For the Healing

Two "blocks" of wood crossed over on...  
In the darkness
Drums are beating
Telling of a ancient wrong
Do you hear them
Oh my Sister?
Can you sing
Old sorrow’s song?
Did your Mother
Tell the story
As you sat beside her hearth?
Did your Father
Tell your Brother
As they trod the forest path?
Song of sorrow
Song of history
Like a birthmark on the skin
Only love can heal the wound now!
Only love forgive the sin
Love sung out
By hearth,
In forest
Let the heart song
Now begin

Silk Threads

Silk threads - קורי עכביש
Silk Threads

 

Look within yourself and see the silence of eternity.

There is nothing else!

We are each one of us alone;

And all that binds us in the end is love,

Or compassion – call it what you will!

I will find my loneliness in you

And be no longer lonely.

Let it be!

My inner silence,

My eternity.

A bridge to you and all the others,

Only through this gentle web,

Spun of the finest silk

And from my heart!

Scribbling on trains

How many poets are there
writing on commuter trains?

Does every carriage contain someone
scribbling in notebook,
netbook or on an IPhone?

Each one of us reflecting
our own reality to a world
too busy to look,  let alone read!

Each  one of us sharing the core experience
and sometimes, just sometimes, peering over
another’s shoulder
and wondering?

Each one of us adopts the rules
specific to writing on trains
like some strange masonic rite.

Don’t rubbish mine and I won’t rubbish yours!

And prays for a publisher!

Middle Passage Remembrance

Here is an island chain

Each head a stepping stone

Floating in seas of blood

Deep sighs the ocean

Africa to America

With each head counted

Deep throbs the ocean

Mother tongue lost to them

Lost with identity

Flesh without dignity

Roars with the ocean

Cry you across the sea

Cry you across the years

Deep in the hurricane

Toussaint stone dead in France

Hear and remember

Something Beautiful – the Lake Isle of Innisfree By W B Yeats

Inisfree

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the mourning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

Innisfree is a small island at the eastern end of Lough Gill in County Sligo, Ireland.  Yeats spent part of nearly every year in Sligo while growing up. He often walked out from Sligo town to Lough Gill. First published in the collection The Rose in 1893, “The Lake Isle of Innisfree” is an example of Yeat’s earlier lyric poems. The rhythm of the poem perfectly reflects the lapping of the water on the lake shore.  But the poem was written in London at a time when Ireland was in economic and political turmoil, and Yeats and his family were struggling financially. It is not surprising that the sound of a water fountain in a shop window on a bustling London street would take him back to the lapping water of Lough Gill  and a more gentle life.

Red Rocks

Shimmers of memory

Long before memory

Visions and echoes here

Long, long ago

Someone is singing here

At the edge of my hearing

Shadows are moving

At the edge of my eye

Others have walked this place

Others have wandered here

Left us their dreams

Long, long ago

Time before present time

Place before this place

They left their echoes here

Left us their blessing

Here in the rocks around

Under this sky