Tuesday, October 30, 2018

A poem in remembrance

A massacre
Life and death and the dance goes on
An angry hand reached up
And tore
Vibrant leaves
From a swaying tree
Flinging fears and grief
Out into a world, into a country, into a city
Shards of glass littering the ground
As bullets pierced through the flesh
Of those who rushed to protect their neighbors
Like a battle-scarred Magen David
Forming a shield for Israel’s children
While urgent prayers
Intervened in celebrations
Peace - shattered
On a day of peace
A bottle fills with tears again
Life and death and the song goes on
We are brothers
We are all brothers
Why must we lack in love


_ _ _

In memory of the people who were murdered 10/27/2018 in their Pittsburgh synagogue (may their memories be a blessing) and in honor of the law enforcement officers who risked their lives.
_ _ _

If you feel tweaked or hurt by the way I wrote what I wrote, please: 1) pause and ask yourself why, 2) understand that I mean nothing hurtful or offensive, 3) know that I have compassion for you, 4) recognize that this is the way that I was able to express my own feelings in learning of and processing something very difficult, 5) acknowledge that some things are naturally painful.

(If there is an issue with me potentially paying too much attention to only one thing: Right now this event in particular has affected me emotionally. I know that many other terrible and tragic things have been occurring. Planes have crashed, floods have devastated, bombings have destroyed homes, people are starving … So many in the world are experiencing hardship and heavy grief.)

Sunday, August 5, 2018

Я люблю смотреть в ночное небо
И наблюдать миллионы звёзд.
Сегодня оранжевая точка
На горизонте - Марс.

Monday, April 23, 2018

The weather is beautiful today. Flowers are blooming, leaves are unfurling, birds are singing, the sun is shining on my face, and ants are eating the piece of cantaloupe that a three-year-old girl dropped in the grass.

_______________________________________

~ Poetry (the poetic) does not need to be in verses.

Sunday, April 15, 2018

A teeny verse from last night's intermission:

You are standing so close to me
That I can smell the alcohol on your breath.
I wonder if it has affected your sense of boundaries
Or if you always come within this many steps.

Thursday, April 12, 2018

Yom HaShoah Thoughts, 5778 (2018), from stream of consciousness poeming

Remember the casualties of war. Remember attempts to wipe out entire peoples; the murder of Jews, Roma, and others; the oppression of minorities. Remember T4. Remember.
I cannot go to a Yom HaShoah observance today, but I wrote this:
________________________________________
What is life? What is horror?
What does it mean for either to be over?
We cannot say exactly when a life is gone
But we can count so many lives ended.
A horror can be behind you
While the experience and pain live on.
The world turns a blind eye to suffering,
Or perhaps its eyes are blind from the start,
Or myopic, and it needs a pair of spectacles.
What person, who, can fully see something
Enormous as human experience and life,
So huge that the smallest portion fills the gaze?
We can hardly see at all.
"How could such a thing exist?", we said and say
About the death factories,
We say "it's impossible", "inhuman",
Yet it lies within us all.
We are all human, and often we seem to
Strive to forget, to dissociate
From the state of reality, we say
"Barbarian", "monstrous",
When, really, it is "human".
So very human.
Not alone what it means
To be human
But part of our capacity,
Together with our kinder facets.
Even a conscience needs a guide, a basis,
Our sensibilities
Do not exist in a void.
A victim is not intrinsically innocent or pure,
A perpetrator not automatically evil at the core.
There is no clear division
Between "bad" people and "good",
And even some "bad" people
Are a victim of their own crime.
Lifting victims above the heights of criticism
Sinking perpetrators with the deepest insults
Does humankind no ultimate service,
It entrenches us where we are
In an internal battle in which
We are both "us" and "them",
Two in every one.
We treat death and the circumstances of death
As if they solidify the identity of the individual,
Though opinions in history change even then
- He was a hero, but then
- He really acted as a selfish pig
Under the guise of a hero, and then
- No, he was indeed a hero,
Flawed as he may have been.
If only our changing perceptions
Always brought us closer to the Truth.
Who am I? To whom belong
The horrors and beauties in my soul?
Human.
Horrors that become either unspeakable
Or mundane.
And beauties that somehow
Always transcend, no matter
How often their occurrence.
You have no excuse, we are all the same.
Human.
Life will not lose its value,
Regardless of how much you kill.
But, one day, depending on your choice,
All that horror could be left to you.
Whatever it means to be human,
To be bad or good,
To be a victim, hero,
To know or not know,
Still gives us a choice
For compassion, for sorrow.
To stand ready to forgive,
Or at least see
The humanity, the human,
Within a tarnished life,
To exercise understanding and
Understand our own faults,
To become careful in what we do with
Our own humanity,
To weep over the massacred
And weep over the twisted end
Of the promise of the slayer.
So much is lost in both, by both.
Life is a many-way stream,
No simple two-way street.
One name, one image,
One superficial capture, becomes
Our definition of an entire person,
Becomes categorical.
We say "a Hitler", but who knows
Everything about Hitler?
What does it accomplish
To reduce someone to someone else
Who has already been reduced
To an image or a phrase?
Some things we can know,
And some of our assumptions
Debase the value of our knowledge.
What does knowing do?
I love you, you are human.
I love you, yet I can be horrified
By the horrors you enact.
I love you.
I love you,
Lost and orphaned children,
Young people
Whose future abruptly derailed,
Elders
Whose wisdom is lost,
Survivors
Whose scars fester,
New generations
Who grew up with a legacy of strain,
I love you.
And what is love?
It is seeing the purpose in you,
Wanting to see it realized,
And know it will bear fruit.
You have always had it,
But it is your choice
With it what you will do.
11.IV.2018
SHL.
(Possibly to be subject to edits in the future. I had another version but misplaced it.)

(I had edits and misplaced them.)

Sunday, March 18, 2018

Love and Hatred

Hatred is the idea or action upon an idea such that the world should not accommodate the needs and desires of both another person and yourself. Love is giving up a part of your world for the sake of something better.

Saturday, March 17, 2018

Reflections on the color yellow while picking flowers - a poem from May 2017

The color Yellow
Seems only to belong
On Flowers and Stones
Birds and Butterflies -
Nothing Man owns
Except some Garments and Beads
But even in a Rainbow
My Eyes cannot seem to believe
The color Yellow
Where it goes
Is meant to be

24.V.2017
SHL.

Tuesday, March 6, 2018

Светлая Луна/Bright Moon (bilingual poem)

Светлая Луна, светлая Луна,                                      30.XI.2017
Свети на меня!
Звёзды, мерцающие в чёрной ночи,
Улыбайтесь мне в пути.

Я хочу, я хочу, но я не могу;
Я хочу летать - но продолжаю тонуть.

Светлая Луна, светлая Луна,
Унеси меня в небо!
Подними меня своими сияющими лучами
И позволь мне купаться в твоём сиянии.

Светлая Луна, светлая Луна, позволь мне сиять как ты,
Светлая Луна, светлая Луна, позволь мне сиять как ты!

Яркая! Свободная! Жемчужина мира!

Светлая Луна, светлая Луна,
Свети на меня.

* * *

Bright Moon, bright Moon,                                                            11/30/2017
Shine upon me!
Stars, twinkling in the black of night,
Smile upon my way.

I want to, I want to, but I cannot;
I want to fly - but I keep on sinking.

Bright Moon, bright Moon,
Bring me to the sky!
Raise me in your shining rays
And let me bask in your radiance.

Bright Moon, bright Moon, let me shine like you,
Bright Moon, bright Moon, let me shine like you!

Bright! Free! Pearl of the world!

Bright Moon, bright Moon,
Shine upon me.




SHL.

Monday, March 5, 2018

A time poem, 7.II.2018


Time was moving slowly today
More words packed into longer minutes
Snowflakes flurrying down the frigid air
Speeding to the ground in the corner of a glance
And floating softly when followed in their path
Breath, conscious, heartbeat striking on
A strange stillness in a sound and image storm
Drowsiness and static thoughts trying to understand
The impact of snowflakes like thunder on the ground
Struck by spearheaded crystals
Only a soft murmur of the air reaching my ears

Time was moving slowly today 
The world seemed awesome and beautiful today



 

   

7.II.2018

SHL. 
Written on a snowy, bright day in class.

Monday, January 8, 2018

A ponderous hippopotamus sits pondering a preponderance of ponds.

Birds fly overhead.