Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Welcome to my blog. 
I will be posting excerpts from my writing, some of my paintings, and videos of me reading from my poems. 


  1. To Laurie, Michael, John H, Robert, Katrina

    (a quiet song)

    The sorrow died
    The blood quiet,
    Enchanted evening
    Cuddles a moon-garden
    Fire flies flicker
    In a mad dance.

    The flowers
    Have opened
    Their hearts.

    A night of peace
    Enfolds the universe,
    a wide night
    specious and soft.

    There zooms a shooting star.

    Your days are
    Still many,
    You will be
    Given a sign.

    A white dove
    Nestles on the roof
    Of your house.

    Even if distant
    The peace
    And strange,
    Remember how
    Your heart
    Bloomed in
    That gentle night
    Dwell in it
    like in a cloud

    Another white
    Flutters in the

 (In The Wood. His Story)

    ...Suddenly her voice faded.
    The pine trees vanished.
    Shadows, like grey monsters,
    crept closer,
    obscuring her face. 

The sky is a black shell which
he is moving within.
The winter sun bleeding
its dying rays
blurring the branches 
of the pine trees
    erasing the merriment of the
    marigolds and poppies.

His mouth numbed with sand, he wipes the sweat from his brow.

    Someone, or something, is laughing at him– 

    a piercing shriek.
    Shells whistling.
The jeep blows up.
His friends– torn corpses. 
He is pressing his palm 

    to the wound in Dan’s throat.
    His clothes are drenched
    in Dan’s blood.
    Taste of blood;
    He is breathing blood;
    Blood on his 
eyes –
    “Dan!” He screams, “Don’t die!”

Dan is dead –
    Just like that.

 The rage threatening to obliterate his sanity,
 nausea choking his throat,
    a ghastly, helpless sensation; 

    His mind locks 
on the image of

 Someone touches his hand –
a light pressure. 
He turns his head. 

Out of his chaos
He looks into her uplifted
    faintly flushed face
    Vivid eyes...

    Life - Love?

    “Yes,” he said.

A light evening breeze
began to stir.
    The pine trees rustled,
    sparrows chirping 
marigolds and poppies –

They looked at each other;
    He took her hand. 

 Silently, they sat, listening to their Dead.
Their eyes follow the
    winter sun,
    bleeding its last rays
on the tree tops.

    July 29, 2012 5:49 PM

  3. CITY SPRING Katrina

    Yesterday, Sunday,
    I walked out my front door
    and Spring came and sat
    next to me
    on my front porch.

    He was not Spring
    Of my youth.
    He did not smell of blossoms
    nor of first fruit.
    He did not glow and glitter
    under a cloudless sky.

    The air he brought with him
    was not transparent, not clean.
    Birds did not follow him to nest
    in my soft maple tree.

    He put his dusty head on my
    lap and sighed sadly.
    He smelled of dry concrete
    and acid steel.
    His eyes were glossy reflecting
    the cold marble of the city.
    His voice, like a boom box;
    Shrill and brassy.
    Pieces of dog-shit stuck to
    his feet.

    He apologized about his bad smell,
    untidy appearance, unpleasant voice –
    he asked my forgiveness
    for being ugly.

    Of course, I would have preferred
    to sit with him under an olive tree,
    watch a bright azure sky,
    breathe fragrance of fields,
    walk hand in hand with him
    on the beach, dipping my sore toes
    in warm sand, smelling the
    salt-spiced-air, watch with him the
    sunset over the sea–
    perhaps, merely look for– shells.

    I didn't tell him all that.
    He was so pathetic.
    I patted his head and told him
    not to worry. He is Spring,
    he is welcome–
    smelly or fragrant,
    dirty or pure,
    as long as he is Spring.

    He wrapped himself around me
    in a hazy stench of cars fumes
    and blasting noises,
    he kept me company for the
    rest of the day.

    For a long time I sat with him,
    reading a book, glancing
    from time to time at the tiny buds
    that appeared overnight
    on the soft-maple-tree.

    I prayed for one bird to appear.
    Give me a sign.
    Welcome spring.
    A bird did not appear,
    but the neighbours' dog
    barged in, crapped on my yard,
    smirked at me, yellow teethed,
    then trotted away.
    I thought Spring would die
    of shame...

  4. The rest of that evening  (Katrina)
    (A poem from The Rocky Hill. Story (“Give us a kiss)
    ...The rest of that evening was peaches and cream,
    Dimmed lights and pink champagne
    Poisoned with dreams.
    Grey snails on a blood-red platter,
    Slippery and slimy as the gutter.
    Murmurs wafting in the smoke-filled-air;
    Memories of love lurking everywhere.
    Shadows - like touches -
    Words filled with lies and ashes.      
    Hollow shadows grinning wide
    Like jackals on a starlit night.
    Time is bewitched.
    I am glowing, I am flying, but
    Between us a wall of fog is lying.
    I am hateful and my body tears.   
    Flutter of lips in the dark
    Like the flutter of moths’ wings.
    From a black man like lava
    From a dark mountain
    Erupt love songs that
    Even God has forgotten...
    a scorching heat, a whisper,
    “Are you with me, my love?"
    and I know, again
    the time has
    come to part
    and a stony silence
    fills my heart.


  5. HE IS IN ME (to Lawrance)

    He is in me
    I am he
    comfort me
    embrace me.

    My chain is too heavy
    I weep sore in the night
    he is in me
    I am he.

    Tears on my cheeks
    gold becomes dim
    where are his arms
    To tuck me under his wings?

    Mourning dance
    fallen crown
    the punishment
    of his absence –
    Sorrow for me.

    Where are you now?
    Connect with me!

    He is in me
    I am he
    I call for

     (Reunion with 10 people I grew up with)
    Suddenly youth vanished, 
    as if it never was 
    and we were not entirely sure 
    if it was bad or worse. 
    Fragments of its memories 
    were with us all along 
    but when we met we weren't clear
    if we could bring it home. 
    We argued, showing dim recall,   
    escaping lack of choice 
    that comes with absent confidence 
    and lack of a knowing voice. 
    We were exuberant, accusing; 
    we uttered bitter words, 
    but even so we didn't know 
    what or whom to hate. 
    We were enraged, we were upset, 
    unravelling each word 
    yet nothing could have changed the fact 
    that we remained alone. 
    Our parents died and those who live 
    are vanishing each day.
    The children died a little death. 
    The grown-ups 
    did not care.

    (From the collection ballads of a land)

    A single tear stung her eye,
    In the day‘s draining desert heat,
    In the chilling and cold, silent night -
    In her loneliness
    In her wandering;
    Hagar walked and walked,
    Walked and wailed,
    She yelled to the moonshot stars,
    She cried to the desolate sun -
    Hagar spoke to her unseen God,
    And to the boy,
    Born of her body,
    As tears washed down and fell
    Into dry, aged and comforting earth –
    And she softly floated down,
    Resting, with outstretched arms
    Up toward unseen Heavens,
    While, Ishmael, her son,
    Slept at her side.

  8. Loving Lady Ilana Haley:

    When'some of your poems'your poems are so sumptuous, I just wonder,if you start catering your entire profound poetic feast, I should literally miss my meals for days together.

    Hats of to Loving Lady Ilana Haley!


    1. Dearest Master V
      Thank you for the comment. It isn’t very clear, however. I left you a comment on the awful thread. Why are you still bothering with them I will never understand. It seems to me you are speaking in two different languages. Why do you fight with this Cook? He is a terrible person, and Bonnie, you know like I do that she is a control freak, writing stupid poem non stop and boring all the poets to death. Where are you going? To Europe? I thought you are ill? I wrote you a long letter, it seems to me you didn’t receive it. My book is almost finished 150 poems 10 painting. It is going to the publisher at the end of this month, also 2 novels. Write to me. here is a poem for you:

      Without a sky

      And I stood nude
      without stars
      without a sky,
      to burn memories
      in the eternal
      mitre of time,
      without breath
      without eyes
      in the traces
      of the universe...

      Remember, I am always your friend