your uniquely uniform continuously consistently off key fashion, 

you smiled as we rode off to where I do not recall - standing with me wind whipping your hair in the front car of a swaying wicker-seated-porcelain-railed train - the chain in front of us swinging against the blackness of the rushing tunnels  

You smiled bathing that new beloved-by-you baby brother splashing in a white vinyl bathinette as I stood and watched your face flush with a new softness 

You smiled swinging hands on the way to the park as we pushed that huge carriage - cold steel under my outstretched clinging hand walking in dappled sunlight singing A Tisket a Tasket,   

You smiled at walks end as we slid onto high stools to eat whipped potatoes, a stick pretzel, a chocolate malted – 

the baby asleep outside in his carriage- perfect 

Even if one that time, just that one time, we did forget the baby,

All the way home after running back and retrieving him you panting out of breath and deliriously relieved, smiled –

You smiled, needles flashing and clicking knitting long into the night 

and early at morning breakfast – your hair delightfully mussed, cigarette dangling from your lip you smiled.

Oh yes, you smiled, that mega watted klieg lit smile  

at your parents and inlaws and friends and passerbys and later you smiled at customers and employees that became so much more to you -

One and all individually and collectively they loved that signature smile 

Of course you smiled at my father in a way that set a template that made every Russian romance novel, every love poem, every lusted look and giggled pushaway known and familiar to me when I later met them – 

You smiled as I watched, lucky spectator with the best seat in the house – in the center of the love story that rose to the moon and stars and beyond

I inhaled the love and lust and passionate possibility of you - the dances you danced together, the secret looks, the arms around each other close, the whirl and whisper, the giggle and sighs - the very magic of this love of you -

I too enjoyed all those smiles 

But there was more, seen in stolen moments when a slipped glimpse caught the shimmer of your bright tears 

those times in the quiet of a still afternoon 

those times in the dark of night when on bare feet I was drawn to the golden light of you sitting there in a cool room as you let your knitting drop into your lap and just for a moment let silent tears fall onto a doll’s dress or a sweater for the baby, – as I watched quietly and tiptoed back to bed-  

those times of quiet hidden tears, that I came to know –

the shimmering beauty of your courage – confronting and besting that Fellow, Death that, silent, shunned, and hidden boarder who lived with us. 

I remember and acknowledge and celebrate along with all the dazzle of your dancing smile- 

I came to know early on, consecrated in one precious singular sacred moment so very long ago when I approached you, and reached out and dared to touch a single tear easing its way toward your mouth – 

When that little girl me intoned "Don't cry Mommy" I came to know – 

the nature of my teenage mommy - 

the true majestic nature of those smiles 

that manifesting mystic magic, born and borne as a shining talisman protecting us all.

So long ago, in that cool darkened living room, the click of knitting needles, quieted , stroking the soft wool in your lap, the wetness of that brave secreted tear on my finger, you, my teen warrior woman, the powerful mother I adored, was revealed in all your vulnerable shuttered glory.

Then, now and forever as years float, tumble tossed through life and death  – I feel that smile, that chosen strength scored, seared, branded in my soul, side by side with my protectiveness of that secret girl under the smile, my love sealed forever and a day, for the who you were and the majesty of the who you chose to be, then, now and forever ...

And now the ride you both spoke about on the merry-go-round has stilled – the calliope quieted and yet I still feel the whirl, the wonder, the whisper and wallop of the girl who for a few short days lay with me alone in a quiet hospital room in a foreign state and chose to hold me close before going out to face the world with a smile 

The mold is now broken – 

The lessons remain –

The meaning of the song and the flash of your actual Smile 

Unforgettable. 

Smile - Nat King Cole (High quality) - YouTube

Take this?

 

Take this? 

Take this fear 

From me this

nausea, these 

icy fingertips

 

Take this worry 

of glaciers melting

swollen belly children

staring do-nothingers

rising tides and lowered

expectations 

 

Take this disgust 

from me at lies 

bold-faced, insidious

divisive, insulting 

 

Take this insecurity 

from me as offspring

grown- withdraw and

bare teeth and in

difference incomprehensible

 

Take this soul-chilled

storehouse of historical 

horror – 

bodies floating 

from falling buildings 

children torn in

school houses

prayful people 

slaughtered shoppers, 

party goers, 

sleepers in their beds

drivers in their cars

walkers in the streets

toddlers drowned at 

shoreline – migrants

housed in cages –

children ripped from 

mothers – on and on 

barbed wire and 

crematorium smoke

waft from past into

pollution's noxious present

slavery, butchery, forests decimated,

a lone child’s cry growing faint under rock

on and on and on - we all know 

Take the spittle of hatred, the vicious glint of  eyes

the indifference of one another, the righteous

unrighteousness, the replacement of facts, with opinion

the instability, the cracks widening, the smashed sanctuaries

 

 

Take the knowing that I am more old than young

and growing older still on the known path to the unknown

working at the glorious,  inglorious oxymoron of

trying to find peace of mind … 

 

Take …..

NO.

Return each and every -

Take nothing.

Leave all mentioned

and all implied 

For in the convergence 

is the essence of caring

and I shall  not cede 

I shall not ever cede

to care  

 

Ahhh... how's the weather?

Ahhh... how's the weather? 

Ah to recall those days 

When the most benign

Conversation began with

How’s the weather?

We whirl hands over

Our heads or eyes or

ears – now in a maelstrom

We modern day manifested

naked dinosaurs walking

through forests of fire

and melting icebergs

humming, screaming, 

sciencing, silencing,

or simply writing a poem

to pass the time in these

days of destruction…