AFTER THE WAR- 2 (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 face, hands, 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; dread. Obliteration.
His mind locks on the image of death... 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; Tortured. 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.
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... Well Perhaps Another day.
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...
Suddenly: 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.
SUDDENLY YOUTH VANISHED (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.
HAGAR IN THE DESERT (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.
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.
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...
To Laurie, Michael, John H, Robert, Katrina
ReplyDeletePEACE
(a quiet song)
The sorrow died
The blood quiet,
Enchanted evening
Cuddles a moon-garden
Fire flies flicker
In a mad dance.
look,
The flowers
Have opened
Their hearts.
A night of peace
Enfolds the universe,
a wide night
specious and soft.
Look,
There zooms a shooting star.
Your days are
Still many,
You will be
Given a sign.
Look,
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
look,
Another white
feather
Flutters in the
night
AFTER THE WAR- 2 (In The Wood. His Story)
ReplyDelete...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 face, hands, 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; dread. Obliteration.
His mind locks on the image of
death... 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; Tortured.
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
CITY SPRING Katrina
ReplyDeleteYesterday, 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...
Well
Perhaps
Another
day.
The rest of that evening (Katrina)
ReplyDelete(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...
Suddenly:
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.
ReplyDeleteHE 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
solitary
I call for
him,
come!
Embrace
me.
SUDDENLY YOUTH VANISHED
ReplyDelete(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.
HAGAR IN THE DESERT
ReplyDelete(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.
Some of my poems
ReplyDeleteLoving Lady Ilana Haley:
ReplyDeleteWhen'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!
VARAPRASAD NVLN
email:zemini77@gmail.com
Dearest Master V
DeleteThank 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
Love
Ilana